edge
perhaps
it is at the edge
of this world
where
in one another
we find home
and together
with the wild birds
run free
Tag: poetry
公案 kōan
dancing i step into this the stream of forever emerging and of forever vanishing what remains?
Kōan is a type of riddle or story used in Zen Buddhism designed to steer the practitioner out of and beyond the mind into direct realization. A famous example is, “What is the sound of one hand clapping?” So I submit for your pleasure, a poem-koan. 🤓🖤
There is no right or wrong answer… What is yours? Mine is, um, hiding in plain sight?
pockets
hell in one pocket and heaven in the other the choice is all mine i claim love and golden light This here today is heaven! (tanka 5-7-5-7-7)
A wise, old, loincloth-donning and cave-dwelling yogi in the northwestern state of Rajasthan, India once told a little girl a secret. “Heaven and hell” he explained, “are in my pockets!” Perhaps the eleven-year-old girl didn’t quite understand. I imagine she must have looked at him with a quizzical expression on her face. “Here!” he exclaimed. He had a very dynamic way of speaking and of being. Occasionally while walking on a hiking trail, he’d suddenly jump up in the air and yell, “Boom! Life is great!” and resume along the path light-footed and seemingly as light-hearted as can be.
Looking seriously at the little girl, her sister and her parents, Yogi continued. “Look, I want heaven? I take it out of my left pocket. I want hell? I take it out of my right pocket. I can have both! Anytime, I just take heaven or I just take hell out of my pockets!”
My eleven-year-old self did not understand Yogi’s story back then. But like a lucky charm or talisman in my pocket, it has given my life depth and texture—a sense of nuanced calm and komorebi*.
What do you carry in your pockets?
*komorebi: a Japanese word for sunlight shining through the trees; scattered or dappled sunlight; light filtering through the trees
surrender
A little poem for autumn-lovers, and lovers of autumn leaves and love🍁🍂❤️
this dance on the horizons
of time
of all beginnings and endings
is aflame
in crimson windblown waves
and i
i surrender deep
into the dark and soft soil
of
love
lullaby
as i travel home moonlight sparkles upon the river follow me and together we sing a lullaby to the tired shadows of night
Do you sometimes wonder where the poems come from? I do, even at times for those which I’ve written myself! The story of the poem above is quite simple, but enchanting.
I was cycling home after work one night, and as I pedaled along Kamogawa (the Kamo river in Kyoto) the moon was shining brightly and sparkling on the flowing river water. As I watched the sparkles while riding my bicycle they appeared to stay by my side, to be traveling along in the night together with me. Enchanted, sparkles and I sung a lullaby together, to the tired shadows of night.
Not long before that night I had visited Byodoin Temple, a UNESCO world heritage site in Uji, Kyoto. In the Phoenix Hall of Byodoin is a collection of 52 wooden bodhisattva statues, of which the one in the above photograph is my favorite. It’s playing the biwa, a traditional Japanese lute. With its serene composure, this lute-playing bodhisattva looks to me like a moon-deity playing heavenly music to the troubled and tired human souls on earth. And so I later imagined myself cycling along the river, together with moon sparkles and a benevolent bodhisattva, singing a lullaby to the tired shadows of night.
It’s a simple poem that I wrote a little over three years ago.
Recently, for the first time since before the covid pandemic started, I came down with a cold. That is to say that luckily, I have not gotten sick—not even a slight cold—for about three years! So I was going over some old poems for this week’s blog post and this one, lullaby, made me smile. This time, I am a tired shadow in the night, and this time, it’s my turn to be sung to. Good night. 🌜✨
magic
“You don’t need to believe in magic.
Emmanuel Dagher
You are magic.
Believe in yourself.”
The above quote crossed my path the other day, like an unexpected butterfly or rainbow in the sky. Riveted, I stopped. “Yes!” I thought. “We are indeed magic, and if we just believed in ourselves… no—if we truly knew that we are magic, why anything wonderful, miraculous, and beautiful could be possible!” It is true, don’t you think? That if we arrive, if we show up each day simply as we are—unadorned, messy but real… unafraid to be whatever particular expression of life that we just so happen to be—then our days cannot be anything other than magic and magical. So I was inspired to step out of my personal comfort zone and share this quickly snapped, unfiltered, messy-haired selfie-on-a-whim… to say hello to the world and to you, whoever you may be. We are all, after all, one light and one love.
But, what precisely is magic?
magic
maybe magic is,
a heart cracked open
to the tender beauty of the world
to be
raw open and real
and tumbled like broken pieces of sea glass
worn smooth with the grain of tides
high and low
of time
to be
to just be
in this one world
both wounded and wondrous
allowing the soft edges of shadows
to dance
into the light
like sparkles and glitter of rain
in the sun
and finally
finally and at last
to stand on the shore
with arms outstretched to the wide open sea
and declare
here i am my love
here i am
blackness
the deepest shade of love is black that unknowable depth from which all creation comes—and ultimately returns is the kindest love unconditional embracing infinite in black, there's every shade of grey and white is taken in everywhere in this moment feel raven wings alight and hear the midnight of winter solstice they swirl an elemental vortex folding into itself the sharpest cut of diamond and in the tender arms of blackness even rainbows find reprieve from arching displays of color writ loudly in sky blue and now somewhere far, far out in the distance nearby lies a black panther limbs resting softly on the dark belly of the earth she stirs into the heart of all being a power the deepest shade of love
the gift
and stumbling along the seashore she found in the round curves of a rock her heart Ah-ha! she exclaimed Here is the perfect gift to give my love This heartrock warm in the sun is my heart my heart of eternal love May the seasons spin round and round and around and may the storms wail and rage and rage until they turn themselves skyblue Meanwhile my heart remains here unchanged on this seashore—on this woven red strand by dusk and by dawn dancing all the sparkles the light and the shadows into one into one timeless one timeless and divine love
captured
clouds have so very much to say
it seems
capturing the light and the shadow both
out here in this summery blue
if i could just fly
straight up and
into those soft billows and
linger awhile
i'm sure i'd hear a heartbeat and
a silver voice
singing
singing the shapeshifting story
of the skies
house of love
in the black ink of sky stars dance toes dipped in glitter bodies draped in sheer silk swirling, arched, sweeping they scribe a new path across the milky way and ignite fire in this body burning a virgin light tumbled raw open and naked yet wrapped up in these angel arms i'm carried across the threshold into a new spiral of glittering galaxies into this dance into this eternal house of love
Michiru Adrienne 