Hi,
Writing and singing songs, while I do it a lot is very challenging to me to share. Hearing my own voice still is one of the most painful things! Here are some songs which have recently come from the ground.
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Michael
Categories
Author: Zen Open Circle
This is the biography area. You can write stuff here.
A poem I wrote after the recent death of my 92 year old father pre-Covid.
The week before he died I visited him every day
Fussing
turning off the lights
Bullying him into eating and drinking
Until I let him be
He didn’t want the fuss
Sitting with him till he was sick of me
All this waiting
This hard waiting
So what is it you need to say when there is nothing left to say
When your living body is coming to an end
When you no longer care about everything you should care about
What is this life that is memory upon memory laid down
And those memories hazed
It is now time to dig the clods of earth and bury
the black box now lowered into the neat earth hole
I pick up some clods
With my bare hands
Pink skin
On bare clay
Throwing this earth onto the black casket
Your shell lying still
Your spirit clean peeled away
We all take our turn in this way
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Love Maxine.
Categories
Skin
by ~ Tessa Priest
Paintings which came from koan practice… snake appeared in my dream and then coiled onto wooden boards
I finished the paintings in the middle of the dark night and the next morning opened an old edition of Resurgence and found this poem.
Spring is coming in many places in the world as we are asked to quieten and be more still.
Our snakes may be readying to sleep in the cold, and yet snake appears – perhaps in our Spring we too may emerge with a lithe newness and a transformed earth body…
Skin
Everything has a voice, even the skin
Laurie Kutchins –
the black snake left beside the house
the day the golden tulips bloomed
and overpowered the sun. Never seen,
that snake leaves its skin behind
each spring lie a secret gift
no longer dark or urgent without
its body. Oh
look at me, I’ve grown
and grown more beautiful, its voice
thralls from the grass, all
its language new and moving
in the skin like thunder
gathering into a noon
yet to form:
Have you heard me
down in the ductwork
of your house
living on mice?
Have you lived yet
a day without fear?
If not skin, what
will you come to shed?
chosen for Resurgence magazine March/April 2009
“powerful poetry sings of the hidden complexity of things”.
If lives are fraught and contradictory, fraught with unexpected turns that result in unruliness…The god Lir (Ireland) created the world by speaking the names of everything in it. Because he had only half a tongue, his words were only half understood. Half of creation, therefore, remained unspoken.
That’s why we need poets: to “sing the hidden side of things” (Andrea Hollander Budy)
Blessings to you in this time of transformation with its quietude. May you wriggle anew as the spring unfurls – here it is autumn
Warmth
Tessa Priest
Categories
Introduction
~ by Anita V
Dear friends,
Greetings from Ashfield / Sydney.
So appreciate connecting!
A ‘pop-up’ Sangha!
Dharma Doodle …
Reflections on Bright & Dark …
Play of light
On the windowsill –
In the neighbours’ carpark.
Surprise!Black biro shining bright
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By ~ Roshi Susan Murphy
Human beings have suddenly been forced to discover exactly how much we touch our faces. Very interesting. And how much our hands are our primary interface not just with the world but with each other’s worlds, in the general run of everyday life.
And then these highly receptive fingers of feel reach like tendrils for our faces… partly searching in space to prove we exist, is that at least partly it?
When I first heard the anouncement of ‘Don’t touch your face!’ as a mutually life-saving slogan for our sudden new world, not only did I begin to notice that soon after hearing it how frequently I did touch my face, I also heard it as a koan.
Face… such an interesting word. What we ‘face’ things with. The face we put upon things. The face behind which we hide. The face that draws the eyes to meet another pair of eyes and begin to read the lineaments of another human being’s soul. The tiny set of variations – minutely particular miniscule differences in shape and position of eyes, nose, mouth – that generates currently nearly 8 billion instantly recognizable personal faces.
As Maxine was suggesting on Sunday afternoon, one way we can locate a very good practice point in ‘Don’t touch your face!’ is most directly a keener noticing of what we are doing and being in this very moment. As Taylor Plimpton suggested recently in Tricycle, “… just because you feel an itch on your face does not mean you need to scratch it.” Instead, experience it fully, and let its sensation keep you present, awake, alive. Notice your desire to solve it, fix it, respond to it—but don’t. Keep your hands settled and calm. Let the itch rise and fall. What’s the worse that can happen if you don’t scratch it? Will that tickle on your nose kill you? No, but apparently, scratching it in the era of COVID-19 might.”
And then if you must, scratch your nose with your sleeve or the back of your hand … before going crazy.
But there’s another way to turn this koan in the light of the Dharma, touching (excuse the dangerous word) into the koan, ’What is your original face, the one you had before even your parents were born?’ In the light of this koan, is it even possible to avoid the touch?
Let’s inquire into this matter of face, and touch, at our next gathering, on Sunday.
Dear Sangha,
I just received my (very belated) copy of the New York Review of Books, and came across this little story in an essay called “Buddhist Baedekers”. It begins like this:
Once there was a woman who lived inside a rock. She had a husband, a desiccated, barren yogi, who also inhabited the rock and spent his days and nights in meditation, striving for liberation from earthly existence; he never touched his wife, whom he had created out of his own imagination. The woman, “like a lotus burnt by frost,’ was weary of this loveless life: she, too, sought release. One day a great sage, Vasishtha, wandering through the wilderness, heard the woman singing a sad and gentle song; he followed her voice and found her sitting outside the rock. She introduced herself and told the sage her story. She also taught him how to follow her into the rock. This took some practice – at first Vasishtha could see only the rough, stony surface. Eventually, he was able to enter the deep, open spaces inside. There he saw endless worlds folded within worlds; every atom contained millions of interlocking universes.
It’s a great story. It resonates on many levels, especially in this moment of forced isolation and “social distancing”. The desiccated, barren yogi can’t touch his wife because he’s fixated on liberating himself from earthly existence, represented by his wife, who for the time being remains a figment of his imagination, a fantasy. This is serious trap indeed – the dream of transcending the body, escaping pain, passion and difficulty. But the woman, thankfully, grows weary of this “loveless life”, and sings her sad and gentle song. It’s this that catches the sage’s ear and brings the two together – beyond inside and outside.
We’re told the sage learns from the woman how to enter the rock. What a beautiful move – to enter the earth itself instead of seeking salvation elsewhere! This takes practice, of course, but it’s what draws the sage into the deep, open spaces inside. He sees millions of interlocking universes, worlds folded within worlds. How wonderful!
I’m reminded of a great case from the Record of Chao-chou. A monk asks, “What about when the three-pronged sword has not yet fallen?” (The three pronged sword is is the moment before discrimination). Chao-chou said, “Densely packed together” The monk asked, “What about after it has fallen?” Chao-chou said, “Wide open spaces.”
We’re living in a strange moment right now. The world can feel like it’s closing in, rubbing up against us, suffocating our lives with bad news and restricted movement. The pressure of change can make everything feel “densely packed together”, even when we’re being told to stand 1.5m apart. From this point of view, it’s easy to see why the sage only saw the rough, stony surface of the rock at first. But he must have asked himself, is that all there is? Or is the rock inviting me into something greater, something of richer value? What if everything is so densely packed together that it becomes seamless, whole?
In response to the monk’s question about what happens after the three-pronged sword has fallen (ie. with discrimination), Chao-chou says, “Wide open spaces.” This can be taken multiple ways – it’s a koan after all. On the one hand, discrimination cuts us off from one another. It creates a space between beings, between me and you, where we are suddenly as far apart as heaven and earth. On the other hand, discrimination can be found to be completely empty, a wide open door to infinite possibility. What a beautiful invitation! And what a beautiful challenge for all of us right now – to find the wide open spaces in the midst of this extraordinary moment of lockdown, isolation, sadness and despair.
To find the wide open spaces in the midst of difficult takes practice, of course. Which is why we gather and turn our attention to all the human warmth, love and sorrow – the “sad, gentle song” – that is being sung right now, in every aspect of our lives. Everywhere I turn I see solemn faces, serious behaviour, genuine tenderness, blessed humour. None of this can be ignored. In fact, it’s the very song we must follow to find the wide open spaces of profound opportunity and connection, the interlocking universes of our lives.
Just ask the woman who lived inside a rock.
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Kynan
Pandemic
This poem by Lynn Ungar was shared in Roshi Susan’s first talk of Term 1 for 2020.
What if you thought of it
as the Jews consider the Sabbath—
the most sacred of times?
Cease from travel.
Cease from buying and selling.
Give up, just for now,
on trying to make the world
different than it is.
Sing. Pray. Touch only those
to whom you commit your life.
Centre down.
And when your body has become still,
reach out with your heart.
Know that we are connected
in ways that are terrifying and beautiful.
(You could hardly deny it now.)
Know that our lives
are in one another’s hands.
(Surely, that has come clear.)
Do not reach out your hands.
Reach out your heart.
Reach out your words.
Reach out all the tendrils
of compassion that move, invisibly,
where we cannot touch.Promise this world your love–
for better or for worse,
in sickness and in health,
so long as we all shall live.
Keeping Quiet
–– by Pablo Neruda (trans. Stephen Mitchell)
Now we will all count to twelve
and we will all keep still.This one time upon the earth,
let’s not speak any language,
let’s stop for one second,
and not move our arms so much.It would be a delicious moment,
without hurry, without locomotives,
all of us would be together
in a sudden uneasiness.The fisherman in the cold sea
would do no harm to the whales
and the peasant gathering salt
would look at his torn hands.Those who prepare green wars,
wars of gas, wars of fire,
victories without survivors,
would put on clean clothing
and would walk alongside their brothers
in the shade, without doing a thing.What I want shouldn’t be confused
with final inactivity:
life alone is what matters,
I want nothing to do with death.If we weren’t unanimous
about keeping our lives so much in motion,
if we could perhaps do nothing for once,
perhaps a great silence would interrupt this sadness,
this never understanding ourselves
and threatening ourselves with death,
perhaps the earth is teaching us
when everything seems to be dead
and everything is alive.Now I will count to twelve
and you keep quiet and I’ll go.
Talk #1 from Term 1 of our Online Zen Group for 2020.
Teacher: Roshi Susan Murphy
Click on the recording below to listen to this talk now. We will upload a transcription when it becomes available. ()
Categories
Artworks by Anouk
Artworks created by Anouk (Karen’s almost 8 year old daughter)…
Anouk has this to say:
“I was listening to BTN – that’s Behind The News; it’s a news show for kids on ABC. They’ve been talking a lot about this corona virus thing and as I listened I started to draw and write what I was hearing. Like what it looks like under a microscope. Cells without the virus and then cells with the virus attached. A sink and soap and a towel… because we all need to wash and dry our hands, a lot.
Karen:
“I went into Anouk’s room on Saturday afternoon and saw these drawings on her desk. I found them shocking at first. Then beautiful. Now they make me cry. This is one of the ways that she is processing what she is hearing and learning. They made me reflect on the importance for us as humans to have space to begin to process and express what is happening. Unstructured play; to see what comes.”
