a Sufi student

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a Sufi student came to stay a while

the meditation would do him good.

we talked of Buddhism and of Zen,

spoke of Rumi and Kabir.

we talked of the path the Daoist takes

and the one the Moslem’s tread.

with all the stops along the way

this journey seems sometimes long.

he was told of secrets

known only to a Sufi master,

to which I could only respond;

“the only secret is, there is no secret

 and nothing left to find.”

he argued; “only a chosen few,

have the secret truth revealed.”

this idea a misguided interpretation

the Mevlana had also heard that lie,

I handed him a book of Rumi poems

a single tear welled in his eye.

he read that book both day and night,

and talked of nothing else.

all this teaching so wide and clear

but these poems remained another’s words.

the secret hidden from his grasp,

he will never find what he seeks.

desire brought him to stay with me,

that same desire drove him away.

we embraced before his journey south

I was sad to see him go.

the only thing we’ve heard of since;

someone defiled his Quran.

January 8, 1998

La Habra, CA

winter into spring

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grey sky and cold wind.

leaves and branches

dance in the rain.

tall pine trees

wave their furry arms.

this somber mood—

a reflection of wind

rustling through the trees.

red clay tile roof

shiny from the rains.

spring blossoms fall to the ground—

a lone starling chirping

from some hidden nest.

rain drops splash

on the surface of the pool—

while the spring blossoms

float in patterns

directed by the wind.

life follows this cycle of events.

winter becomes spring,

spring becomes summer,

summer into autumn,

to begin the cycle again.

breathing and feeling

the cool wind against my face—

time and place are no longer separate.

dawn

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the sun reflects beneath

scattered cirrus clouds.

fingers of pink and grey light

radiate like a spoke

from the source.

early mornings are a wonder

before the world has awaken.

quiet and still,

peaceful and alive.

the radiance penetrates the soul

and moves me towards a door.

calm and serene

no movement

besides the breath

within this space

the universe unfolds

its mystery.

January 2, 1998

Haean Sŏnwŏn

wooden idols?

a wooden Buddha sits quietly on the altar

reminding the sangha to be patient and diligent

a wooden Virgin Mary stands behind the pulpit

reminding the parishioners to be compassionate and pure

a wooden Cross graces the wall above the podium

reminding the congregation

of the great sacrifice and suffering.

some would say there is a difference,

that images of people are pagan idols.

some would say they are all only wooden images

and ultimately they are the same.

the same or different, this is the dilemma,

don’t get trapped, your thinking will kill you.

neither of these are correct

pay attention, wake up

Buddha and the Virgin Mary are smiling

the wooden cross has two perpendicular lines.

how may I help you, today?

December 18, 1996

Hae An Soen Won

Poem for Kathy Daul

poem for K. D.

vast blue cloudless winter sky

empty and void this morning,

true nature revealed.

your azure blue eyes are sometimes like this.

some mornings the fog is very thick and cold.

other mornings the low grey clouds hang dense and dark;

but, the sky is always the same.

just like this true nature is always there,

sometimes manifest—sometimes obscure.

how silly to chase our problems and ideas,

are they not just clouds that have appeared by themselves

and will disappear with no intervention?

how many mornings—forgetting the sky?

how many times—ignoring true nature?

the blue mountains are looming in the distance.

somehow  laughing at our frailty

their message is clear.

hurry up!

but, be gentle along the way.

January 11, 1996

Beach Blvd.—Huntington Beach, CA

Kathy Daul

every shining thing

“inside this box
is a gold chain and pendant
which says Buddha in Chinese,
it is there to remind
you of your true-self
always and everywhere.”
a cool breeze is in the air,
birds begin to fly south.
flowers of spring beginning to recede.
a smile is on my face.
what a miracle—breathing each moment.
38 years have passed before today.
autumn is approaching,
bodies grow old and weary,
but our true self is constant and pure.
the sky is grey in the morning,
crickets chirping every evening.
Zen Master Lin Chi once said;
“gold is a very precious thing,
but if gold dust gets in your eyes
it clouds the vision.”

October 10, 1995
Happy Birthday Kathy

flight 851

kwan-se-um-bosal,

kwan-se-um-bosal,

kwan-se-um-bosal.

the 737 shakes and rattles

breaking ground at dawn.

morning mist and fog

obscures the sometimes

sharp edge at the horizon.

moments like these

bring me face to face

with my own mortality.

yesterday’s despair and loneliness

give way to joyful anticipation.

the grey earth and blue sky

meet at this fuzzy

pink and red juncture.

leaving dallas behind

the sun rises in the east,

as popping ears

constantly change the pitch

of the droning engines

and the hiss

of the air conditioned wind.

January 20, 1996

Over Central Texas