for p’arang iii

you and I are

just breath-breathing human beings,

lowering our heads

below the plane

occupied by our feet,

upside down

and topsy-turvy are

the realm of opening and life.

the sacred unfolds

within your shining eyes tonight.

reflection is within

the ticking of the clock on the wall.

love–

is a manifestation of our

ability to just let go,

letting go–

is a demonstration of

our will to be free.

I–

 which has never existed,

loves you–

that I will never know,

within this appearance,

I can only aspire

to touch your heart

and kiss your forehead

and know

we have never

ever

been

apart..........

It is with a discerning heart

It is with a discerning heart

And a compassion

That comes from

The depths of my soul,

That I come to you

With my spirit exposed

And my grace extends

From the inner

Workings of your heart

To be present

Is to be alive,

To be absorbed

So completely

In the action

That any idea

Of self and other

Never rose

Into cosmic awareness.

This is you

And this is me

And this is we

For you and I

Are not different.

For you and I

Are never the same.

It is just

That he and she

Became

All that I see.

perhaps there are moments,

perhaps there are moments,

which each of us realize

that our whole life

is hanging in the balance–

of a simple glance–

or a look–

that we have been

patiently waiting for

our entire lives.

it is with this solemn grace

and the virtue of ten thousand distractions

that we can see through

to the core

of all human emotion,

and when we realize

that it is not just for our own

momentary satisfaction

and that an entire cosmos has opened up

that was hidden previously

from our purview.

it is the sanctity of the pure heart

and the vow passed from two

waiting lips–

this life is not mine

I can not do with it

what I want.

a Sufi student

Image via Wikipedia

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

Image via Wikipedia

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

Image via Wikipedia

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