One wishes to go into the place
wherein he doesn't have to think about what he knows; rather, he knows what he knows. You have to give up the illusion of control and mastery and learn to accept what you find, whether it is what you wish to have or not. I still think I am writing this place; if I am truly to succeed, this place needs to begin writing me. I still think I must record what I see; the place should force my recording. I fear that I resist the telling. I fear I want too much to be a writer. I am afraid I do not care enough for truth to let go of my own notions and open myself to what it is. It is a wonderful world to be walking through, yet I'm careful to insist that I'm in charge. Long ago we misread Genesis and mistook "caretaker" for "master" - I suffer from that misunderstanding to the very core. I still mistakenly believe this is my story.
Bright blue sky this morning. Bright green sky where the trees are. Sunlight caresses the world and the world wakes. Yet why are the birds so quiet today? I wonder.
It is a cool morning, bordering on cold. I hear a mourning dove now - w-whoo. Our peonies along the garage have fat buds. Three tulips remain. The lilac in the back yard is in bloom. The world might slow to a crawl but she keeps moving.
The flag at the cemetery blows from northeast to southwest. Last evening it flapped straight east to west.
The hawks are in the hawk tree, the pair of them, breasts turned to the sun, one sitting high, the other low. They've got their world covered.
The hawks are in their tree. The old retired farmer is at his flower beds at Five Corners. All is right with the world. One needs to say no more.
Except perhaps that a lone crow south of Ripon is working his way to heaven. Go, crow!
Not much to say here except...yes.
Posted by: beth | May 20, 2006 at 03:37 PM
Hi, Beth--
The final poem in my BIG BOOK OF BEN ZEN is:
Ah, Ben!
Say yes.
Say yes
Again.
Posted by: Tom Montag | May 23, 2006 at 06:40 AM