Konnichi Wa Haiku Series, Part 5

Dear Readers,

Takayama 

Zen-ji’s ginko leaves

have grown old and died

one thousand, two-hundred times.

 

I had stumbled down the valley in these Japanese Alps to the headwater city of Takayama-shi, the origin of Gifu culture. Takayama is a small, humble mountain town with a river winding cold by its middle. The red bridges cross this mahogany village in November. Hushed mouths whisper in the chilly, grey morning. The shade is an antique here.

Above is the haiku I wrote in Takayama. What a beautiful village. It’s like a Japanese Venice.

Ji is a suffix, meaning temple. A zen temple in central Takayama had a ginko tree that was 1,200 years old. The leaves were only falling after I left the town, shedding in my memories. It stood warm and green in late November. What a metaphorical object for reincarnation.

 

Not into the body, but the new state o mind

Sunday, July 17th

 

Your body is a telescope. You are looking at the sun of existence. The monastery is an oven and we are the bread. Two days since I wrote, 9 since I read. The mornings are murky at 5 in your head.

The man is not silent but yelling. The Chinese believe exercise also includes the voice.

We yawn even through a damp tai chi class. Seems I’m yawning, all day long. The sun is more like an orange on a french canvas than a star. It is a globular moon of the dawn. A ripe apricot. We watch it rise above Taiyuan, just beyond the pagoda.

5:25 AM march to Tai Chi square

The days pass like states through the windows on a road trip. They are long, and seem to stretch infinitely in every direction. The moods are myriad as atoms. The thoughts can’t hide in shaved hair. Can you spot me in the picture? Just below the podium. That’s Sankalp standing up in the front. He’s from Delhi, and Carl the speaker lived there, so they are friends.

This chapter called Monastery Days is a collage of change. I really am thinking less. The sun is out, or the rain is comin’ down, but either way the war is over. We have peace of mind. There’s that quote, “After me, the deluge,” by Louis XIV. So we are living in the deluge of the past. Well, either way we are free.

1/2 our program at Long Quan Monastery is over. The solitude here is like the floor of the sea.

About to get shaved by Program Director Guttorm

The temple walls have been here all your life. And longer, so empty your heart from the rafters on down.

Me and roommate Casey Dawson. Yifa is our program’s founder (far right)

They say this funny thing about being reincarnated in this life. Not into a body, but a new state of mind.

Tea Time with Taiji Master