greum maol stevenson

impermanence

graffiti, the words LOVE AND LET DIE painted on a walking path

When we moved in five years ago, the bottom of this tower block was painted red, so daishin named it the Baboon. We have been happy living here, and we are happy to leave.

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This evening I reread Sam Hamill’s poem The Orchid Flower. I corresponded with him for years, though we never met. He is among the people who have died whom I cannot bring myself to delete from my email contacts, for reasons I do not understand. When he died in 2018, I wrote this poem:

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I wonder if what those who make Zen our lifelong practice have in common is that when we are young we experience what John Tarrant Roshi describes in his book Bring Me the Rhinoceros: “None of the usual solutions to life that were on offer meant much to me.”

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spicebush swallowtail butterfly

For two years, I lived on the edge of woods, on the outskirts of Chattanooga, Tennessee, between a sewage plant, an American Indian burial ground, and the state mental hospital.

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hospital window — outside, waving and smiling, tears falling on frost


Also published on Buddhistdoor Teahouse

#haiku #poetry #impermanence #loneliness #pandemic #covid19

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City Cave Zen Sangha

Profile at Scottish Book Trust

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“is meaning created by language or language created by meaning?”

hot liquid poured fills cup stays there till you drink it   pour it out something else happens


Also published on Buddhistdoor Teahouse

#poetry #zen #impermanence #discourse #language #meaning #MonoNoAware

Mastodon

City Cave Zen Sangha

Profile at Scottish Book Trust

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Red berries dripping with rain

This evening, I have been rereading passing through by Tom Leonard.

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Despite the denial, it is hard to be unaware of death if you pay attention when you walk around Glasgow.

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