Monday, September 29, 2008

No Win


I fight a hopeless battle on the strip
A foe I never will defeat—my coach
Each thought, word, deed the butt of clever quip
With each earnest attempt, I earn reproach
Outcome ordained, the deck already stacked
My confidence and will adroitly cracked
Do I not see the exercise has changed?!
Be smart! If you see opening, then leap!
Your acts must be spontaneous, unplanned
But do exactly what I say, don’t sleep!
With weaker opponents I “just compete”
With stronger foes my action’s incomplete
Wrist flops, arm bends, I lag, and miss my cue
Improve! But do not try, no try—just do
If you say you come to practice, come!
Excuses just provoke an Arctic chill
Sore arm, bruised rib, pulled muscle, swollen thumb
Mere lies to hide a most unstable will
But, if I’m honest, I’m forced to admit
The blame for this fiasco lies with me
I brought it on myself, and must submit
Why did I ever say I want my “B”?!

Friday, September 26, 2008

Unbalanced Equation


I never got the hang of algebra

Strangely, later on, I took to Calculus right off, following the soaring arcs of growth. Manipulating limits--I’m all about that.

Statistics tickled me, contradicting common sense, puncturing pretense, promising a glimpse of hidden truth.

But earlier, about eighth grade, I hit a wall. At first, it seemed not bad, solving for a variable or two. Unknown quantities—that’s just life.

But bump that up to three, and I was lost. No clear route to the solution—just the equation standing like a brick wall. I couldn’t see a door, much less the key. I would leap, dodge, batter or negotiate, all to no avail. Ending, bruised and baffled, in a blizzard of paper documenting failed attacks.

My best friend—she could see the answer, obvious and ordinary, waiting at the gate. But how, I asked seeking Cliff Notes for the koan). “It just is” she demurred, “I can’t say how.” And so she shared in my poor grades, but for the opposite sin—arriving on time and in the right place without a mapping of the route.

And now, damn it all, it turns out to be a necessary skill, and not abstract at all. Fencing, work and home, facing off against the one set value, 24 uncompromising hours.

Wrestling with two, I’ll strike a precious truce—adequate practice, a home-cooked meal, and wham, the third collapses, my misleading strength undone by lack of sleep. Or sleep gains ground, and work suffers, scattered on my desk at end of day.

Most often these two vie for time: the household and the blade. Some weeks, I spend more time awake in company of coach than with my spouse. And how to place a value on this “a”, this “b”? The arduous simplicity of practice: the company of seekers, challenges to everything I know or think I know, a life’s work, a constant tempest of the soul. The comforting and mundane tasks of life: the cats fed, bread baked, garden weeded, a decade’s long duet of growth and change unfolding slowly, slowly.

The math is clear—I can’t have both, at least not all of both. And thinking back, I remember that these problems have, in fact, two answers, two stable states, each equally true. There is no balance in between, caught in an unsteady state. So even if the answer comes, if intuition strikes, and it just
is, the answer’s not an answer but a choice.

I never got the hang of algebra...

Friday, September 12, 2008

An Invitation


Step across the line, into the sacred space
Encompassing our practice
Enter a timeless world
Commit to mindfulness, to curiosity

Settle inward, spiral towards the light
That shines within, pretense strips away
Unveiling our true selves
Each perfect as we are, yet striving towards perfection

Then blossom outward
Capturing each sound each scent each touch
Reeling in the world
And cast it back, with confidence and grace

Saturday, August 9, 2008

Metta Meditation

May I be safe from inner and outer harm
Splinter and blade, passion and regret
May I be happy and peaceful at heart
As puddled cat, splayed in summer sun
May I be well and strong
Respite from rip, bruise, tear, and time
May I pursue joy in my life
Up to the edge of the world, and on

Sunday, July 27, 2008

Inventory

A sharp and clever face
A biting wit
A fertile thumb
A feeling for the dough
Facility with words sufficient to bamboozle even me
Innumerable bruises at any give time, inside and out
A deep unease
     About my motivations, certainties, and trust
Compassion, hobbled by my doubts
Astounding arrogance and pride
     Combined with expectations none could meet, especially me
A small mole on the sole of my left foot
A callused right forefinger (balancing my blade)
A twining net of scars upon my arm, the map of my impatience
A hunch there can be more, even after forty-seven years
The list will grow and change...

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

Faith


for no good reason, that:

the bread will rise
guests will laugh, slurp, nibble, flirt, and head home
sated, happy, eager to return
tomato seeds, pushed into warm and weedy earth, will fruit and topple
my touch will land, firm, gentle and precise
You will still be there, a warm and softly wheezing lump beneath the sheet
when I awake

all without my effort,
credit
or control

Sunday, July 20, 2008

Mulitiplicit"I"ies


I am a conference of self
Rancorous, unintegrated, vying for control


I: Adventurer                             
I: Protector of the Status Quo
Active, curious, engaged            
Opinionated, certain, self-assured
Seeking novelty and risk             
Cherishing the known, true, safe
Challenged, I leap                      
Poked, I bite


I: Competitor                            
I: Friend and Lover
Jealous, needy, insecure           
Unselfconscious, 
                                                     considerate and warm
Pursuing victory                        
Caring for the other
Stroked, I purr  
Asked, I give


Somewhere at the center: one fixed point
A budding Bodhisattva
Aware, awake, and unattached
Watches with compassion
A little bit amused.
Please, take charge…

Friday, July 18, 2008

Before the First Bout

Poised, on guard
Slowly, slowly letting go my breath
Savoring the most perfect moment
The next few minutes, a glorious unknown
    There is a chance,
            My mind will clear
           My feet will dance,
           My blade will find its mark
    I will be clever, cunning, humorous and wise
I will be bold and unconstrained
I will, I will…
All things are possible…
Choose

Falling Short

Я пуля в оружии
Я катушка пружине
Я наскок в кошке

Но, иногда

Порох влажен
Катушка застревает
Кошка спит

I am the bullet in the gun
I am the coiled spring
I am the cat's leap

But sometimes

The powder is damp
The spring jams
The cat sleeps

Барсук Доверия

доверять(ся)

I trust
Each action has no end
Each touch—only a beginning
Phrase flows to phrase
A conversation patiently unfolds

Я доверяю
Каждое действие не имеет никакого конец
Каждое укол есть только начало
Фраза течет в фраза
Разговор терпеливо открывается

in collaboration with V. Pokalenko