A Poetics of Kukai (Kōbō Daishi)

The basis of the teachings of the Great Hermit (i.e., the Buddha) is to benefit sentient beings by the teaching of names. For the benefit of the world, writing and composition have their origin in the times of virtuous people. Consequently, in the midst of emptiness and in the midst of rubbish there was the appearance of written characters. On the turtle shell and the dragon back, natural writing is disclosed. The transformation from the age of the sages of ancient times over many revolutions of celestial bodies is reflected in the educational training of the people of all the countries on earth. Like the sound of all sorts of musical instruments, laypersons were governed by the brilliance of writing. Elegant! Lustrous! In the internal worlds and the external worlds (the world Buddhists and non-Buddhists), who remembers this? As an old sūtra says, the non-backsliding bodhisattvas surely were the first to understand writing and composition.

Confucius had these sayings, “My children, why do you not study the Book of Odes? The Odes serve to stimulate the mind. They may be used for purposes of self-contemplation. They teach the art of sociability. They show how to regulate feelings of resentment. From them you learn the immediate duty of serving one's father, and the remoter one of serving one's prince;” and, “The man who has not studied the Chau-nan and the Shao-nan is like one who stands with his face right against a wall.” Thus, the meaning of writing and composition is wide! It is far reaching!

Through writing, the five sounds are captured and the significance of five colors is grasped. Through composition, reason shines. The meaning of writing is not obscure. The cause of writing is explained by name. In intonation, the meaning is grasped. The name explains clearly, those not yet awakened become aware. The three teachings (Buddhism, Confucianism and Daoism) share in this. The five vehicles share the same wheel track. Why do strangeness and difficulties enter the sūtras? The Laozi has profound and solitary harmony. Confucius stated immediately and directly. Ziyu and Zixia grasped his words. Qu and Song wrote brilliant poems. Those of the two Han periods were the ancestors of our words. The writers of the three countries were our older brothers. The essence of rhyme was transmitted by mind. Meter was transmitted orally. The successors of Shen Yue and the Liushan; the predecessors of Wang, Jiao, Cui and Rui. The theses on the four tones developed. The taboos of literary production were debated. Yellowed scrolls over flowed writing boxes. Carts were filled. On the path there are the poor yet cheerful, those who have abandoned the circles of copying, the child and the one who loves the pursuit of knowledge, making decisions without cause.

The mendicant (I), under the guidance of my maternal uncle, studied literature, studying abroad in Changan China and listening to other theses. Even though my strong motivation was quiet meditation, I did not waste this opportunity. 

Selection from the Thesis on The Mysterious District of the Mirror of Writing in Kōbō daishi zenshō (Complete Works of Kōbō Daishi) translated by Ron Green ( http://ww2.coastal.edu/rgreen/kukaipoetry.htm ) 

New Clothes

the emperor

  is clothed

    in guilt.

the sage

  is naked

    in love.

o to be

  an honest

    stripper!

Shunzei on the Way of Depth in Poetry

While the Law that was taught by the Buddha himself has profound meaning, poetry, by contrast, may seem to be mere playing at "empty words and ornate speech.” Because poetry, too, reveals the deeper significance of things, however, it can also communicate the Buddha's Way. Moreover, scripture tell us that "even the very desires and attachments themselves are enlightenment," and the Lotus Sutra that "even secular works and actions intended to promote life are all in accord with the True Law of the Buddha." The …Sutra of Meditation on the Bodhisattva of Universal Wisdom further explains that while we may say that "this is sinful" or "this is good," in fact both "sin" and "good" are unreal, for the heart itself is Void. In this sense, we may speak of the Way of "depth" in poetry, too, in the light of the …Dialectic of Void, Provisional Reality, and Mediated Reality, for it also communicates the Way of the Buddha's Law.

 … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …

…if as time passes I can come to an understanding of the limitless profundity of the Buddha's Law through an understanding of the profundity of Japanese poetry, I will thereby create the effect of being reborn in paradise and will be able to realize the Bodhisattva's vow to save all living beings. Then, in fact, I will have turned my words of poetry to praise of the Buddha that can travel far and wide to those countries that have heard the Buddha's law and lead the beings of this world to enlightenment.

~Shunzei (tr. David Pollack)

Rashomon: a live-tweet viewing diary

rashomon

first, not understood. there was an accident on the way. no, the wind is the cause!

using the passage of silent time as the dialogue between the characters.

with kurosawa, it's not so much an influence of silent films as it is the understanding of silence. and the significance of action.

talkies were so fascinated with voice, it became all noise!

clint eastwood owes his existence to kurosawa's understanding. curious name there too when you don't think about it.

the secret to the code of rashomon. everything bad is forgotten. everything good is remembered. everything forgotten is remembered as good.

but what is no recollection?

how great is it when she begins to laugh maniacally? you go girl!

is rashomon actually a radically feminist film?

as a sidenote, well aware of the vagaries of all translations, i'm always suspect of the accuracy of subtitles in foreign films.

when her laughter stops, it gets real.

the dream is driven by fear and not anything else.

maybe the best interpretation of a swordfight ever!

"The best lack all conviction, while the worst

     Are full of passionate intensity.

    Surely some revelation is at hand"

is the bystander really innocent?

aka. the witness.

"i don't want this place to be hell"

kurosawa must have been like an adult among children who thought they were adults

ah, now comes the pearl of the story!

god i love seeing long unafraid silence in a movie as if the director is so confident in one's inspiration, we can't wait. but we must.

now comes the monk's story. hmmm.

so. the entire story is that of the monk. very interesting. and so. either completely true or false. your call.

the ending which appears to be a beginning?

great movie deserving of reputation. nothing is revealed. side note, interesting that some of the tics of mifune character appear in yojimbo

end rashomon. or is it?

it's all about what you believe. which is why ultimately it's all about having no belief about belief.

Call and Response

Division is the thing and love is seeing through it.

We join this story now in progress. It doesn't matter if the name was Cain, but somebody got killed and someone else is bound to get revenge.

Division is the thing and love is seeing through it.

Despite the universal truth that separation in this one holistic universe is unrealistic and impossible, the personal condition is accepted as the norm.

Division is the thing and love is seeing through it.

In a world accepting separation to be normal, war is not just inescapable, inevitable, and unpreventable, it's the definition of the state itself.

Division is the thing and love is seeing through it.

Who’s not to say the mental illness of a person is directly in proportion to an inability accepting this insanity as normal?

Division is the thing and love is seeing through it.

A knowing child is born into this world and cries to nurse upon a mother's breast.

Division is the thing and love is seeing through it.

A Very Mystic May Thirteenth

An oriole is being golden-voiced. Sea-level mountain air is expanding my appearance into gossamery glass.

I feel the druid life force of the spring like universal electricity illuminating every leaf and every cell within this body.

I am being powered by the source to know the source is what I am and I am That and this is Tao one syllable irradiating at a time.

These words reveal the infinite experience that's always there but overlooked until forgotten.

Within a cobalt sky, awareness pays attention and this being spends it on a thought or two.

The fool is thinking that it's me; devotees work for my intent; and I direct the universe so I may know myself.

Fantastic in a flash, this world is manifested. Every setting is bejeweled and every scene is circled with a ringing knowing.

Please excuse me for my one beloved is appearing now and I must go and join her.

The Peepers of Buddha Nature

Last night I listened to the peepers celebrate this paradise to which I came after I'd escaped from almost twenty years of marriage going down the crude proverbial tubes.

I heard them first in spring of ninety-five and I had never heard their like before, the chorus of an earth awakening from ice and its oblivion. They teach a simple lesson though.

The paradise that's lost is never really lost; it's in a state of limited suspended animation. So when I found this place, an unexceptional apartment on an antediluvian island in a tidal river valley,

I knew it wasn't just this place that was defining freedom, but thoughts defining my imprisonment had finally melted away, revealing what is always here although I had forgotten.

Too often we will move from place to place attempting to escape a state of consciousness which follows us from place to place, and even waits for us if we enjoy some sweet but short vacation. The irony is almost tragic.

So when, again, I found this place, I also, by some grace, had recognized I had to value its reflective qualities allowing me to then investigate the state of consciousness itself,

as if those peepers in the wetlands looked within, discovering they're not only of the earth, but they’re the earth itself, and winter is a season only passing through them.

Paradise, in other words, is not a place. It's what I am, this consciousness, this space.

The Unknown Sun and the Moon of Wu Wei

The cherry blossoms are departing and the lilacs in the dooryard are in deepest purple bloom. Fantastic tales are told by every latest leaf.

An absolute and unknown sun of pure awareness is reflecting in the moon of mind within the silent midnight sky of universal consciousness.

O wonder of that heavenly intent, now this moon is full upon the passing of its fourteen days of evolution, or it's fourteen million years,

depending how you measure. There is nothing one can do but bask within the light and watch as earthly shadows are directed.

Last night I woke within a dream as if rogue runaway thoughts had been impersonating the solar unnamed one, usurping its subjective singularity,

forgetting its intent, and doing everything it does to keep itself in insubstantial, incongruous, alienating motion.

But even such absurdity is powered by the simple way and sees in time surrendering is all the motivational free will it owns instead.

And resting in that unknown hour between the darkness and the dawn, the moon is shining free and knowing in its boundless springtime bed.

James Carville's Treatise on Enlightenment

Early leaf and bird call. Hiker, be like God. And keep your topographic map inside your own back pocket.

No tradition has been more successful than experiential now. This consciousness is all I know

and all I know about the world is in that knowledge. Yes, my yesterday is just a memory; now has nothing near in common to the past.

Turning words that point to now into a practice or belief or even worse, religion, is traditional,

and killing Buddha, Jesus, Zhuangzi after following their point to here and now is just a form of self-defense.

And finger me no finger; it's the moon, O stupid!

The Unknown Sonnet

Experience directs thought; thought impersonates experience.

Poetry is the song of bodhisattva.

My mythology is my poetry.

The first koan: now is three.

Body-surfing six foot waves.

The valley spirit can't get lower.

Not taking a stand is not the same as no mirror.

Play your character as if Tao was writing it.

First flash fiction: the unknowing knows.

You have to forget yourself before you know yourself.

The body is my sweet ride.

You make your night as long it needs to be.

The more I'm sure of myself, the less I know myself.

Evolution. Tao. Holy Spirit. Intent. Now without thought. Amen.