Poetic
Matrix
a periodic letteR on the poetic experience
online letteR 5
Poems Page 1
by Taiyu John Robertson
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Last Zazen
It’s one thing
to think
how life and death
are the same,
and another
to taste it
first hand.
My friend died last night,
out of the blue
in mid step.
When we found out,
right before morning zazen,
it seemed there ought to be
something
to do
besides simply doing
what we always did..
In the end though,
we lit the candle,
bowed,
and rang the bell
just like always.
After it was over,
I turned to tidy the alter,
and saw his cushion
flat and flipped the wrong way
also, just like always,
and thought how
for so long
I straightened
and fixed his space,
before bowing out.
This would be
the last time
for that.
Somehow both
numb and sad
we put his rakasu
down where he
usually sat
and moved,
all frozenlike,
into the morning sun.
Life and death
aren’t two.
Neither is sitting
and mourning,
remembering
and forgetting,
holding
and letting
go.
The stone steps
he nearly finished building
felt rock solid
under my feet,
though they too
will someday crumble
when the time comes.
^^^^^^^^^
Its
it’s the step beyond the top
of the 100 foot pole
and the corner where you cannot
move an inch;
it’s the night after jail
collapsed on the hallway floor
weeping,
and the place where there’s
absolutely
no known clue
what to do next;
it’s the blind in the dark
and the roaring staggering sea;
it’s the atomic realization
that the world will not be conquered
and there ain’t enough smokes and
sex
to get through the night,
much less the rest of your life,
and it’s being old,
knowing how death might really feel,
and not caring
that gets you to the point
where maybe
for the first time ever
there’s a chance
this present moment
might actually be
the one you finally
solely
purely
notice
before the baggage
shoves you back out
into the cold
wet place
you always thought before
was all there really was.
^^^^^^^^
Old friends
i run into old friends
here and there
from the rum and coke days
they seem embarrassed
like something bad happened
or maybe worried
I’ll get evangelical
with the whole sobriety Buddhist kick
they heard I’m on
there’s usually a bit
of uncomfortable chit chat
about what’s new and the weather
but you can tell
they just hope
I’ll go away
which is ok
though I want to say
how much I miss those times
and wish there was a way
to still do some of it
without destroying everything
in the process
which is not to say
I’m all high and mighty
about being a sober drunk,
like it’s something special
I know people
who see it that way
which just goes to to show
you can puff up your ego
with damn near anything
nor is it bad
not to be able
to run with the big dogs
it just is
same as how
it just is
to bang into these folks
at Walmart
and watch how they fidget
and flop around
until I shake hands
and run along
before things get
worse for them
then they already are
^^^^^^^^
Life and Death
If you were told
you’re already dead,
as inevitable as the next breath
follows the last,
what would you do?
There’s reason enough in this,
you know,
for why we drink
and sleep
and fuck
and smoke and eat and love,
not to mention build
and attack,
and possess,
and destroy,
because such endeavors
stem the inexorable tide
to what we fear
to be
a bitter dark conclusion.
The small cuts
the bruised fruit
of ended innocence
lost love
racing time
conspiratorial
markers
for how this ends,
already.
So,
what now?
^^^^^^^^
Oceans
There’s no way
to understand
anything
about the ocean
simply standing in the shallows
thinking
this is all there is.
Which is probably why
the small self
I thought
I was
clumsily mindlessly
staggered
through life
careening
from one redemption
to the next,
always
searching for sandy beaches
and cool blue shade.
Until the smallest self
I thought
was all
I was
dived headlong
into the immense hungry ghost
of drinking life
seeking,
craving,
wallowing,
and begging.
And finally
that self
I thought
was all
there was
collapsed
in tears and agony,
sensing somehow,
after no unturned rocks remained,
that indeed,
no unturned rocks remained.
And although
merely knowing,
in itself,
don’t change much,
you gotta start
somewhere.
That night
after that last wave crashed
over this weeping face,
the surf finally somehow
came into view,
my gaze
began to sweep beyond
to the vast deep unknown ocean
stretching endlessly
towards the moon
and the self
I thought was all I was
began to fade
into the misty depths.