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M. L. Weber Cloud, Mountain 1. Kukai wandered, very much alone, yet
being an idiot he did not
mind he paid no mind, he paid no landlord,
luckily it was a dry
summer so he wandered, full of thoughts,
which he let go, which he
did not mind . As you might listen
to music you move from beat
to beat with ease "when it
flows" . A twisted strip of road
disappears barely past the first foothill I drive in
shadow while above snow glints in
sun blue beyond that blue with the mountains blue turned purple by
green the white prevails against
the blue sun glints off windshields on a road south of Las Vegas a traffic jam in the
middle of nowhere To the top of the mountain a dark line of telephone
poles . Life consists of
captured moments separated by abysses of despair confusion,
frustration, ice cream cones at Howard Johnson's then fill up the car head towards Las
Cruces past Lordsburg,
Arizona where a Guatelmalan in a cowboy hat sat on his saddle his thumb stuck out . Aluminum paint on tin
siding, shines in moonlight, hangs on, rust dark
between the ridges the moon isn't much
bigger really than a dime held at
arm's length it just seems to loom over the old garage casting a large
shadow hiding half of the
wrecked car sprawled out in front its windows
busted into jewels . A statue of St.
Francis stands near a gas station the sun blasts
through a cloud of smog The saint projects
his cross forward militantly Or with exuberant
blessing seems about to step
off his pedestal The gas station is
white, sepuchral against the gray of
the street A homeless man keeps
his eyes down his body not wanting
to move but it is daylight he cannot stop here . Three crosses by a
highway mark death by accident death by car wreck Thick clouds moved in all morning but here the light breaks
through Sand on the road
shoulder glints like gold all the brighter
against the gray landscape dry, dust-blown grassland at best at worst, turning
into desert . The wind took the
clouds away, the sky clean and deep
somehow as if blue had a
cottony texture- tiny spots that
intimate shadow Perhaps it is black
space not quite covered . A wide meadow
spreads out, runs down, one side against the
rocks, bushes filled with
birds You called it
"magpie meadow" Under the sun, your skin only
reddened between the
freckles, a white line across the forehead where your hair fell to the side . The mind has several
waiting rooms but only one receptionist. . Kukai on himself: "He was not known for his
talents, and his words and actions were nothing to speak
of. Sleeping in the snow with only his arm to pillow his head, and eating wild plants on the cloudy peaks–that is
all he knew." . The mind can be other than absorbed in thoughts about what to do, what I should have done, and instead be at one with
the body with a breath an itch a
pain you move through your
shoulders the slight shift of the
spine as you straigthen up the sound of a car
passing someone else's breathing a bird chirping the subtext of thoughts blooming like crystals . "But I watch myself do everything. I want to know what I'm doing. I have to decide." "What are
you saying?" "I must decide
to decide, I can't be without a guide for then I'd be nothing." "What are you
saying?" "I mean if you don't think
about why you're doing something you're
just at the mercy of chance." "What are you
saying?" . Pain as pain pleasure as pleasure pain passes through pleasure passes
through 2. Kukai walked in a snowfall with no
wind, no mind sparse,
big flakes falling straight down, out of a
foggy, white sky silent, deep
brushland covered the hills where he walked
until he came to a
slanted face of sandstone, red and still warm from
yesterday's sun the
snowflakes melted as soon as they fell, he looked up and saw them appear one by
one, gray against the white of the sky, taking
on shadows as they
came into view individuated, some fell perfect onto
the stone outlined
there, six arms of the hexagon, then absorbed by the
rock's heat into the
porous surface or falling on his eyelashes, he had
to blink them away and looked
into distance space filled with moving points,
drawing Kukai across the
hills . Winter being the most poetic season,
or autumn summer the least– but autumn perhaps is too showy,
flares briefly, solitude
comes more with winter and heat is felt as Thoreau
said "by the least fleck of sun" hitting
the walker unexpectedly, and silence and the
drama of a winter night, either bright with
stars or cast with a moon . When you arise to begin your unknown
journey call it
fated destiny, or simply
destination, direction on which you
spiral, seeking the chosen way– though now
it seems less than clear which way is
chosen as the king's patronage no longer applies and dervishes do not wander the roads and no one gives hospitality . Kukai believed in
freedom, this is what he sought– not a paradise of earthly riches,
nor a pleasure of the body though spiritual bliss
includes a physical calm yet evil
disappointed him and when he
journeyed he was often robbed . He arrived at the palace in late January where, on her daily
speed-walk after vomiting a light
breakfast, the queen saw him spreading his poncho over the
frost-sparkled grass of the manor lawn She took him to be a guru as he tried to
ignore her shapely legs pink with the cold
air and exercise. To her, he seemed graceful as he
assumed the lotus position his hands on his knees his eyes settling
six feet in front and staying there as
she circled looking him over "Excuse me," she
said, for she was not a
snob, and though a queen did not intrude on
anyone, "could I ask you a
question?" Kukai looked up– seeing the queen's
smile quite alarmed him that is, he fell in love at that moment if you can call it love for he fell about
twice a day which he had noticed
as being too often so it wasn't the
smile that alarmed nor the love but the awareness of it happening so often which alarmed him (though at a later stage the alarm would be noticed,
Kukai then thought he saw all his
emotions clearly –the
"love" for example blooming instantly as he flushed from
his face to the center of his
seated manhood) The queen continued, his reply too laconic, "Do you have to
push yourself to meditate or does it just come
easily to you?" Kukai's mind
stuttered, the question was so broad, the
implications of why she asked it,
Kukai's personal backstory, his present relation
to his practice, how a woman could
have such white teeth, and a thousand other
contexts roared into his mind but he tried not to be too slow she might think him
mute "One must find the
time," he said, "then you must
sit. If those two things are difficult then you must push,
yes. Allow yourself to
sit however you may, you should not press
the mind into what you think
'meditation' is, okay?" "Are you hungry?"
the queen asked, finding his words
very simple though sincere. "I'll have a
meal brought to you." Kukai raised his
hand to protest, but she said, "It's no
problem, I'm the queen of this land, and you are welcome,
gentle teacher. Now I must
walk," and she left
abruptly, starting up her stop
watch once again to make sure she
worked off the proper amount of calories . A constant "wall to wall"
thread of babble, the random detail You keep going over
and over what you expect to do this evening what time you should
get home, shower, and the car needs gas It's all very busy, but you think you keep
some order, assert control until the night when dreams crowd in They usually make
only snatches of sense– it seems you look for their meaning with the higher part
of your mind, glean some story from the flood, though when you try to close upon the actual
words they fall apart into jumble A ceaseless sub-text spirals itself
through the visual tricks in which distortions come easily like gods turning
into swans, bulls and snakes . "For instance, it's difficult at first to
adjust to solitary
practice after life in the everyday world. Unexpected
things happen in the mind, delusions and
attachments come welling up, and subsconscious
fixations can grow out of all proportion because
one's concentration is so deep.... Hallucinations can become intense during the practice
because one is going directly to a deep level of the
mind. They should not be cut off, however, but
recognized for what they are without either enjoying them or fearing
them.... During the course
of the practice the hallucinations
gradually diminished.... All my senses became
clearer and sharper, including my smell and hearing,
to the point that I felt I could hear the
sound of incense burning...."
Taiko Yamasaki . Strips of blue
between clouds moving horizontally across the horizon the tops white,
bottoms gray with shadow and a hint of rain Below them swifts
catch flies, circling a meadow surrounded by evergreens Relentless, never landing, how
do they see them such a creature, performing an everyday
task amassing tons of
insects these birds never stopping unlike we humans who must
consider our lives, some of
us sit back, drink in hand and call a life
wasted perhaps those are the ones reborn
as flies . A two-fisted man
with a chicken head holds a giant
milkshake his rooster comb and bright red shirt attract the eye to
stop at Sterling's Sooper
Save . Live life with a wide margin like Thoreau
who took a three hour walk every afternoon walked later if he had to work that day
walked at night much of the time
around his hometown, a civilized
abode, back when no one walked people had a very low opinion of him and his
"wide margin" which he said
needs to left around whatever we do he said he often
sat the whole morning from dawn to
noon on his doorstep listening to the
birds . Above the gateway to
the cemetery a skull and crossbones crudely cut from
white poster board and a wreath of
flowers –roses and
marigolds– women bring buckets
of more flowers All kinds and colors interwoven in chains draped over the
walls circling the
headstones bordering the graves . Do you think the
cattle think themselves better than this prairie? Or the rattlesnake holds himself
above the mice he preys
upon? . I sink into the
water letting it pass over my lips, a
gentle coolness as if I were a little
boy again feeling my form
outlined from meeting with
the water Away in the distance the landscape on the
horizon into which I stare
with longing (to be continued)
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