sitting

we sit mind to mind no medium
intervening

intuition plain and simple
plays between us

three sheets to any wind
drunk on sense-less
spaciousness

thought and its companions
disappear like Hui-Neng’s dust
on a non existent mirror

a man and his paper-bagged bottle (the extinguishment of form and consciousness)

he shambles down Cleveland St any time of day
his poxy beard, in pieces, frames crooked
smiles and twitches. Almond eyes and wrinkles

map unimagined journeys from lands
we’ve never heard of, etch emotions we’ve
never felt. Unmasked, raw vision, he drinks

himself from the paper-bagged bottle
refugee, boat person, drunk.

If seeing is the result of having
Nothing to stand upon;
he sees us all.

a way can be a guide *

The mystery of mysteries
Is the gateway of marvels.

There is a garden in Meiji-ji
that has a sign which
says, “way” and points
you down a bending path

I take it.

* The Essential Tao