The Journey to Nothing

May the merits of my practice today contribute to the liberation of all sentient beings.  Peaceful day! Namo Amitabha Buddhaya!🙏

To seek is to suffer.  To seek nothing is bliss. -Bodhidharma

bubble thin membrane no thing inside, no outside  shivering temporary

Two hostia shoots remain. In Autumn light and grass bright green clouds of gnats dance

she drinks some water from my index finger, stinger ready her black eyes Bees like me and I like bees.  This one drank from a drop of water on my index finger. During a early fall cold snap I discovered a bee on our outside table. She was not moving and I supposed she was dead.  Still, I picked her up and held her gently in my cupped hands.  I blew warm air on her gently and she slowly started to move.  She stood, engaged her wings, briefly looked up at me, and flew away.

misty windy walk clapping branches to keep warm, white birch exchange bows I didn't record the date for this one .

It is rainy, cold Bare gardens dream of spring blooms Robins sing at dawn

Hello and welcome.  I am Henry. This is a little place to house my poetry and some thoughts about my spiritual journey. I admire the great Japanese haiku master Basho, as well as the poetry of the Chan masters, such as Han Shan (寒山) and Shiwu (石屋). The recitations of some of this poetry is done by  Samaneri Jayasara , a Buddhist Nun living in a small community in Australia, are wonderful.  Check the Zen Buddhism play list on YouTube using the link attached to her name.  For me her recitations are like coming home, like hearing stories told by my kindergarten teacher just before nap time. I find Red Pine's translations readable and enjoyable. Most of his work is available through Amazon.  Just search for Red Pine.  Please support his work. His translation of The Platform Sutra makes me smile. My poetry The titles (dates) are place holders for me and hold no significance, other than the season in which they were composed.   The order doesn't re...

trees burn red, yellow strong grasp, last breath, empty bed Warm breeze through window

Tossed by the shifting winds Cut and shaped by winter's skill Sleet becomes snowflakes 

A single cold tear Slow meander down my cheek Grandfather's distant laughter

Each raindrop tapping Dharma-truth on my thick skull Truth, not truth, truth, Not

Sitting and sweating wrestling a wiry monkey Far off the crows caw