Nothing. Emptiness. Peace.

The winds
Passing up this valley
Come from the ocean
Far away.
The blow of nature
Across the flat earth.
Twilight as I write this,
And through the window
I can see the pine tree tops
Waving hello to me again.

James Lee Jobe 

At a way station, 

returning from Drizzly Road 

to Always Dry Road:

if it should rain, it will rain; 

if the wind should blow, it blows. 

Ikkyū Sōjun, 1394–1481 CE

Just give up.
The only thing that can save you
Is to not be saved at all.
Nothing can save you.
Nothing will save you.
There is no truly holy book
Or greater being or Heaven.
There is no Hell,
No lesson other than to
Accept the great nothing.
Can you figure out my poem?
Salvation is an illusion
Dreamed up in your mind.
Sit down and shut up
For a couple of hours a day.
One hour in the morning,
And another hour at night.
Nothing. Emptiness. Peace.

James Lee Jobe 

            You are not only responsible for what you say, but also for what you do not say. 

Martin Luther, 1483-1546 CE

Dream: The Night of December 23rd ,
a poem by Michael McClure

To Be a Good Buddhist Is Ensnarement,
a poem by Jenny Xie

The world doesn’t think about me.

And I prefer it that way.

If anyone needs me, I am not hard to find;

Just go into the village and look.

Look in the place of lost moments

And forgotten sounds,

And if, upon finding me,

You find a pile of torn-up papers,

Just glue me back together again

And pretend that I am whole.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

I know these things quite well,

Although it is quite easy for me

To forget this nonsense.

I am not important,

And the world is not important,

In fact, I fell asleep twice

While writing this down. 

James Lee Jobe

Essentially, 

all previous lives and selves 

are gone from nature-- 

without destination, 

without place, without value. 

Ikkyū Sōjun, 1394–1481

            A fool sees himself as another, but a wise man sees others as himself.

Dōgen, 1200-1253 CE

            I have realized that the past and future are real illusions, that they exist in the present, which is what there is and all there is.

Alan Watts, 1915-1973 

Born in Chicago-Paul Butterfield Blues Band

Since I can no longer work, and Social Security isn't all that great, you can support this blogger through the Buy Me A Coffee link below. Not all the time. Just every now and then would be nice. And appreciated. 

Thanks. 

-jlj