the poetry zendo: valley of trees

What is happening now, deep below this valley? I looked at one of the older elm trees and asked that. I wanted her to answer me, perhaps to say there is another world down there, a valley below the valley, alive like you or me, breathing, growing, raising a family. Being true to itself. And perhaps yet another valley below the second one, a third valley. Imagine! But there was no answer. The elm just stood there in the drizzle on a rainy afternoon. I was fairly dry in my rain gear, and I walked over and put my old hands on the wet bark. And so we stood, the elm and I. I wiggled my toes inside of my warm, dry shoes.

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I take my refuge in the dharma. A little at a time, I've been working to build a meditation spot in a secluded corner of the untended garden. Pulling weeds, adding a bench, and soon, a low and cushioned platform. The work is slow, my body isn't what it once was. What is? There is a circle of rocks around a small and mended buddha, about 10 inches tall; he had been broken by some men working on the fence. I glued and painted him, and sat him on a wooden box, up off of the ground. Above it all, a young oak, and below, the earth. I'll add some flowers. And of the time left to me, however much it is, some of it will be spent right there. Sitting and breathing. I take my refuge in the dharma.

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This valley of trees; you would think the birds owned the place. You and I are just here for the cleanup.

James Lee Jobe