blue mountain

blue mountain green waters

2011-12-16T18:13:00.000-08:00

there is nothing

unseen or untold

here

blue mountains

walk and bow

in stillness

useless stuff

2011-11-14T02:43:00.000-08:00

Yakushima mountain

this pure water

like sweet wine

the closest to

the touch of your lips

sakura

Adorned with wires

and old grey towers

sakura

petal after petal

a tree paints itself

on the tarmac

shushushushu

the sound of my toothbrush

morning gatha

Moon faced Buddha, sun faced Buddha

plum blossoms

all along

Don't wave your fan too much

written poems may

fly away

Your flutter wakes me up

and you flicker away

Moth

haiku-garbage

2010-12-10T22:20:00.000-08:00

rice money rain mist mud

everything comes

in my begging bowl

riz argent pluie brume boue

tout tombe

dans mon bol mendiant

persistant cold

I cough away

clouds and autumn mists

Rhume tenace

je tousse

des nuages et des brumes d'automne

dream within a dream yet

edgeless blueish pearl

river-city-mountains

rêve dans le rêve et pourtant

perle bleutée sans bords

rivière-cité-montagnes

Sweet powdered geisha

poses for the camera

birds don't care

mignonne geisha poudrée

pose devant l'objectif

et les oiseaux s'en fichent

nan bread of gold

and fragrant spicy indian curry

England in the midst of Kyoto

pain nan d'or

et ce curry indien parfumé

l'Angleterre au coeur de Kyoto

flat translucid bed

of the river kamo

I am dying for a nap

le lit plat et translucide

de la rivière Kamo

je meurs de sommeil

Autumn junk 2010

2010-11-22T01:45:00.000-08:00

a big black bumblebeee

sings hooooooooooooooooo under a hat

begging monk

By the river

Seven Eleven Obento

Autumn flavour

sweet typhoon

waters down umbrellas

so they pop

two little girls

giggle at the sleeping drunk

how pissed they both are

why are you so scared

this moth just wants to fan

your face

red leaves clear blue sky

selflessly sketch

another haiku

July meanderings

2010-07-21T15:27:00.000-07:00

In this

the fish fishes

itself

Featherless perched sparrow

and old beggar and

his box

Foggy mountains drizzle

the taste of eel and tempura

home

Redlight district

popping at every corner

wild flowers

more junk

2010-05-24T16:53:00.000-07:00

As I grow older

the sound of raindrops

so young

Comme je vieillis

le son des gouttes de pluie

si jeune

I urinate by the road

monkey try at mimicking

clouds

J'urine au bord de la route

essai de singer

les nuages

the pouring rain drenches everything

even

itself

l'averse trempe tout

même

elle -même

(about Santoka's poems)

His haiku like simple stones

made into treasures

by a child

ses haikus sont de simples cailloux

faits trésors

par un enfant

I go along

a few poems of Santoka

in my monk's bag

je me promène

quelques poèmes de Santoka

dans mon sac de moine

on the pavement

the homeless and his treasure

smashed cans

may junk

2010-05-20T06:48:00.000-07:00

wet street

in the breeze

heaven

in the darken street

the warm and sweet scent

of leaves

I piss

as I piss

nothing else

a blind woman nimbles

a piece of cake

in Osaka station

Spring poems

2010-05-03T00:28:00.000-07:00

even the train

at Mukonoso station

becomes cherry blossoms

meme le train

a la gare de Mukonoso

devient fleurs de cerisiers

as cherry trees do

a beggar gives himself

to the wind

Comme les cerisiers

un mendiant se disperse

au vent

tanned face

drunk on the tarmac

Kannon

la face tannee

saoule sur le bitume

Kannon

Haiku after evening zazen

2010-05-02T01:35:00.000-07:00

In dusk
ducks and motorbikes
go hand in hand

Dans le crepuscule
les canards et les velomoteurs
se donnent la main

koinoburi, flying koi

2010-04-30T22:28:00.000-07:00

Des poissons geants
volent
dans le vent du printemps

giant fishes
fly
in the Springtime wind

2010-04-30T05:31:00.000-07:00

an arm for a pillow--

every day the butterfly

visits

-Issa, 1813

Taigu respectfully experiences:

this hairy pair of legs

everyday the mosquito

visits

Philip's poem

2010-02-28T23:16:00.000-08:00

The beloved Philip Whalen (1923-2002), Zen priest and Beat poet wrote:

Cherry trees will blossom every year
But I'll disappear for good
One of these days

This is Taigu's respectful answer:

You and I disappear every moment

and reappear

as blossoms

winter cheap poems

2010-01-14T05:02:00.000-08:00

She goes kissing

everybody's lips

whirling snow

for Issa... again

In her breath

in bird songs

My true love dwelling

Dharma chat

2010-01-07T02:55:00.000-08:00

There is no real right time to understand that we are all going to die. Everyday this should be your-mine-their understanding. There is no why. One of my greatest friend ans sitter used to say Dogen's Zen is[i] the path of no why[/i] anymore. No why.

Then what? Who?

Maybe not even that!

Then how?

Don't know...

What's left?

A few bones crossing and a skull on the top. Ageless. Just like a cloud or a blossom.

Something like that...

takuhatsu

2010-01-04T21:54:00.000-08:00

A straw hat

in the middle of the rain

begs

Autumn rain

wearing a straw hat

begs

2010-01-02T21:20:00.000-08:00

Issa writes:

露ちるや若竹お子のぞくぞくと

tsuyu chiru ya waka takenoko no zoku-zoku to

a dewdrop spills--

the bamboo shoot

shivers

unskilled Taigu answers:

a leaf trembles

and the dewdrop-moon

shivers too

a leaf trembles

from dewdrop to moon

shivers

Amiko's translations

2009-12-27T23:18:00.000-08:00

Amiko is a very precious and unique friend. We often have lunch and talk in French about Japan, traditional Japanese culture and other things. She doesn't only speak perfect French but she is also a very keen scholar of Japanese literature, a literature teacher, a poetess and a real master of the brush. She presented the following translations out of the blue, a bit like a gift from Santa. She kindly accepted to have them published here. Thank you so much Amiko san. These are very skilled translations of very cheap poems. Much love!

Rainy morning

mushrooms walking on

the bridge.

Matin de pluie

des champignons marchent

sur le pont.

雨の朝　

傘の花咲く　

橋の上。

Ame no asa

kasa no hana saku

hashi no ue.

With love

the barber

carves my ear.

Avec amour

le barbier sculpte

mon oreille.

やさしき床屋の　

かみそりが　

わたしの耳を　

描き出す。

Yasasiki tokoya no

kamisori ga

watashi no mimi wo

egakidasu.

Maze of wires

and shabby houses ,

our kingdom

Labyrinthe de fils electriques

et de maisons miteuses,

notre royaume.

電線の空　

下町の　

中をさまよい　

行き暮れる。

Densen no sora

shitamatsi no

naka wo samayoi

yukikureru.

ともあれここは　

きみと我の地。

Tomoare koko wa

kimi to ware no tsi.

Cluttered head

Never ending blossoms

This life.

つぼみ咲き Tsubomi saki

めぐる思ひや Meguru omoi ya

この浮き世 Kono ukiyo.

As cherry trees do

A beggar gives himself

To the wind.

風に身をまかす Kaze ni mi wo makasu 　　

桜と物乞いと Sakura to monogoi to.

First cicadals drill

The thick moist air

Sweet lullaby.

初蝉や Hatsusemi ya　　　

重たき雲へ Omotaki kumo e　　　

子守歌 Komori uta.

Summer's gift

These fragile pearls

Of sweat.

暑き日の Atsuki hi no　　　

めぐみの宿る Megumi no yadoru　　　

玉の汗 Tama no ase.

( For the poet Issa. )

Evening moon

More than enough for

warm pillow.

（　一茶に捧ぐ Issa ni sasagu　）

枕持て Makura mote　　　

寝ぬには早し Inu ni wa hayashi　　

夕月夜 Yuzukuyo.

Everyday

Hidden treasure in full view

Dew.

露野満つ Tsuyuno mitsu　

かそけき日々の Kasokeki hibi no　　　

喜びに Yorokobi ni.

Mount Fuji

Dressed up in snow in a window

Of a shinkansen.

新幹線 Shinkansen　　

窓に白富士 Mado ni shirofuji　　

屹立す Kitsuritsu su.

Traduction en japonais , Shimazaki Amiko. 日本語訳島崎　安見子　 Decembre 2009. ２００９年１２月。

For Issa

2009-12-23T21:34:00.000-08:00

For the poet Issa

This evening moon

More than enough for

warm pillow

a few more haiku

2009-12-20T22:47:00.000-08:00

Yamaoka Tesshu , private collection

Cluttered head

Never ending blossoms

this life

And old grandpa

lovingliy blows into

a litle girl's eyes

First ciccadas drill

The thick moist air

Sweet lullaby

as cherry trees do

a beggar gives himself

to the wind

Summer's gift

These fragile pearls

of sweat

Everyday

Hidden treasure in full view

dew

Mount Fuji

dressed up in snow in a window

of a shinkansen

2009-11-27T20:31:00.000-08:00

This is a book made of air and birds
Or nothing really special
You go in the garden
and the garden finds itself in you

The Muppet Daruma Show!!!

2009-07-24T20:15:00.000-07:00

what is it?

2009-06-27T17:35:00.001-07:00

Kodo ' s enso

ripple-moon-bowl

or silver frog

Timeless sound

2009-06-06T01:14:00.000-07:00

Long before the bell rings

the sound of the bell

anyway

Nyoi bo, kotsu, shippei

2009-06-05T04:48:00.000-07:00

Nyoi bo,

grass-like grace

swinging in mind-seal sea

Still self

2009-05-09T01:18:00.000-07:00

Stillness

speaks with

light and shade

It appears

and disappears

every moment

holding your nose

the self is

all things in ten directions

Do not leave this

do not stay either

a flower in full bloom

Kwatz!

2009-04-22T16:23:00.000-07:00

Just a gentle reminder for the old bear... not to take yesterday into this very moment. Happy new day! Practice happy new day with your whole body-mind. Let self and others fall way without expecting anything than this.

Kano style painting

2009-04-17T18:16:00.000-07:00

Scroll after scroll

the painters of Kano school

tell the same story

the point where form vanishes into nothing

the moment when nothingness turns into form

both different and both the same

Old froggy-like Kodo

2009-04-17T18:05:00.000-07:00

Old Kodo

aimlessly being

covered in mountains and clouds

stitched

on his robe

if you pay attention

you might notice a bird

soaring

in the deep blue

all around

and the fragrant flowers

and cool snow

on your hands

Onsen in April

2009-04-04T01:48:00.001-07:00

A very modest haiku written as I was soaking in the outside bath in a delightful mountain onsen under a gentle rain:

In the steaming hot water

her little cold fingers running along my back

Spring rain

thoughts and sitting

2009-03-23T20:56:00.000-07:00

White clouds hug lonely rocks

Oomaori Sogen Roshi. Late Autumn 1975.

Another quote

2009-03-19T19:06:00.000-07:00

Dosho Port on his blog quotes Anderson quoting ...And so do I, I quote...(bad old habit of a scholar I am) Anyway in Warm Smiles from Cold Mountains, you'll find this:

When Kishizawa Ian, Suzuki Roshi's second teacher, was a young monk, he was sitting in meditation on a rainy day and heard the sound of a distant waterfall. Then the wooden han was struck. He went to his teacher (maybe Oka Sotan) and asked, "What is the place where the sound of the rain, the waterfall, and the han meet?"His teacher replied, "True eternity still flows."And then he asked, "What is this true eternity that still flows?""It is like a bright mirror, permanently smooth," said his teacher."Is there anything beyond this?" asked the young monk."Yes," responded his teacher."What is beyond this?" inquired the young monk.And his teacher replied, "Break the mirror. Come, and I'll meet you."

Veil of rain

Wooden han echoing

Wet drizzle soaking everything

making or breaking a mirror

how could we have ever parted?

In the mind seal

ten thousand drops

and sounds whirling

it arises

they arise

what is left to break?

Kodo Sawaki (left) and Oka Sotan (right).

the searchless state

2009-03-19T18:51:00.000-07:00

let a mind arise that does not cling to anything (Diamond sutra) Tenryu Tekisui

Dogen has a great thing to say about this whole issue of noticing what you call enlightenment, in Genjo Koan he writes this:

To carry yourself forward and experience ten thousand things is delusion. Ten
thousand things coming forth and experiencing themselves is awakening.

I often tell people that eyes do not see themselves but in the activity of seeing, brightness appears. How can anybody perceive the non-dual? The non dual can only be fully achieved when forgotten, when the world and the countless forms are seen from the non dual itself. In these days, as in the early days, people want a glimpse, a taste, an opportunity to enjoy the experience. Name it, you have lost it. Give it a taste, it's gone.We don't have Buddha nature, we ARE Buddha nature. We don't have to find it, just express it. And its expression is unseen, unoticed. All that happens is that people's awakening hits you in the face and your own delusions too. When you see others as Buddhas and are aware of your countless shortcomings, then it is a good start.Enlightemenment is like an itch. Scratch it on and on... generate the idea of a doer, a seeker, scratch further, make a teacher, find a holy place, a sacred source of fulfillment, scratch further...until, you are fed up with the scratching activity. You just stop scatching. And then, you realize there is no itch. Everything is fine, as it is from day one. Nothing lacking, nothing really. You needed all this frentic scratching to get to the point where you give up your expectations.Sorry to disappoint you. But that is what the path is about, to break your heart and make you loose every single string of hope. People might be willing to sell you enlightenment. Then go for it. You will just make a long journey longer and scratch on. The real stuff is not for sale. It is yours already. You are it already.

What is it?

2009-03-17T19:57:00.000-07:00

this ever changing

dream

the pearl

Issan Dorsey's impossible portrait

2009-03-15T19:10:00.000-07:00

Issan Dorsey, sometime in 1933- September 6,1990, was a gay zen priest and teacher and ex-prostitute, drug addict and female impersonator. He established the Maitri Hospice at Hartford Stret Zen Center for people dying of AIDS during the first spread of the epidemics in the 80s. He was not a saint and never pretented to be anything but what he was that was ungraspable, beyong thinking. A fucked up life sitting as a living Buddha. Both and none of them. A traditionnal koan presents two oxes fighting and disappearing as they enter the flowing stream of a river.Wasn't he smashing as a drag queen?

Issan had two faces

but I cannot choose any

the drag queen in a soapy bath

or the floating cloud

neither one nor the other

will tell you the whole story

Boddhistvas and destitutes

are made of the same stuff

in close embrace

they dance

and twirl and turn

the single flower

Etienne Mokusho Zeisler

2009-03-14T02:35:00.000-07:00

Etienne sitting in the large Zendo of the Gendronniere

Dharma heir of Niwa Zenji, he gave me shukke Tokudo in 1983. He was just a great calm and broad guy. Etienne Zeisler (1946 – 1990) was born in Hungary and when he was three years old his family moved to France. He started sitting zen with the monk Deshimaru in 1967 and until 1990 he did teach very much in his teacher's style.

Pine and rain

in your hands

the eternal mudra

Listening to birds

2009-03-12T00:26:00.000-07:00

stone-like head

eloquent when silent

birds do come

and fool around

Oneness

2009-03-12T00:15:00.000-07:00

Mike Chodo Cross, wearing a black kesa

I wrote this short poem three years ago. Somehow, I wanted to write it down again today.

Reed in the hands of Rumi

Bell of Nyojo

This one breath

Blows everywhere

the still state

2009-03-11T23:50:00.001-07:00

Kou getsu

shofu jyu

Bright moon

in the pine-tree

a wind wave-like

a very pompous and clumsy poem for Maezumi roshi

2009-03-07T19:04:00.000-08:00

Sun-faced Buddha

Moon-faced Buddha

Obscured-yet-clear

The empty cloud

drifts

From a sake cup

to a woman's lips

From kids arms and giggles

to the silent fruit of sitting

Clear-yet-obscured

Mistaken and true

the cloud

in Him-you-me

The cloud

roams

the invisible old path

treeless, roadless,

the way of nobody

going nowhere

this

ever

changing

This

Breath

2009-02-27T23:42:00.000-08:00

The wonderful monk Dosho Port on his blog http://wildfoxzen.blogspot.com/has left a few prints about breathing in sitting Zen. After quoting Dogen's teacher, he writes as a conclusion to his short but insightful text:

Something as ungraspable as snow.

Let me put forward a few clumsy varitions to this already amazing verse:

Snow as ungraspable as anything

Snow as ungraspable as self watching snow

Snow as snow

No Brad, not really...

2009-02-14T00:40:00.000-08:00

I kind of disagree with the great Brad... Sitting -Zen would be "A kind of way of looking at reality"? No, because reality is always as is, looking at it in certain way makes it unreal. It could be "Reality watching itself, reality watching you". Brad could have phrased it differently like:"
A way to look at illusion, or self-delusion".

Just a deluded thought, anyway.

No question, no answer

2009-02-14T00:29:00.000-08:00

Old Amida in sitting-zen

In my limited experience, zazen exhausts both questions and answers, or if you wish, the need, the urge to be given a map to go and live. When ? and ! are dropped, we are taken back home, which is exactly here and now, a place we never leave. Then our being-time -here-and- now is a living question-answer. Action takes place and arises in this dynamic reality which is not anymore perceived or grasped through fears or hopes. Eating, we eat. Living, we live. Sleeping, we sleep. Or, if I put it another way, zazen is a way to redirect the flow of questions to the very source of our being-time, you actualize the fact that the answers are not anymore over there in books, traditions, teachings but that you are the answer to all the questions you ask. Questions do not beg for an answer but are seen and experienced as a way to wake up to this reality without necessarily putting your paws on any definite answer. A way to wonder, not to wander. It is true that then the whole universe, from toilets to kitchen, work and family and friends and things become the living questions put to us.

Shen Yen's death poem

2009-02-07T00:37:00.000-08:00

無事忙中老，

空裡有哭笑，

本來沒有我，

生死皆可拋。

Busy with nothing, growing old.

Within emptiness, weeping, laughing.

Intrinsically, there is no "I."

Life and death, thus cast aside.

Bosatsu and flute

2009-02-01T19:36:00.000-08:00

Thanks to Wendy, a very nice picture. Thank you so much.

The merging of all things

2009-01-31T23:33:00.000-08:00

Nantenbo (private collection)

Flowers in full bloom in the valley

The dawn wind is fragrant

2009-01-03T04:08:00.000-08:00

When you are away

the monk wishes you could be the flute

he puts his lips to

December poems

2008-12-30T16:48:00.000-08:00

rainy morning
mushrooms walking on
the bridge

Matin de pluie

des champignons marchent

sur le pont

with love

the barber carves

my ear

Avec amour

le barbier sculpte

mon oreille

Maze of wires

and shabby houses

our kingdom

Labyrinthe de fils electriques

et de maisons miteuses

notre royaume

For Sodo san the beggar

2008-12-14T20:01:00.000-08:00

For Sodo Yokoyama

Thin

dreamy

body

you sat in this Kyoto park

noisy kids playing

not too far

young lovers

hardly

holdings hands

you

no matter what

and why

nor minding neither wishing

your

thin blue lips

blew

leaves

music and simple tunes

hopping

from tree to tree

ear to ear

moment

no traces left

any hope gone

gone beyong the beyond

beyond realization and delusion

self and others

East and West

beyond

doing

sitting Zen

in rags

begging the sky and chewing a mouthful of clouds

green tea was nice too

in the company of a visitor

no matter what

and why

thin

leaves

bowl

Poem for old sitters

2008-12-13T23:09:00.000-08:00

An old man used to live on the mountain-top

with a few clouds as companions.

Last night, rain and wind blew them away

In the end, how can clouds be mistaken for him?

Poem and calligraphy from Eihei Goyu, Eiheiji abbot of Meiji era

remembering Niwa

2008-12-03T03:43:00.000-08:00

This is a picture of Niwa Zenji, abbot of Eiheiji who died a few years ago. He happens to be in my lineage, in the blood line of the transmission. I always felt a deep connection with this old teacher, very humble and soft, and I vividly remember when he came to the West. Little did i know at the time that I would be one of his great grand sons one day.

Like a laughing and beaming cat

Eternal rambling of the brook

the cow enters the stream

your eyebrows like brushes

and teeth and tongue

gulping deep blue sky

dolls you playing with

at five or six years of age

dressing them endlessly

your shaved head under the sharp blade

the incense cloud and fragrant pine

the loud voice of the valley

shaking the rocks

rocking the silent moon

not making sense of anything

loosing track, wiping footprints

how can one walk the rain

what is the faith of trees, bees, birds?

Not answering

bleeding laughters

merely gazing

with gentleness

you ascend the Eiheiji seat

and bow at dogs in secret

Niwa

my blood in yours

and yours in mine

soiled

as this all world

seal in space

not even a ripple

or stir

or chatter

or whisper

the seal where two moons

collide

and turn into

each other

Niwa

like a rambling and beaming cat

eternal laughing of the brook

Autumn 2008

2008-11-22T03:22:00.000-08:00

a scarlet old arse in the car

bleeding along with

Kobe mountains in Autumn

red,yellow

green

this Fall

Sannomiya subway

the only man singing

a dirty old tramp

leaving behind

clever mind games

the sky for rags

as-it-is, blue as blue, white as white ( my favorite quote )

2008-10-26T02:20:00.000-07:00

On one of my nyoi ( Kotsu, shippei, the zen teaching stick with a mushroom-like shape), carved by Ron in Forest Row,

written by Marikosan's brush stroke:

青山自青山、白雲自白雲
"The blue mountains are of themselves blue mountains;
"The white clouds are of themselves white clouds."

Zenrin Kushu

Flushed !!!

2008-10-25T19:37:00.000-07:00

Many questions are dropped. In my limited experience, zazen exhausts both questions and answers, or if you wish, the need, the urge to be given a map to go and live. When and are dropped, we are taken back home, which is exactly here and now, a place we never leave. Then our being-time -here-and- now is a living question and answer. Action takes place and arises in this dynamic reality which is not anymore perceived or grasped through fears or hopes. Eating, we eat. Living, we live. Sleeping, we sleep. Or, if I put it another way, zazen is a way to redirect the flow of questions to very source of our being-time, you actualize the fact that the answers are not anymore over there in books, traditions, teachings but that you are the answer to all the questions you ask. Questions do not beg for an answer but are seen and experienced as a way to wake up to this reality without necessarily putting your paws on any definite answer. A way to wonder, not to wander. It is true that then the whole universe, from toilels to kitchen, work and family and friends and things become the living questions put to us.

2008-10-25T19:19:00.000-07:00

Buddha has many forms and yet none

A broad mind contains mountains, rivers, blossoms and cities of glass and steel

The robe sewn is beyond praise or blame

Sadly teachers of great lineages disown and reject their own blood and others

In the name what we call the truth

The poison of religion runs easily in our veins

Wisdom and Emptiness cultivated without Compassion

Take us to a blind and arrogant field

May I be ordinary

simple

plain

just

2008-09-30T06:19:00.000-07:00

Issho ku ichinichi raku

Even if your wole life is pain

There is just the only enjoyable day

Nantenbo's last calligraphy

2008-09-25T07:33:00.000-07:00

Just before he vanished into nothingness,

After a long life of shouts and wonders and whispers,

the big mountain-like Nantenbo

picked up willows, bushes and women' s graceful shapes;

he held the dear memory of the pregnant moon,

the blazing sun

and evererything else

Just before he went throught the gateless gate

In dark ink,

the whole sky

and nothing

else,

and emptiness

wrote...

Koyasan,yesterday

2008-09-20T19:59:00.000-07:00

two clouds

meandering

in suchness

In Koyasan now

2008-09-20T19:39:00.000-07:00

endless retreat

the stone carved Buddha

cannot even complain

who is moving the brush?

2008-09-16T06:23:00.000-07:00

For Buddha Harry

Only ignorant non monks may say: Sawaki is moving the brush.

No brush, no Sawaki. Just the endless activity of suchness.

As your eyes meets the kakejiku, it comes to life and light.

As your eyes meet the paper, they move the original brush.

You sit and everything sits with you.

What is real? We haven't the faintest idea. In "no idea" is reality.

No big deal. No monk or non monk.

What is the religion of trees? the prayer of twigs?

Water jumps in frogs, stone women make love at dawn,

your eye, Shobogenzo, turns the whole universe like a flower.

one sitting, the whole world

2008-09-12T18:14:00.000-07:00

Kumo atte bozan senshu no tai

Tori naite shunjyu senshu no koe

Clouds gather and the twilight mountain shows 1000 kinds of figures.

If a bird twitters, spring trees will play 100 kinds of sound.

one taste

2008-09-10T17:02:00.000-07:00

The Blue mountain is not disturbed by white clouds

Tokyo poems

2008-08-21T03:03:00.000-07:00

Tesshu, scroll, private collection

the treasure's treasure hunter

his very dream

Tokyo Museum

tucked into Sesshu's paintings

a little girl sleeps

Climbing Mount Fuji

vanishes

sitting-Zen

2008-08-19T08:02:00.000-07:00

a bit of water

given back

to the stream

kesa okesa

2008-08-19T06:48:00.000-07:00

This is a picture taken a few years ago in France. I am showing a funzoe kesa. It was sewn 10 years ago as I was living in Forest Row , East sussex, in England. It shows mountains, and birds flying through for when I was sewing this, it was autumn and flocks of noisy and majestic geese were passing over the village. Some ended up on the fabric.

I did have a great time last week end with Jundo Cohen, a teacher and friend in the same crazy lineage, doing some filming to show how to sew a rakusu. A great and simple guy. This is his website: http://www.treeleaf.org/index.html

What is the kesa...Well, well. You can have a look at my other blog. If I may say, it is really big, but by big I really mean big. So, I don't know how big it is. And if you can figure it out, it is presumably not it. In fact, there is nothing out of it. And we are all wearing a kesa without even knowing.

Our story

2008-08-03T10:04:00.000-07:00

what was your face before your parents were born?

2008-08-03T09:47:00.000-07:00

rain drops, ink curves, birdsongs

true land and water

for Taigu

a bit more of that empty stuff

2008-07-21T20:25:00.000-07:00

To birds invitation

the space shines

empty seal

Abbots and rebels

tumble down

the same mountain

Made of twigs, fogs

and frogs

the true temple

Your thoughts and mine

and in our very hearts

who minds?

Three little summer poems

2008-07-14T21:51:00.000-07:00

A pine-tree stands in the cold winter. Eihei Taizen, old man.

L’ encre et la nuée

Brume-montagne

Un rouleau

Ink and cloud

Mountain-mist

A scroll

Le pin

Depose son ombre

De lune

Pine-tree

Drops its

Moon-shadow

Du s’asseoir-Zen

On ne peut

Rien dire

About sitting-Zen

One cannot

say anything

Juste une redefinition...a laquelle manquent les accents.

2008-06-28T21:15:00.000-07:00

J'ai commence a m'asseoir il y a presque trente ans. Je comprends de moins en moins et le "je ne sais pas" de Boddhidharma semble devenir de plus en plus vivant, a moins que je ne sois un parfait imbécile! Je n'ai aucun contact avec la secte Soto dont je fuis les rites et l'arrogance, je me contente de pratiquer dans mon coin, coudre des kesas, traduire le fukanzazengi, lire des textes inutiles, ecrire de la poesie merdique, faire de la flute de temps en temps et bien sur bosser comme un malade, car on Japon, on bosse beaucoup. Bien que je sois heritier dans le Dharma dans la lignee de Niwa, l'ancien abbe d'Eiheiji, je n'ai ni disciple, ni Sangha, et considere mon maitre dans toutes les formes de l'univers. De la merde qui me tombe dessus a la fraicheur du verre d'eau, tout m'enseigne... J'ai renonce a conduire des ceremonies japonaises, instruire des disciples et pontifier en singeant les formes nippones (le piege dans lequel sont tombes toute une ribambelle de moines de l'AZI, reprendre ce que Deshimaru voulait abandonner...)et reduis ma pratique a un simple rituel. J'ai pour exemples, Issan Dorsey, l'abbe Drag Queen et homo, Han Shan le mangeur de nuages ainsi que Ryokan. Et je ne mache pas mes mots et me fous de la diplomatie. Je reste quelqu'un de cordial mais ne suis impressionne par personne. L'abbe de ceci, le president de cela, je m'en tape...Peut-etre ne suis-pas vraiment recommandable. Et mon japonais n'est que tres rudimentaire. Apres, ce portrait lamentable, vous etes le bienvenu dans ma maison vide si tout cela ne vous derange pas trop.

Summer tale

2008-06-19T07:45:00.000-07:00

This is the fan's Haiku to lady Ai,

it says:

"Ai, how could I

even in a dream

fly away from your hands?"

Dead Guru Blues

2008-06-09T04:52:00.000-07:00

青山自青山、白雲自白雲

"The blue mountains are of themselves blue mountains;

"The white clouds are of themselves white clouds."

Mountain-Buddha's body

My clouded eye

an eye anyway

Endless clouds

over the mountain ablazed

tracks are lost

tricks broken

tears wiped away

the body of space

takes countless forms

and returns to itself

one two three

as children count

as lovers do

one two three

jewels in simplicity

masks and mirors

fall as sand

no more becoming

seasons seen as such

winter doesn't turn into spring

wood into ash

ice into water

the big swearing buddy

originally Buddha

has lost the plot

the cursing guru

bullies shadows

and chases ghosts

empty ermitage

the true form of the teacher

has left

just the racket of bitterness

frustration and arrogance

to be heard

he buys into the game of thoughts

and takes big bites into dead bodies

tasty nasty feast

and yet

Blue and white

mountains and clouds

still

in stillness

Spring poems

2008-05-01T15:59:00.000-07:00

Flowers like whores
kiss
the passing eyes

etc.etc.etc.
Blablablabla
this

One thousand closed eyes
on the morning train
Kannon s snoring

Moon-key

2008-03-17T07:59:00.000-07:00

This is the teaching of Monkey, the famous Chinese novel, the teaching of a foolish Monkey that think he can jump and fly over countless mountains. Jump and fly over boundless fields. One day, he gets so far, so so so far, and thinks: "I am fucking great, look at me, I can jump and fly further than anybody! I am so skilled! God, I am the choosen one, I...He then hears a whisper, a gentle voice that says: "Monkey, dear Monkey, please, what are you doing?" The Buddha is looking at Monkey in the very palm of his hand:" please, Monkey"...

As my good Buddhist friend Sakaide san says, that story just says that even if you you try to escape Buddha nature, you cannot, you are just Buddha, whoever you are, tall, small, slim, fat, stupid or witty, straight or gay, whatever you do or don't, you belong to this. This palm. This hand. It cannot be measured. It has no colour. No ism. No temple, no church. No sacred hyms or fucked up God. Unconditionnal. Unconditionnal. It doesn't promise anything. It doesn't condemn anybody. It doesn't judge you or others. Voiceless. This field has no name. Nameless. Nameless. In this it is called kesa, there mandala, over there, teapot, bin, stone, fish, crap, floating cloud, just this...

This is why, is there a need for any why, I am blissfully ready to go to hell (where I should go according to my many so called Christian friends... bless them!!!) . Hell or heaven, toys, just toys...The open field leaps over ten million moons and swallows the very sun. It is just this, just this!

Kamogawa, rivière des canards de Kyoto

2007-12-18T23:46:00.000-08:00

Au bout des eaux de Kamogawa
un bleu manteau ondoyant
de montagnes

At the end of Kamogawa
a blue rippling coat of
mountains

Le Fukanzazengi en Français

2007-12-09T18:36:00.000-08:00

Le Maître Zen Dogen

I would like to let you know that, inspired by my teacher Mike Chodo Cross, I have eventually started to translate the Fukanzazengi of Master Dogen into French. You may keep in touch with the work in process at http://fukanzazengi-en-francais.blogspot.com/ and I warmly recommand a visit to Mike'swebsite where the Fukanzazengi is beautifully, lovingly and faithfully translated : http://www.the-middle-way.org/subpage8.html

Senju Kannon

2007-12-07T18:09:00.000-08:00

A thousand arms

where do they blossom

if not in this very moment?

Autumn in Kyoto and mountains

2007-12-01T23:01:00.000-08:00

Mount Koya

2007-11-01T05:26:00.000-07:00

Mount Koya. A train journey through hills and fields. Sky after sky. Bridges flirting with void. Autumn burning.

Getting there with my beloved ones. Outside, rain and mists. Tears rolling down windows. Shallow figures. Water screens in which shouting children throw themselves.

Graves, graves covered with moss. Tombs wrapped with green coats and spider webs. Names, prayers under the vertical assembly of cedar trees. Path leading to your-mine very end. Makun laughs and giggles.The place is bloody real. I think, I would like to drop my black bones here. In all this.

At the end, Kukai's last abode. Pilgrims dressed in white singing the heart sutra.

At the end, my empty shell. Too. All gulped by It.

Kukai is but a dry mummy sitting in the secrecy of a sect that feeds followers with tales.Kukai is every single exhausted and joyous cell of this big fish. Kukai is a flower, a cup of tea, all things vain and mundane.

the dreamer's ride

2007-10-13T19:50:00.000-07:00

Am I riding the carp

or is the carp riding me?

holding the reins of intention

I fall into my old habits

dreamer's ride

Kannon is but this perfect moment

yet unknown to me

where fish water and deity

become one piece

no comment

2007-10-12T20:03:00.000-07:00

Verse of the kesa

2007-10-12T19:45:00.000-07:00

Two beautiful hand written brushworks from Suzuki roshi ( the back of a rakusu) and Kobun roshi. It is the verse of the Kesa.

Daisai-gedatsu-fuku How vast is the clothing of liberation

Muso-fukuden-e Formless,field of happiness, robe!

Hibu-nyorai-kyo I wear the Tathagata's teachings.

KooDo-shoshujoo I save all sentient beings.

Birds in mountains play with truth

2007-10-12T19:13:00.000-07:00

Birds in mountains play with truth

scroll of hues, foliage and songs

a sutra I bloody cannot

read

sitting 3

2007-10-12T18:57:00.000-07:00

a cluster of drunken thoughts

a bunch of twisted roots

under my old robe

Sitting 2

2007-10-12T18:50:00.000-07:00

to birds invitation

I respond

all over

the seal-space shines

Sitting 1

2007-10-12T18:11:00.000-07:00

Walking clouds, cloud walking

Gaze turned back, just light

knot knowing, knowing not

Vrai visage

2007-08-27T20:10:00.000-07:00

　　　　　　　Si tu dechires ce visage, que trouveras-tu?

Ni nom, ni fleur, ni monde

Rien ou presque

Rien qu'un peu de rien

Insulting habit

2007-07-04T03:19:00.000-07:00

Unhappy Buddhist teacher of student?
Does a dog have Buddha nature?

In a previous comment, Mike Chodo Cross, my Zen teacher says:

"I think that a person who hasn't got the same state as Master Dogen should never fall into the abyss by pretending to be like Master Dogen through preaching and scolding.But a person who has got the same state as Master Dogen might inevitably preach and scold as vigorously as Master Dogen preached and scolded. So preaching and scolding, or not, is neither here nor there.The very difficult problem is: same state as Master Dogen, or not? If the same, we might have a voice with which to preach and scold. If not the same, we should not pretend. If we don't know, same or not, then what shall we do?"

The late chogyam Trungpa states that the main role of a buddhist teacher is to insult you.

Indeed.

In that light, I am certainly a very bad student, a very poor teacher and do not have the same clarity as master Dogen.

And I wont repent, bow, cry, shout or throw a tandrum. For I left behind this religious habit to despise oneself or others in the name of the truth.

I let buddhist teachers insulting their disciples and heirs if it is what they wish.

In my limited opinion and clouded eyes, just sitting, sewing kesas and shaving one's head are the true Dharma gate. And life is also as big as embracing 10 000 activities such as laundry doing, kicking stones, love making, cooking, working, drinking, laughing, being happy or sad etc.

As far as fits and fists are concerned, there are not necessary anymore.

fluffy dog

2007-05-09T17:13:00.000-07:00

Kyoto, this morning...

a little fluffy dog on the wet stone

left

for Jizo

Kyoto, ce matin...

petit chien en peluche

laissé sur la pierre trempée

pour Jizo

Spring 2007

2007-04-19T23:42:00.000-07:00

After a few weeks of a long rest, I have written a poem yesterday. Or rather, it just wrote itself. I don't see the point of writing on this blog if I have nothing to say which happens more often than some people may think. My life is full, as it is, with everyday stuff to deal with. Sometimes dull, sometines not. It includes much of my stupidity, useless worries, compulsive actions and reactions, thoughts of all kind coming from nowhere and going nowhere. It has a amazing beauty which is priceless, just as everybody else. The opened eyes of the beloved ones too. Self inquiry and observation is a real exciting journey as well as boring. Both. I have less and less to do with religion and beliefs. Less time to give to useless discussions that can be much fun but always mislead me. Less and less empty preaching, after all, people can do what they want and be the way they want. Realizing that fully is liberating, it gives the control freak a big break! So, dear reader, fellow-sitter, or whoever you are, three simple lines in this long stretch of wonder:

Cigarette smoke

white blossoms

evanescence

the homeless roof

2007-02-16T00:21:00.000-08:00

As I come back to JR station in Kyoto. This is what I see:

On the pavement
a house made of wide opened
umbrellas

the windbell

2007-02-15T00:54:00.000-08:00

In praise of all my teachers from whom I received life-as-it-is, for the Buddhist patriarchs, for Kodo, Niwa, Gudo and Chodo Cross, my boundless gratitude. In praise of the ineffable that I don't understand and don't practice well, in praise of the kesa, my life and my love. For all of you.

In life and in sitting-Zen

I become what I fight,

what is surrendered flows in this and everywhere,

preaching is eloquent when I shut my gob

action universal when I let go of all doings,

whishing the release of knots, thinking the direction

wishing what I do not know,

wishing the ineffable

again and again

my homeless original face

Laughing

2007-02-14T07:39:00.000-08:00

Il n'y a ni vie, ni mort.
Sans demeure, tout est sans demeure: notre corps et celui du monde.
Disciple et maître sont les montagnes qui marchent. Les eaux qui se mélangent. La neige sur la neige.

There is neither life nor death.

Homeless, everything is homeless: our body and the body of this world.

Disciple and teacher are walking mountains. Merging waters. Snow on snow.

Takuhatsu

2007-02-01T18:34:00.000-08:00

yesterday blossoms

today snow whirling down

into my begging bowl

hier des pétales

aujourd'hui une neige virevoltant

jusque dans mon bol

In that order

2007-01-29T00:43:00.000-08:00

for Masato

honey-like winter dusk

a silver kite flies

the laughing child

miel d'un crepuscule d'hiver
un cerf-volant d'argent fait voler
l'enfant riant

Mountain poem

2007-01-24T05:25:00.000-08:00

the birds have vanished in the sky
and now the last cloud drains away
we sit together, the mountain and I
until only the mountain remains.
Li Po

a view/ une vue

2007-01-18T20:23:00.000-08:00

L'envol des oiseaux. Un vide illisible dans l'entre-deux. Plus loin, le jeu des monts et des nuées. Cette vie même.

Birds flying away. In between, an unreadable emptiness .Further, the play of mounts and mists. This very life.

Little Miss Anu

2006-12-30T18:10:00.000-08:00

Little Miss Anu, a wonderful person with a heart that knew no bounds has gone.You can still listen to her voice on her blog: http://anustory.blogspot.com/ .

Not much to say really. Not even goodbye.

Rain and sun

are now

the path to your eyes

Love, Anu, wherever you are. I miss you.

Petite Mademoiselle Anu, une personne merveilleuse dotée d'un coeur sans fin, est partie.

N'ai pas grand chose à dire. Même pas au revoir. Crois pas à ça. Crois que vie et mort sont même. Même si...

Pluie et soleil

sont maintenant

chemin vers tes yeux

T'aime Anu. T'aime si fort. Où que tu sois. Tu nous manques.

a stupid question

2006-12-20T00:30:00.000-08:00

When will the Tatagatha undo these 42 useless autumns
And toss them away
Into now?

Quand le Tatagatha ira défaire ces 42 automnes inutiles
pour les jeter dans
le maintenant ?

hues

2006-12-06T05:52:00.000-08:00

for Mineko

The wave and shore
Intertwined
being-time

Vague et rivage

entrelacés

être-temps

a cloak of wind
sweeps leaves
and thoughts

un manteau de vent

balaie feuilles

et pensées

Blood

2006-11-29T04:21:00.000-08:00

mountains bleed
the transient world
dreams within a dream

montagnes en sang
le monde éphémère

rêve dans le rêve