Haiku is a traditional form of Japanese poetry characterized by its simplicity, elegance, and focus on capturing moments of beauty and inspiration in nature, inviting readers to contemplate the essence of existence and appreciate the transient beauty of the natural world.
Those who are loving are the sun.
Those who want to be loved are black holes.
Every thing seems a duality,
a light side and a dark side.
The sun makes things shine.
Things make shadows.
Like the sun rising and setting,
we rise at birth and set at death.
Yet, rising and setting is an illusion.
Rising and setting happens simultaneously.
The sun is eternally shining.
Sun crashes pond’s surface.
Water only ripples.
Sun not wet.
It is what it is whatever it is.
What it is is of no matter.
What matters is that it is.
Successful students reflect their teacher’s light.
Brilliant students see themselves in the sun’s light.
Light reveals infinite ways
we can travel through the end of days.
Which way to take is not clear
until in noise music we hear.
Then we don’t need the ways revealed by the sun
as music makes us dance as one.
What’s good for you is good for me
as I can choose who to be,
you, me, or you and me.
Everything revealed by light is beautiful,
unlike sounds which are noisy.
Yet, hidden in noisy sounds is music,
the most beautiful thing of all.
We begin life as a tiny circle, looking like a dot.
As we grow, we have an inside and outside.
Until we grow beyond the circle and become space.
Water downstream is water past.
Water upstream is water future.
Water here is water present.
Water flows like time, but doesn’t mark time.
When off the common path we wander,
we see the world with wonder.
Those who absorb light are dull.
Those who reflect light are shiny.
Those who emit light are brilliant.
Living the life of water is the best thing.
As snow, it’s the most reflective thing.
As it flows, it’s more practical than anything.
When it evaporates, it becomes one with everything.
If you are shy
look to the night sky.
Standing tall
in the vastness of it all,
there’s nothing to fear
from the small people here.
Nothing is perfect, as nothing has nothing to complain about.
Before and after the now, there is nothing.
Before and after the now must be heaven.
Those who are bored
see life as a game board,
but a board it can’t be
as every thing is 3-D.
What I see
is outside of me.
What I smell, taste and hear
draws everything near.
Using constellations to navigate our way,
we don’t see the stars which are the Way.
We transform the now into words, the words become the now.
Light shines brightly
on both “dark” and “light” sides of the moon.
Those who think there’s a “dark” side are in the dark.
Enlightenment cannot be described to real effect;
other than by pinholes of insights,
like stars in the night sky.
A grain of sand is no smaller than a star,
one is near, the other far.
Size depends on where you are.
Life is a trial.
Some guilty, some not.
Some win, some lose.
There is no contest: everyone executed at the end.
We enter and leave on a path of white light.
Once here, we are red, yellow or blue.
The white light is the world as it is, not as we are.
Under the sun,
the world of the self.
In the night sky, we see the soul.
In the white light
we see things right.
Yet our mind is a prism
that puts us in prison.
We see things as red, yellow or blue
but that’s simply not true.
$38 can of paint
brushed on a canvass: priceless
spilled on the floor: worthless.
The road ahead is very clear,
as the light reveals all that’s near.
Shadows form from light that’s passed,
as what is now doesn’t last.
Verbs are fluid, time passing.
Nouns are imaginary, moments frozen in time.
Verbs are the happening, nouns are the happened.
Good or bad.
wrong or right.
What’s black or white is colorless.
A bell ringing in the empty sky.
Sound here, after it’s not.
Much ringing from times passed.
Can’t see the sun on a noisy day.
There’s nothing new under the sun.
All there is is the Burning Bush,
ever-changing flames and eternal branches.
As the self
I am the world.
As the soul
I is the universe.
Every eye is unique.
Yet, the reflection of my face
the same in every pupil.
The universal mind is a reflecting pond.
We sit around its perimeter.
One thing, many perspectives.
When we forget from where we come,
we know not where we are going.
Not knowing what we are,
we go the way of others.
The mind is a reflecting pond,
but do I see my true face
as backward letters hard to read?
So much depends upon
five baby rubber ducks
walking behind a red rooster.
Every thing is two things,
reflected light and a shadow.
As each cannot be without the other,
they are one thing.
There is no fountainhead, river or sea
just something flowing freely, whatever it be.
Under the sun and without the self
we would surely starve to death.
Those who forget we are the soul
cannot survive death, the black hole.
Gently rafting down river.
Calm as the pulse in my veins.
Rapids approach, pulse quickens.
With the eye of the sun,
we see things as they are.
With our eyes, only illusions.
Many see what looks to be
the distant river flowing into the sea.
All I see is me.
I am eye,
a pupil studying the world
filtered by colors and patterns of my iris.
After the purple crayon didn’t taste like a grape,
no grape tasted like a grape.
Our pupils are like stars and black holes.
Like the sun, they illuminate everything around us.
Yet, whatever light enters them is never seen again.
The sun is the eye of the soul,
revealing all through our pupil, a black hole.
As our iris filters the light of the sun,
we each see differently which makes life fun.
The big Buddha statue sits in silent meditation,
bird droppings encrusted on his cheeks like tears.
Some sit at his feet with offerings and prayers,
while a boy Buddha laughs, swimming in the reflecting pond.
Each of us is a self that covers the soul.
Like a shoe, the self is the visible surface atop the sole.
However shiny and polished, a shoe is useless without a sole.
Before the now,
before the world of form,
the soul is whole.
In the now,
the soul is countless forms and roles.
until once again we become whole.
I thought an ant small and meaningless,
until I saw the night sky and realized I was.
Bell ringing in the empty sky
bouncing sound
awakens me to time passing.
The mind of God creates the universe.
Our mind creates our world.
When our mind merges with the mind of God,
we are the universe.
Holding something tight,
our hand forms a fist.
Letting go, it’s a handshake.
A coin is integrity,
its different sides duality.
A coin is worth something,
its sides worth nothing.
Guru and I shared stories.
His stories: histories.
My stories: mysteries.
So quickly, roles reverse.
“I love you” is the self expressing animal love.
“I love us” is love beyond the self.
“I love it all” is divine love.
The sun is rising and setting
simultaneously and continuously.
Day and night is about space, not time.
Birth is fission.
Love is fusion.
Fusion has greater energy than fission.
We come from a black hole
arrive with a big bang
make fireworks
then turn into confetti.
Stars are events from the past.
Imaginary lines between stars create constellations.
Each constellation is a story we think is real.
When past is passed
it is over and under, finished and buried.
When past is past
it is over and over, lingering over the present.
I am a vertical thread.
You are a horizontal thread.
We weave in and out, until we disappear
and now a fabric is here.
In the darkest moments
and beyond the clouds,
stars put things into perspective.
When I am me and you are you
and I am you and you are me,
we are the Everything.
In the box, the puzzle is complete and whole.
Outside, scattered pieces, each alone.
Then each piece begins its quest
to find another that fits best.
Until no piece remains alone
but the peace of being whole.
In the night sky,
looking for constellations
we notice few stars.
In the zoo, beautiful tigers and playful elephants.
Strolling in their cages, we see their nature and ours.
As the thirsty child
drinks from the inkwell,
his parents turn white.
Fertilizer makes roses smell sweet and bloom.
With too much: stink and doom.