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.
The soul is the ocean.
Incomprehensible to whatever perceives it’s a self in it.
The ocean expresses itself as waves riding the electromagnetic spectrum,
visible only when passing through as light.
The ever-changing waves are the face of the eternal ocean.
Seeing distinct faces in the waves, we’re oblivious of the ocean
until the faces return to it, which is what we are.
The duality of what’s us and not us is obvious.
The duality of our emotions is insidious.
Realizing we are the soul, the self’s dualities are superfluous.
Life is a balance sheet of left and right.
the left is day and the right is night,
where what is real is out of sight,
not what is but what just might.
Divine are the waves.
God is the ocean.
Divine are sunset and sunrise.
God is the sun.
The everchanging is divine.
The essence is God.
When we see the divine in every thing, we are divine.
When we see God in every thing, we are God.
Words are stars, pure light,
allowing us to see at night.
Sentences are constellations,
only real in our imaginations.
The soul is the ocean.
We are its waves.
While we are often oblivious of the ever-present ocean,
the ocean loves its waves.
Under the sun,
an infinite number of temporary things.
In the night sky,
one infinite eternal thing.
On the night sky we draw lines with our imagination
creating a story in the form of a constellation
which tells time and guides our navigation.
Some see themselves in everyone.
Others see others as different from themselves.
That’s what makes them different.
He who loves everyone is often seen as loving solely his self.
He loves the sole self, the soul.
Everyone is a manifestation of the soul.
There are more stars above than grains of sand below.
I look so much larger than a star,
but am I smaller than a grain of sand?
The tangible things we see as whole
are just a surface surrounding a hole.
All there is comes from a hole,
the eye’s center, creating the whole.
An ice cube alone quickly melts and evaporates.
Many ice cubes together, slowly.
Every thing unique, every thing everchanging.
Can’t know every thing, but can know nothing.
The essence of the Everything.
Some things high, some things low.
We live in a vertical world.
In sleep and at death, all is horizontal.
The universe knows no such measures.
Stars seem motionless, with no sense of time.
Randomly dispersed, without rhythm or rhyme.
Constellations tell time far and near.
Hour of night, month of year.
Once I have passed,
many will think of me as past.
Those who know of timeless love,
that which emanates from above,
will smile with joy and not shed a tear.
While my body is gone, I am forever here.
Earth breathes the air, fire eats the Earth,
water drowns fire, air evaporates water.
Different things, same thing.
I first see you as other than me.
Then I see you are another me.
There is no other, just we.
With one eye, we can see.
With two eyes, we have depth perception.
With one mind, we have a view.
With many minds, we have a wide perspective.
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.
Birth and death are illusions, like the sun rising and setting.
The soul is forever here, like the sol 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 reflect the sun’s light.
Enlightening students emit 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 we.
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 there is no more circle, just space.
Water downstream is water past.
Water upstream is water future.
Water here is water present.
Water flows like time, but is timeless.
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 the 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.
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.
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.
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, only 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.
Knotted wood with odd streaks of brown hue,
useful for many a thing to do.
Building a desk, feeding a fire;
so many possibilities, one can never tire.
While its static form seems not to change,
what happens below its surface is beyond imagination’s range:
The atoms are dancing to the music of electrons
as compounds are mating as they have for eons.
The wood is never in a state of pause,
it’s a marvel beyond words and without flaws.
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.
All there is is is
Is is ever-changing and always the same
Is is finite and infinite
Is is temporary and eternal
Is cannot be compared to anything
Is is not part of anything
Is is not missing anything
Is is whatever you think it is
Is is nothing you think it is
Is cannot be described
Is is what it is whatever it is
Is is who you are
Is is perfect
Is is nothing
Is is the everything
Is is the is.
From the flow we grow
into a temporary island
eroding back into the stream of consciousness.
Gently rafting down river.
Calm as the pulse in my veins.
Pulse quickens, rapids approach.
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.
Knowledge is sexual,
double helix perpetual.
As we climb this ladder to the heavens from where we came,
soon enough nothing is ever the same.
Twisting and turning, what’s right becomes left and left becomes right.
Upward and onward, until Earth is completely out of sight.
I am eye,
a pupil studying the world
filtered by colors and patterns of my iris.
Going back or forward in time is a race,
a journey to Earth’s center or outer space.
Death by implosion/explosion, by fire or ice.
Best stay where I am, everything here, everything nice.
Love from the self and love from the soul.
Each love in life plays a role.
Love from the soul connects us to all.
Love from the self helps us grow tall.
Love is love, it all feels the same
both from places that sound alike in name.
Love from the soul comes from the whole
Love from the self comes from the hole.
I don’t know who it is in the mirror I see
but everywhere else I only see me.
The clarinet is the self,
the wind is the soul.
When the sound is music
it makes them whole.
The war in Gaza is a never-ending fight.
Each side has a story told in a different light.
It’s difficult to comprehend, but they fuel the blight.
I long to see the truth, but the fire rages so bright.
In the heat from emotions, I await the cool night
where distant stars guide the way, with no wrong nor right.
Better to be unique than perfect.
We are naturally unique, but it takes great effort to be perfect.
Uniqueness is forever, but perfection temporary.
Being unique is perfect.
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,
tears of bird droppings encrusted on his cheeks.
Some sit at his feet with offerings and prayers,
while a child Buddha laughs, swimming in a 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.
“Don’t worry about the future,
the present is all thou hast;
the future will soon be present,
and the present will soon be past.”
Family post card sent from Kansas to Tennessee, 1910. Courtesy of Kate Bowers.
Homespun advice from the farm belt; reminiscent of Buddhist teachings, long before they were popularized in America.
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 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 others that fits best.
When the puzzle returns to its previous state
each piece disappears into a peace more great.
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.
