on popping the pink pill and dissolving into aware space

Alan Perriman, Fog

 

This is what I love about fog:

space is rendered opaque

so I get to see

Creation’s cauldron,

to see the emptiness I ordinarily move through

oblivious

to its strange solidity.

 

I had it all back to front –

assuming my solidity and its, well, nothingness.

One night a few months ago I asked how

Dōgen’s “aware space” *

might be made evident, physically perceivable,

experience-able beyond conceptualization

and next morning I woke up to thick fog.

 

I thought, OK let’s color it pink

to make it even more evident

– no problem for a visual mind like mine –

but then I noticed that my hands,

the exhalation of my breath,

my table, my room, my coffee,

everything was permeated with pinkness.

 

In high school science class I was taught:

An atom consists of 99.9999999999996% “empty space”

and should all the “empty space”

be vacuumed out of one’s body

the solid matter remaining would fit

on the point of a pin.

(Along with all those dancing quantum angels.)

 

And I lost it, almost wet myself laughing . . .

“You mean . . .?”

I’m leaving it to you, dear reader,

to join the dots for yourself.

If you do, you’ll never again be puzzled

by the paradox of the Prajñāpāramitā.

 
– – –
 

That’s how teachings arrive for me:

a question goes out

and the universe serves a set-up

perfectly calibrated for comprehension

by this old cow’s unique version

of craziness.

Mu!

 


Painting by UK artist Alan Perriman, Fog – one of a series where he sets out to express in visual language a short Japanese poem.

Because fog engulfs
the house where I am
I feel as though
I have floated into the sky
– Myōe
1173-1232

alanperriman.co.uk


* Dōgen’s “Aware Space”:
I was sitting with a commentary on Dōgen zenji’s Being Time, given by Anzan Hoshin roshi.

He said, “Dōgen is pointing out the way Aware Space embodies itself as each of you, and how each of you unfold yourselves as each other and as all things, as all beings, all times, all worlds.”

Gulp.     God I love Dōgen.

White Wind Zen Community, Ottawa.


surfer chick

 

Echoes from Emptiness: tunnel surfer

 

I’ve been there
crouched low,
riding a tunnel wave

but it wasn’t in that
rolling roaring wetness

it was in this
silent
unfathomable
ocean of Being

 

imagine my amazement
to discover – here
in this human form –
an aging amphibious
void-surfer

 


Image source unknown – if it’s yours, please advise!


tracing the unborn I

215

I write 27-01-44 when asked for my date-of-birth, yet the Life that took ‘first breath’ that day was never born.

It’s not exactly rocket science to come to this conclusion; one just follows the tracks of the genealogists a little further than the norm.

Where did the Life that animates this breath have its beginning?

How can I claim it began in this body-mind cocoon, fruit of the sexual activity of two other body-mind cocoons, whose unique genetic and phylogenetic imprints were systematically combined and passed on?  Or was it in the imprints of their parents?  Or their grandparents?  Or their great-grandparents?

The Life that animates each one of us harks back to the first cell-division.  We share ancestry.  We go back to the One.  We share – we are – Creation’s initial impulse to forge the miracle of existence from the void.

Time to put down the pen; this is all starting to sound too Biblical for a baby-boomer.

~

this emptiness is singing with life

123

pre-dawn paradise:
a softness in the shadowy light
slimmest sliver of peach in the east
kookaburra’s cackle piercing
the expectant marvel
called world

~

problems and concerns
issues and causes
that used to be upfront in mind
are weirdly absent
noticeably not-happening

the space they vacated is sometimes called the void
but there’s nothing null about it
no vacancy, no gut-gripping nihilism

this Emptiness is singing with life,
pregnant with potential

I cast about for a concept
and this falls out of my pen:
it’s the womb of all Creation

~