Monday, February 27, 2023

Discoveries - John Daido Loori - 1971 - 72

John Daido Loori (1971?)
Mountain Record
May 28, 1971

Learning how to turn the conscious thinking mind off and let the inner mind, the feelings, work free and open seems to be one of the major keys to heightened awareness.

July 9, 1971

I must continue to allow the “inner self” or “inner mind” to lead and let happen what may.

July 14, 1971

I have learned to be quiet with myself, and thus have discovered camera. Camera has shown me light making love, from this I learned that I no longer need to “take” pictures for I now know how to make Images. My Images have opened my inner self and thus I find my Images are becoming spirit.

Now I wish to discover how to make my Images disappear.

I am seeking Imageless Images.

August 1, 1971

My Images are an act of discovery not creation. Much the same kind of creativity as I used in science.

The subjects of my Images no longer make the picture. The viewer makes the picture by the combination of his inner self and my image.

August 9, 1971

Is-ness and else-ness direct themselves to the rational thinking mind.

Nothingness speaks to the spirit.

September 6, 1971

Today I photographed a feeling that I did not understand for which I received a gift of a place I’ve never been. 

April 19, 1972

I think the searching is over now, for awhile. There seems to be a path to follow. What’s needed now is time to work and patience to wait.


Selections from John Daido Loori Journal Entries 1971-1974, Mountain Record, Zen Mountain Monastery Archives

Saturday, February 25, 2023

the library roof magically expanded

Larry Wolf, Currently On Loan from the Chicago Public Library (2023)

From The New York Times - A Love Letter To Libraries, Long Overdue

It’s easy to romanticize libraries. But, the fact is, they’re not “just” about the written word. Were they ever? As local safety nets shriveled, the library roof magically expanded from umbrella to tarp to circus tent to airplane hangar. The modern library keeps its citizens warm, safe, healthy, entertained, educated, hydrated and, above all, connected.


Saturday, February 11, 2023

making love to this emerging tender indestructible being

Making art
Making love
Making life

One breath
One stroke

No past
The vast past

All identities
All ways of being

No self
No not self
No other
Not one
Not two

As the old ends, 
nothing works
As the new begins, nothing works
In the moment, 
just the moment

The subtle bold exertion of intention

to fail

to make love 
in the moment
to make love 
to the moment
to make love 
to the art as it emerges
to love whatever emerges

coherent thought falls apart
no center
no hold

this touch of 
of body
this touch of 
And then
All flow and bleed and blend and move

Grief and joy in the same breath
Heartbreak in the flowering
To be new is to kill the old

no center
only fringe

passing sucks
pleasing sucks
covering sucks
let go of normal
be divergent

let go of scenery
let go of realism
let go of making sense
let go of a lifetime of becoming

nothing to work
nothing to achieve

objectless hunger for life
this moment
this experience
let go of the tight shoulders
let go of the crossed knees
let go of the urge for another gulp of water
let go of yet another book
let go of yet another idea
let go of yet another human to connect with
let go of fear of missing out
let go of fear of missing
let go of fear
let go

Thursday, February 9, 2023

Slow Release Disruption

Larry Wolf, ADT (2023)

Monday, February 6, 2023

Crucible x 2

Larry Wolf, Crucible of Attention - Cool (2023)

Larry Wolf, Crucible of Attention - Hot (2023)

A crucible that holds our attention protects and nurtures fresh modes of being.

Our attention is the energy that transforms and extracts essential elements.

Thursday, February 2, 2023

What the Living Do

Marie Howe, What the Living Do (1998)
Photo Credit: Bill Jacobson

Poems and Fragments

For Three Days

For three days now I've been trying to think of another word for gratitude 
because my brother could have died and didn't


Rochester, New York, July 1989

music would sometimes drift up through the floorboards,

and he might doze or wake a little or sleep, 
and whoever was with him might lean back in the chair beside the bed 
and not know it was Chopin, 
but something soft and pretty -- maybe not even hear it, 
not really, until it stopped 
-- the way you know a scent from a flowering tree once you've passed it. 


 The Last Time

The last time we had dinner together in a restaurant
with white tablecloths, he leaned forward 
and took my two hands in his hands and said,
I'm going to die soon. I want you to know that.


And I said, I think I do. 
And he said, What surprises me is that you don't.

And I said, I do. And he said, What?
And I said, Know that you're going to die.

 And he said, No, I mean know that you are.


The Cold Outside

Soon I will die, he said, and then 
what everyone has been so afraid of for so long will have finally happened,

and then everyone can rest. 


The Kiss 

When he finally put 
his mouth on me -- on 


my shoulder -- the world 
shifted a little on the tilted


axis of itself. The minutes
since my brother died


stopped marching ahead like
dumb soldiers and


the stars rested.
His mouth on my shoulder and


then on my throat
and the world started up again


for me,
some machine deep inside it


all the little wheels


slowly reeling then speeding up,
the massive dawn lifting on the other 


side of the turning world.
And when his mouth 


pressed against my 
mouth, I


opened my mouth 
and the world's chord


played at once
a large, ordinary music rising

from a hand neither one of us could see.