"To study the Buddha Way is to study the self.
To study the self is to forget the self.
To forget the self is to be experienced by the ten thousand things." (Eihei Dogen)
 ________________________________________

Slow beach walking
sea and sky blue billows
...comes a fleeting sensation 
vanishing quickly as it came
being nothing at all
meaningless as waves 
toppling onto shore

I was not anything at all
calm eternal windblown
wave upon wave upon wave
morning to night
sun soaked moon lit
wave upon wave upon wave
perpetual
   
moment erased
in the instant of sensation
thinking it a thing 
to write about think about
penetrate it's meaning

human concept - meaning -
to be discarded as any other differentiation
separating one thing from another
all this time thinking meaning 
was all I wanted

trying to get the moment back
a waste of time
ensnare it in words
futility upon futility

It will come again
surprise me stay longer
allow sublimity transcendence
suspending moment into eternity

Here again I come to this long lovely shore
bringing my chair to sit up a ways
from where others run walk slowly
dogs in joyful romp and play! 

I feel a calm still loneliness sitting here
surveying the broad expanse of horizon
as if I could perceive the earth's round curve
stretching south to north
is it only an illusion?

Chill morning breeze surrounds
dune grasses sway gentle giving way to wind.

Morning sun rises at my back 
to see my shadow stretch before me
beach and surf brightened
beyond the placid ocean dark.

I can write nothing of sea shore
not better written by others
still I will try my hand
put words to what cannot be

I think of Dover Beach* ceaseless susurrus
pebbly beach noisy in surf
it's long withdrawing roar
eternal note of sadness
or Ozymandias* lone and level sands stretch far away.

I come here as I can
watch waves pound their way to the shore
sit still feel mournful regret
so much loss - my own this land.

We've been terribly shaken
wiles of men and cruel ways
trying not to look behind me
where America stretches back
to sweep of Atlantic blue.

Sorrowful to think how much is lost 
fear I have it cannot be regained
I do not know nor can understand
what I can possibly do to find it
when suddenly, in a burst of flight,
come a wild swarm of dragonflies
such as I've never seen, glorious!
an hour I watched dragonflies
wing thousands past 
southward autumn migration.

The dragonfly host gives me morning hope 
for sea wind grass creatures who will wing and crawl their ways
in directions all the endless horizon can hold
sun dawning on a resilient land.

My photo, Manzanita Beach, Oregon, September 5, 2026.

*Dover Beach," Matthew Arnold (1867)
*Ozymandius," Percy Bysshe Shelley (1817)

Some dispositions seem hard-wired
no point trying to untangle
calling them ancient twisted karma
doesn't help at all

human ways run deep
layered through primal life forms
fungi bacteria toad snake bear
burgeoning wild feral beginnings

neither cause nor karma can be held to account
when we all were boiled and brewed together 
as stars ignited out of vast primordial ether
creating as if God all we know of world.

Once upon a time...
I had a yard filled with life
gone now to another.
These remain.

Happy to share the air
give them water
set them in sun's light
speak kind words.

Adventures behind me
less complex wonders await
everywhere at all times
may I have eyes to see.

Good to learn simplicity
growing old has its own problems
trading complex for simple
as much as I can.

Observe - question - hypothesize
test - analyze -conclude.
______________________________

Since my wife died
this is what life has felt like,
an experiment in how to live.

I did not know what else to do 
but test ways of understanding 
try ways of living, without her.

Tonight, I come to realize
my life is no experiment
it is only life.

The scientific method does not apply.
I am no guinea pig 
I am no one's subject for testing.

I am not God's subject
to be judged here
or in any life hereafter.

I am not society's subject
to weigh my benefit or neglect
as if weights on a scale.

I am not the subject of any creed
measured by adherence 
to it's set of rules, forms, or dogmas.

Nor am I my own subject
to be judged by my own arbitrary rules
formulated out of the dregs of my past.

To what, then, am I subject?
Only, as all are, to this -
Death.

If my wife's death taught me anything
it is that death is nothing to be feared
only embraced.

Taught me that the world's view of death
is irredeemably myopic
laced with fear and dread.

I watched my wife die.
I saw in her nothing of
fear, dread, or anguish.

I have, then, one arbiter
who is neither grim nor reaps.
Death. The death of this one sitting here.

Where one lives matters.
Some old Japanese Chinese monks
found monastic life a tedious waste
set out for solitary mountains
Zen coming naturally
contorted rock forms 
gnarled pines wind twisted.

Where I live matters.
Leaving opulent confines behind
where what one possesses
matters more than what possesses one.
I was not at home
could not ever have been home.
Most lives are little like mine.

I am not better.
I've lived for years with my faults
suffered from my indiscretions
felt remorse without relief.
Zen cannot absolve my past
cannot remove what lies before me.
Sitting, I can find my way.

Here I am.
No longer with life partner
abandoning a circle of friends.
Home matters. 
Staying where I am not home
is living as stranger
in a strange unforgiving land.

Years living Christian life
some few as priest
many beside my wife
remains in me part of me.

Christ - Jesus of Nazareth -
son of Mary Joseph his Father
friend of Mary Martha Lazarus
spoke to the woman at the well.

Francis of Assisi 
Clare of Assisi at his side
Brother Sun Sister Moon
as one at San Damiano.

One triune mystery
gathered it all in let it all go
smoothed the dome of heaven
round as the nest of a bird.

“The spirit blows through grasses and trees
you cannot see or hear what moves them
cannot tell from which direction it comes or goes
so it is with all who are called by the Spirit.”

(john 3:8 – my paraphrase)

Roar of morning traffic on Stone Way
working western world rouses
tasks of building maintaining feeding
sounds movements unknown to the Ancients
my world not the same as theirs.

Tonight's half moon graces the southern sky
hovering above Seattle skyline
undisturbed by our doings here.
I am alone on this rooftop garden
alone with my thoughts and cell(s).

There is nothing more than this
sitting here half moon floating there
together in this summer tableau 
painted by a master long silent 
whose brushes have been put away for good.

Each artist is the same
creating works from palatte and genius
inspired by such muses as may call
step back admire step away.
Muses are many patiently waiting. 

What muse must the Creator have heard
saying, make a tiny bit of nothing
a star perhaps a cosmos a world 
pencil in creatures large and small
city glistening beneath the star's evening light.

The unexamined life is not worth living.*
To know others is to be wise. To know oneself is to be enlightened.**

---

Stepping away 
solitude opens hidden stores 
forgotten self awakens
true self buried to the neck
in this earthen vessel.***

Solitude has broken the seal
cracked the buried vessel 
released aromas of quickened life
light revealing unquestioned assumptions
beliefs creeds rituals unveiled as hollow.

I'm no enlightened one
my thoughts turn to self inquiry
see what I might find
what I lost through neglect
what will help me find my way.

Mornings in Seattle cool and gray
afternoons give way to warm blue skies
nowhere to go or be
evening sun has set
laughter from the tavern below.

---

*Socrates, in Plato's, The Apology
**Lao Tzu, TaoTeChing (33)
***Paul of Tarsus, 2 Corinthians 4:7

---

I watched as my wife,
over four years,
let go and let go and let go of her life
not wanting to
but who, at her end, 
let her life go with graceful elegance,
smiling softly, saying her final words:

     "Hello
     Hello
     Hello
     Goodbye."

We watched as she left us 
her enigmatic greetings and farewell
sounding in our ears and hearts.

We wondered who she saw 
to whom she addressed
her wondrous greetings?

I am reminded of the angel Gabriel
coming to visit Mary
as if this same Angel came to Carol
and her, in astounded wonder, at death's door,
only able to say, three times,
     Hello!
Her smile, joyful recognition
in her liminal moment
of the fulfillment of her faith-filled life.

This is Fra Angelico's, "Annunciation," that hangs at the head of the stairwell of the Convent of San Marco, Florence, Italy. Seeing it, as Carol and I did on our visit to Italy, this does no justice to the original which is brilliant in color and detail. Of all the magnificent artworks we saw in Italy, this will remain, to me, the most wondrous of all.