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  • Fragile Joys 13
    2024/01/08
    13.

    Beings are born and die. In spring the plum blossoms and
    the seeing of plum blossoms.

    Enfolding unfolding, blossoming and fruiting.
    The dark revealing, the bright concealing in
    each new relation. Each new

    leaf and flower the totality.

    Possibility impossibility flow in and of each other
    and in the secretmost recesses of the Heart
    unpossibility
    non-darkness
    unlearning
    mysterious
    envelope
    of wholeness.


    In the leaves and branches there is a hidden laughter;
    its roots in the formless, its blossoms appear

    within form.


    Oh, disorderly face of appearance! Oh improbable visage
    of sofas, volcano, landscape, wasteland, three-toed sloth
    and roses, so many roses.

    Hey, appearance!
    Do you hold us captive?
    Do you set us free?


    Or, are you simply going about your business of appearing
    disappearing…
    unexpected entanglements,

    quantum tracings of flower and bud’s atemporal
    relationship before during and of all emergence-

    the formless, strange meeting place, ant’s
    foot and peony sexing.


    In spring the plum blossoms and the seeing of plum
    blossoms.

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    29 分
  • Xuan Xue: The Dark Unlearning, 49
    2024/01/03
    49.

    A man is lost in the woods. For hours he runs, then stumbles.
    He looks for turning in ellipses and spirals. Thirst overtakes
    him. He comes to a glen with two pools of water. One is
    poison. One is nectar. What happens next is a toss-up.

    A woman is born in a desert. She wakes up full grown. Sand
    stretches for as far as the eye can see and further … as far as
    the mind can imagine! There is no end to it. She will have to
    make her home from desert, from heat, from the knowings of
    sand particles. You woke up today and appearance stretches as
    far as mind can wander in every direction.

    There is no explanation of why you are here. You wake up full
    grown into experience. Appearing stretches everywhere and
    everywhen. You will have to make a home from the waxing
    and waning of the moon, the patterns of traffic, forest pools.
    There are choices. Look for signs.

    Joseph was thrown down in a well. Mandarava in a pit of
    thorns and tar. Jonah into the belly of a whale.
    Padmasambhava—the Cool Grove Charnel Ground. Are these
    anywhere else? You too must make your home in the midst of
    irritations. You too must find delicious laughter tumbling out
    from the mouth of everywhere.

    The Friend of The Way does not teach you. That one is a
    mirror. The world reflected in empty brightness reveals signs,
    pathways. In that mirror: one forest pool shows a banshee, an
    owl, a dark river and, in the other, a sun, moon, staircase of
    flowers. A mirror offers no advice, only vision.
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    36 分
  • Xuan Xue: The Dark Unlearning, 62
    2023/11/20
    In this AWESOME and PERFECT teaching, t.k. delivers a masterful exposition on emptiness-nothingness-openness as the essence of reality, through explaining his poem:

    62.

    There is a homeland of wisdom where my beloved dwells. It is
    an openness irreducible, untouched by sorrows. It is a place
    where every thing is lost, and the beloved appears as the
    everything radiance of without cause.

    There, there can be no thought, no concept; lover and beloved
    do not signal the separation of the number two, nor do they
    imagine Oneness. They refuse that game.

    No truth or untruth, no good or bad, no stages of the path, no
    mantra, samaya, deity, or tantra, nothing to do and nothing left
    undone.

    There, there is no Christian or Buddhist, no Trump or Clinton,
    no five element play and no substanceless light.

    There, there is no self and no other, no terrorist or friend, no
    immigrant or native. There, there is no duality nor non-duality,
    no prayer, no meditation, no work and no relaxation, no
    beings, no Buddhas, no birth, no death.

    There, in the Utterly Nothing Palace, my beloved and I cavort
    in love untouched by care or worry. Oh, yogi and friend, I
    hope you too will join us in our Nobody

    Nowhere Palace, the Apophatic Palace
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    37 分
  • Fragile Joys 22, 23, 24 - Three Poems of Mori
    2023/10/16
    22. 23. 24. Three poems of Mori:

    1. Japan, Harvest Moon, fall 1470:

    sunlight meets chandelier;
    now things get erotic.
    everything delights in opening. .
    the pleasure of colors spill out

    everywhere.

    the mood of lucency, moonlight. son of an emperor
    daughter of a peasant. uncreate mind’s insistence
    on alternatives (Wave? Particle?).

    her body, careless across bed. his lips to her warm wet.
    worship meets. mind silences. the Davisson–Germer
    experiment is made in love.

    now things get erotic
    everything delights in
    entering.
    (A person enters a room. The room has
    more than one door. The person must enter
    through one of them never all of them at
    once. An electron enters a room. The
    electron can, and always does, enter
    through all doors simultaneously.)

    the pleasures of wisdom spill out

    everywhere.

    2. Denmark, Cold Moon, winter 1067:

    After Loki I was the first to borrow Freyja’s cloak of falcon
    feathers. I flew to you. Flew across centuries and oceans.

    I could not bear the separation and so, not finding you
    quickly enough, I consulted the Thrice Burnt Thrice Born,
    the she-witch Gullvieg.

    She spoke:
    “I am sorry but there is nothing I can say that
    would not perchance dismantle, denude, destroy the
    careful contrivance you call ‘your life.’”

    And so, I lay down on pine bow bed, wildflower, arch of
    bones, Viking feast in the halls of Fólkvangr.

    I practiced the s
    e
    x

    magic of the old Norse: dwarves painted on
    the sides of barn timbers, the deep pull of
    ancient wells, the sorcery of touch wood,
    skin bag
    ermine gloves.

    Due to my being a man, she would not at first see me. But
    she was Freyja’s sister and so I told her it was of you. I
    knew she would understand the backward way of love; I told
    her you are my household. I told her that without you I

    have no poetry. She laughed like lunacy. “Love’s
    unknowings outweigh human contrivances,” she whispered.

    She burnt plants: henbane, mushroom, pine sap.
    She unmade man-ness, took away gendering.
    She went to her loom, loosened a knot in the woof,
    the ways in which you were hidden were undone.

    She tied a knot, the enemy was bound.
    She made me a finder of futures and pasts.

    That unsane sister tied the words ‘yours’ ‘mine’ to colored
    thread and wove them into the community of messengers

    the bird-headed females
    called envoys of sages.

    Then and there I unbecame and became again. Now, unlike
    that odd species called “men,” I am not endangered (or
    engendered) by womanly freedoms...

    When I die I will go with the half who journey to Freyja, to
    you. Let the men who only know battle go to Odin.


    3. Atlanta, Flower Moon, spring 2001:

    new moon’s darkness is a cloak
    a mantle over your
    shoulder.
    (I can’t quite remember anymore
    did I call you or am I the called?
    little matter.)

    now i journey down. my lips
    draw out threads of pleasure –
    a little art that weaver taught me.

    now my kisses open, disclose.
    now your hand invites, draws in.
    now this time, and that, are only.

    the milky way of your legs spread
    their beauty across the pilgrimage
    of my hands.

    your sighs balance my accounts and
    the three times become one.


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    58 分
  • Xuan Xue: The Dark Unlearning, 10
    2023/10/09
    10. A child runs through a field of wildflowers; their eyes fill with
    beauty. Another walks an open-air market, St. Rémy de
    Provence, the smell of olives and ripe melons fills her body
    with a joy. A joy untouched by word.

    When sense field and sense object meet in innocence, their
    union becomes the swelling forth of Love. How do you know
    if they have met in innocence—there is silence. Silence
    pervades perception and brings with it mysterious benediction.

    Silence flowers. An invitation is heard, received, met, entered.
    All that—before the word “desire.”

    We grow up. We become preoccupied. Pre-occupation, always
    already occupied by that complicated business and bartering of
    attraction, aversion, indifference. Mind’s figurings are
    chaotic—sense field and sense object meet in fretful concern.
    Odds are figured, interest calculated.

    There is a strange forgetting within our desiring. But, also, an
    odd remembrance, a longing. In the Himalayan mountains
    there is a mythical great white swan who, when a bowl of milk
    and water mixed is placed before her, can drink the milk and
    leave the water. Our forgetting and remembrance are water
    and milk mixed.

    Forgetting and Remembrance are not ideas but alive entities.
    Desire and Innocence too. These are living forces. And, it’s not
    so much that you are living them as they are living you. But
    you have a secret power—you decide who gets fed.

    Longing’s prayer is the invitation of Innocence. Desire’s
    demand closes doors.

    Desire claims that if you feed it, it will give you the keys to the
    kingdom of pleasure and glory. Innocence is shy and makes no
    claims—it perceives in tender silence. Mind’s chaos accustoms
    itself to the noise of ceaseless conflicting desires, but it can also
    be trained. Wants to be. Mind’s blah blah blah is a dog looking
    for a leash.

    Everything Desire claims is delivered by Innocence. The Great
    Work is a training in Innocence.
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    36 分
  • Xuan Xue: The Dark Unlearning, 31
    2023/10/02
    In this first episode, t.k. graces us with a talk on the meaning and references included in the sublime poem “31” from his book of poetry entitled Xuan Xue: The Dark Unlearning.

    31.

    There is a body of sudden openness. It has
    no feet, no hand, no face, no form.

    And it has no alienation of labor and the
    product of labor. Awareness’ work is
    appearance. Management, that old fraud,
    the word “I,” has been sacked.

    In its mysterious absence it is wholeness, and,
    when we come to rest therein—to find our own
    unutterable non-being—then everything we
    speak becomes love.

    Tomorrow it is labor negotiations. Good faith
    bargaining between the obscurity of no-thing-ness
    and some-thing-ness. But tonight the subject is Love.

    Tomorrow will be all headaches and hangovers. But
    tonight it’s all drunken staggering.

    The divine neither is nor is not, just like you
    —its AppearingEmptiness is far more subtle,
    more full of jest and humor, than that
    n c
    a a
    r n
    r y
    o o
    w n — the verb To Be.


    t.k.’s books on Amazon.com - https://www.amazon.com/stores/t.-k./author/B098KL5T6Z

    Outro music: “Sam’s Kiss” by Just a Tourist - https://open.spotify.com/track/3fJ4zUxOsGnihcmUshURGf
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    53 分