The end of an era of American repression and gluttony, of casual decadence among the ghosts of corporate excess, to feed and brood and wander the streets. Heavy machinery beats and wines across the battered landscape. The black sky blends into the street, the sky void, teeming, quiet, blasting unbearably loud. Down beneath the bridge, the great peace.
Leap into the human realm, feeding, breathing, running for the bus. The view out the dirty window is a blasted landscape of concrete and tar, men in coats standing silently, staring at things in the distance. Whether an airplane or bug, the same instinct as any beast. Under the slab an army of tunnelers, sawers, slimeballs, and queen slimeballs.
At Dharma Zen Center a lot of questions on the arrangement of things, spare time between incubations, calm mind of peaceful mother hen. The room is full of concern, of failings, falling short, incomprehension… can they find the calm center? I feel like a battle-hardened warrior, an unfair advantage. If Tai Hui were here I would ask, “If you attain the Dharma from within the hubbub, is stillness anymore valid?” Since I know only one life, I have no way of knowing― when the turmoil recedes, the great peace.
More forms to fill out, an acupuncturist asks about surgeries: PCI repair (harvested hamstring), appendicitis, fractured skull. Afterward, drifting through the city, I partly exist as a phenomenal element, more a flickering node that passes through the membrane in florescent pulses ― I may very well have been invisible. The flow directs in a tight orchestration of leaving, where everything is heightened to the absurd. The wonderful heart of a winter retreat already stretches across the lapses of time, bathes me in golden strands, throws golden flowers at my feet. All the world has stopped, races madly past, beats to my eternal heart.