I welcome old age and enjoy being free rope shoes a bamboo staff the last month of spring paper curtains plum blossoms daybreak dreams immortality and buddhahood are merely fantasies freedom from worry and care is my practice.
Stonehouse (Shih-wu)*
For a time I sit in retreat
trying to let it all go
such is my desire or my illusion
calm settles quiet around me
following wave on wave of change.
I will let my mind go where it wants
careful as I do not know my mind
not understand my own life
I am old now and alone
thinking I had grieved my loss
I waded deep into swirling life
at last to step back step away.
Those old hermits stepped away for good
I’ve not read of their regrets.
*The Mountain Poems of Stonehouse,” translation and commentary by Red Pine, excerpt and adaptation from poem 31, Copper Canyon Press. 2014
If I say I am Buddhist I wrench myself further down into the entangling weeds and vines of who I am not. I must wrench myself up and out before I am lost, dragged down by the weight of karma – the deceptions and distortions given to me, accepted by me, held onto tightly by me.
How might I be free as the maple out my widow, the cloud floating by, the raindrop falling, the blade of grass growing? Only by letting it all go, all that I’ve thought myself to be to now know I am not that. American, Democrat, Priest, Poet? I am not that.
Only a while ago I accepted that my name would be Korin instead of Tom. It was strangely an easy enough thing to do. Why? Because I am not Tom nor am I Korin. If that change was easy how mush easier to let go of all of the other names I carry around as weights that pull me further down among the ensnaring weeds and vines?
Who I am cannot be named. Call me what you will. I am not that.
You may ask why I chose this name for my site. Here is my explanation.
Once, while camping, I was sitting alone at my morning fire, surrounded by the big trees in the Pacific Northwest. I had a book about the species of the Cascadian bioregion and was reading about ravens. Honestly, at that time I did not know the difference between a raven and a crow. When, on this particular morning, the morning I was to pack up and go home, I heard a clear and slow flapping of big wings. That is, I think, unusual. I looked up and to my right. Raven was flying low, maybe 10-15 feet above, and coming straight towards me. As the bird flew directly above my head, they sharp-turned and began flying away in front of me. As they did so, they emitted the croaking sound typical of the species. I had an instant and intense sense that, “I had been visited.”
Visited was the very word that came to me in that moment and that I wrote quickly in my camping journal. Here, context provides some meaning behind this. My wife of thirty-one years had passed after a long walk with cancer. My mourning period was continuing and, I think, never ends. I went to this place I knew to be a place of healing and rest. Here it was that raven visited me.
Had that been all, I may have not given the incident much more thought. As I said, I had to pack up and leave that day. I did so and was driving out of the Hurricane Ridge parking lot down the beautiful stretch of road headed back towards Port Angeles. It was a sunny morning and, if you’ve ever driven that road, you know that, on the right is a steep drop off to the south, providing big views of the Olympic range. On the left is a sheer rock wall. I saw just above me, as I was driving, a raven who crossed in front of me. Then, I could see their shadow on the rock face flying just in front of me. Odd. I kept sight of that bird, shadowed on the rock face, for perhaps a mile or more down the road. I felt then that I was being given an escort for my way.
Some happenings are coincidences. Many would say that about these incidences that happened to me that day. But they happened to me and I knew in my gut that something of a spiritual nature happened between me and that raven – the same one or another matters not. I believe they understood my mourning, probably because they too had lost a love. The wild creatures know far more than we often believe.
So, since before my wife passed, I had begun sitting zazen and that has become my way, having recently received my dharma name – Korin Etsudo, meaning “ancient forest, joyful path.” I think of that raven as my “spirit guide.” It is my understanding that one doesn’t get to choose their spirit guide but they choose us. On that day, I believe I was visited by kin and chosen.
Following the events detailed above, and wanting to commemorate what had happened, I purchased this artistic print at the Steinbrueck Gallery in Seattle, done by David Boxley, who grew up among the Tsimshian peoples of Alaska, adopting their language and traditions.
"To get to the end the very end let it all go let it go." (Stonehouse - Shih-wu)
This is where I begin. Let it all go. This summarizes for me what I imagine Zen life to be – letting it all go. I certainly have not done that and maybe/probably never will. What I have done in this regard is substantial but I still live a very comfortable life. What I understand about Zen and the concept of “letting it all go” is further summarized in the idea of “living simply.”
What I have done is ditch my car and my television. I have divorced myself from the world in that I do not read or listen to news from any source, whatsoever. I catch glimpses of local, national, and world news events as I scroll by them as quickly as possible when opening up sites, such as this one. Letting all that inside my home and my mind is just like polluting and desecrating a sacred place. My home and my mind are sacred places. I will, to the best of my ability, not allow such toxic pollution. I highly recommend this to anyone who wishes to reclaim their peace of mind. So far, no one among people I know, have followed my lead. Still, I love and respect them. However, when I have people over into my small place I let them know that discussion of politics, local, national, or world events are not welcome here. I consider my place a sanctuary and all of the toxic garbage stays out.
Living Zen Life 