Note: Life, like this writing, may sometimes appear confusing - things look disconnected and randomly thrown together: not even pieced together. A writing can look like a tornado came through. One may think, "All over the place." But it fits together - like songs above as one this among this... this... this - things strewn about tend to do that. Look closely, not lazily, and you may see, but no guarantees. If you walk from here to there just to get there, you will miss the rhyme and reason. Sometimes, cats are cats that look like dogs, and dogs are dogs that look like cats. To hold someone close is... this.
I love through
this...
letter word sentence paragraph writing
yes, this one
and a - this - meaning only the heart can see - eyes don't see it
and
possibly, most of all,
this silence
it is all alive and can embrace someone as closely as two arms
when they are prepared to receive
so many things can be love boats
including things that do not look like love boats
they are each appearing upon the sea from nowhere
here then gone... nowhere
hence, the wise say again and again "Stay Awake!"
Brian K. Wilcox. "Loving through This."
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Yangshan and his Chan (Zen) teacher, Guishan, China, 9th Century -
Yangshan: How is it when millions of things arise at once?
Guishan: Blue is not yellow. Long is not short. All things abide in their own places. It does not concern me.
Yangshan bowed.
* * *
How is it when millions of things arise at once?
They always do. "How... arise at once" has been translated, "When hundreds, thousands, and tens of thousands of circumstances are coming at me at once, what can I do?" Anything emerging is to you - better, "with you," for you are part of it. The part cannot hide in oneness. A part is a part, and that is you.
So, we say, "Universe." There are many verses, and it is a single verse; everything is a verse. A song is a song for verses. A word is a word for letters. Your face is a face with eyebrows. When a hair of the eyebrow blows away, does your face leave you?
You are emerging to yourself. Yet, the you emerging is not a you from a past, not a moment ago. Can you find a past you? If you say, "Yes, I can," show someone, and do not show them a photograph, show them a living, breathing you. Better, show your past self to your present self. The same applies to a pebble and a mountain. No one has ever hugged anyone more than once.
* * *
Everything is impermanent. How sad! No. How wonderful! Tell me why.
Would you want your face to be one thousand years old? New faces keep arising. That saves your face. Faces arise with faces: holy communion.
* * *
Blue is not yellow. Long is not short. All things abide in their own places.
Everything is complete. Even an incomplete something is completely incomplete and in place. We say "complete" and "incomplete," and neither exists. Spiritual practice is intimacy with the completeness of what is. There is always a wholeness. You may feel incomplete, but you only completely feel incomplete. Emotions lie completely. Thoughts do, too. There is a place for the washcloth and toothbrush; each is complete and their places complete, so complete communes with complete. So, the wisdom of diversity - humans need to listen!
* * *
It does not concern me.
But why no concern? Sounds heartless. No concern does not mean not caring. No concern is no concern with incompleteness or misplacement. No anxiety or struggle accepting everything has its place and is whole. We are not trying to make rocks fly or raindrops ascend into the sky. Or do we? Acceptance... peace. Otherwise, no.
Santoka Taneda (1882-1940; Japanese Zen wandering beggar, free-verse haiku), he often walked in the rain -
I don’t care if it does rain - it rains
* * *
Guishan would know the Creation Story in the Jewish-and-Christian Bible is not about creation versus evolution - how pathetic a piece of art has been smeared so! A rather pedantic tale, it is, of completeness and place, beautiful, too. The sun has its fullness, so does each grain of sand. Both have places, and each grain of sand has its place among grains of sand. Again, humans need to listen! And you do not have to scurry to a holy book - just see! Wisdom arises all around you, now.
A bird is a bird doing bird things. Everything is doing itself, which means being itself. A singer is not just singing, an action other than the singer, an object being acted upon; the singer is the singing. The singer, singing, and song are creating each other, as the teacher says, at once. Singing is the singer being singer, doing themself. I am not merely creating this writing, it is creating me. I will never be the same again. Yay! So, again, spiritual practice is intimacy with this... and this... and this... this this this ... I breathe this writing, and it breathes me: readers are invited to join in. There is no meaning to be found outside the breathing.
* * *
Yangshan bows.
A bow is a sign of reverence based on insight? He does not speak. There is nothing to say. What led to the bow? Could it be seeing the truth? If he had spoken, he would have been tossing mud into a clear, blue sky.
A bow emerged from nowhere. Then, gone, did not return anywhere. The bow said enough. Why move a tongue?
Sometimes, one meets the truth and becomes so intimate with it they know not to say a word. Sometimes, one may say something and immediately know, through an inner sense felt in the body, they just peed all over the temple floor.
* * *
What does the above have to do with everyday life? Well, let the verse reply, and it is up to you to see why what Yongshan says - this ... this ... this - is ever-fresh, ordinary, and extraordinary... now -
Julia Fehrenbacher - "The Only Way I Know to Love the World"
It is not just a cup of coffee but the warm hum of hello, an invitation to wake, to sip, to say thank you for another chance to dance with another new day.
It is not just a ceramic mug, but the one she shaped with her own 16-year-old hands, for me. For me.
It's not just one heart held open to another, or a kiss blown in the mirror, not just the soft circle of smile, but a nod of - I see you. You are not alone.
Not just life. But your life. Your very temporary life.
It isn't just the earth you stand on but the giver of every single thing, a reason to get down on humbled, human knees and say thank you thank you thank you.
It is not just another moment but a door flung open, a flooded-with-light entrance to every real thing
not just a poem but a prayer whispered from one listening ear to another. The only way I know to love the world.
A seeker asked the Sage, while they shared tea time together, "Can you teach me how to pray?" "Yes, enjoy your cup of tea." "Thank you," replied the man, "and when can you share with me about how to pray?" "I just did," said the Sage.
*Brian K. Wilcox. "Meetings with an Anonymous Sage."
* * *
(C) brian k. wilcox, 2025
Sources: "When hundreds, thousands, and tens of thousands of circumstances are coming ..., in Gudo Nishijima. Master Dogen's Shinji Shobogenzo: 301 Koan Stories. Santoka haiku, in Santoka Taneda. For All My Walking: Free-Verse Haiku of Taneda Santoka. Trans. Burton Watson. Fehrenbacher poem, in James Crews. The Wonder of Small Things: Poems of Peace & Renewal.
