Discoveries - John Daido Loori - 1971 - 72

John Daido Loori (1971?)
Mountain Record

May 28, 1971

Learning how to turn the conscious thinking mind off and let the inner mind, the feelings, work free and open seems to be one of the major keys to heightened awareness.

July 9, 1971

I must continue to allow the “inner self” or “inner mind” to lead and let happen what may.

July 14, 1971

I have learned to be quiet with myself, and thus have discovered camera. Camera has shown me light making love, from this I learned that I no longer need to “take” pictures for I now know how to make Images. My Images have opened my inner self and thus I find my Images are becoming spirit.

Now I wish to discover how to make my Images disappear.

I am seeking Imageless Images.

August 1, 1971

My Images are an act of discovery not creation. Much the same kind of creativity as I used in science.

The subjects of my Images no longer make the picture. The viewer makes the picture by the combination of his inner self and my image.

August 9, 1971

Is-ness and else-ness direct themselves to the rational thinking mind.

Nothingness speaks to the spirit.

September 6, 1971

Today I photographed a feeling that I did not understand for which I received a gift of a place I’ve never been. 

April 19, 1972

I think the searching is over now, for awhile. There seems to be a path to follow. What’s needed now is time to work and patience to wait.

Source

Selections from John Daido Loori Journal Entries 1971-1974, Mountain Record, Zen Mountain Monastery Archives

the library roof magically expanded

Larry Wolf, Currently On Loan from the Chicago Public Library (2023)

From The New York Times - A Love Letter To Libraries, Long Overdue

It’s easy to romanticize libraries. But, the fact is, they’re not “just” about the written word. Were they ever? As local safety nets shriveled, the library roof magically expanded from umbrella to tarp to circus tent to airplane hangar. The modern library keeps its citizens warm, safe, healthy, entertained, educated, hydrated and, above all, connected.

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/02/14/books/review/library-public-local.html

 

making love to this emerging tender indestructible being

Making art
Making love
Making life

Coming
One breath
One stroke
Simultaneous

No past
Except 
The vast past
Here
Pregnant 
Now

All identities
All ways of being
Now

No self
No not self
No other
Not one
Not two
Being
Now

As the old ends, 
nothing works
As the new begins, nothing works
In the moment, 
just the moment

The subtle bold exertion of intention

to fail
queerly
tenderly 
lovingly

to make love 
in the moment
to make love 
to the moment
to make love 
to the art as it emerges
to love whatever emerges

coherent thought falls apart
metastatic
no center
no hold

this touch of 

hand 

of body

this touch of 

pen

pencil

marker

brush

And then

water

pigments

All flow and bleed and blend and move
Energy
Alive

Grief and joy in the same breath
Heartbreak in the flowering
To be new is to kill the old

no center
only fringe

passing sucks
pleasing sucks
covering sucks
let go of normal
be divergent

let go of scenery
let go of realism
let go of making sense
let go of a lifetime of becoming

nothing to work
nothing to achieve

desire
objectless hunger for life
breathe
listen
this moment
this experience
let go of the tight shoulders
let go of the crossed knees
let go of the urge for another gulp of water
let go of yet another book
let go of yet another idea
let go of yet another human to connect with
let go of fear of missing out
let go of fear of missing
let go of fear
let go
let
be

Slow Release Disruption

Larry Wolf, ADT (2023)

Crucible x 2

Larry Wolf, Crucible of Attention - Cool (2023)

Larry Wolf, Crucible of Attention - Hot (2023)

A crucible that holds our attention protects and nurtures fresh modes of being.

Our attention is the energy that transforms and extracts essential elements.

What the Living Do

Marie Howe, What the Living Do (1998)
Photo Credit: Bill Jacobson

Poems and Fragments

For Three Days

For three days now I've been trying to think of another word for gratitude 
because my brother could have died and didn't

 

Rochester, New York, July 1989

music would sometimes drift up through the floorboards,

and he might doze or wake a little or sleep, 

and whoever was with him might lean back in the chair beside the bed 

 

and not know it was Chopin, 

but something soft and pretty -- maybe not even hear it, 

 

not really, until it stopped 

-- the way you know a scent from a flowering tree once you've passed it. 

 

 The Last Time

The last time we had dinner together in a restaurant

with white tablecloths, he leaned forward 

 

and took my two hands in his hands and said,

I'm going to die soon. I want you to know that.

 

And I said, I think I do. 

And he said, What surprises me is that you don't.

And I said, I do. And he said, What?

And I said, Know that you're going to die.

 And he said, No, I mean know that you are.

 

The Cold Outside

Soon I will die, he said, and then 

what everyone has been so afraid of for so long will have finally happened,

and then everyone can rest. 

 

The Kiss 

When he finally put 

his mouth on me -- on 

 

my shoulder -- the world 

shifted a little on the tilted

 

axis of itself. The minutes

since my brother died

 

stopped marching ahead like

dumb soldiers and

 

the stars rested.

His mouth on my shoulder and

 

then on my throat

and the world started up again

 

for me,

some machine deep inside it

 

recalibrating, 

all the little wheels

 

slowly reeling then speeding up,

the massive dawn lifting on the other 

 

side of the turning world.

And when his mouth 

 

pressed against my 

mouth, I

 

opened my mouth 

and the world's chord

  

played at once

a large, ordinary music rising

from a hand neither one of us could see.