Sunday Poem 2023 12 17: Fountains of What?

I believe that Zen poetry can be every bit as dynamic, experimental,  and probing as a competent teacher or a great painter. After all, many of the classical Chinese, Korean, and Japanese teachers were accomplished, restless, confident artists. My teacher was a good poet.

 If you don’t understand the poem, experience your lack of understanding directly! 

Notice how you dismiss the poem, or skip over parts, or chalk it up to your own inexperience. This, right here, is a mirror of you; it is your own experience of you.

But i will give you a clue, if you care for it. Dharma arises in interaction, it isn’t in you and it isn’t in the poem. This is exactly like “mind”. LOOK!

					(-)

If you are fighting,  
that duty of protection
has occurred to you far too late.

Your own devils are already at the walls,
those blind spots have taken on the form of bodies,
have taken on bodies,
your body.
 
Protect,
Keep, Watch.
Be Gentle.
And love.

oh, Let's “love” and ignore the terror at the gates.

Dirt becomes soil
and soil become food
and the rocks you throw
become foundations
for the words
you made to see your enemy
more clear and
that’s a mirror to your awful self, oh man, is it ever.
 
Awed.
Filled.
Self. 
is disaster,
a commitment to voids,
Sub Orned, you lackey.
No one person can understand.
 
"When i want OK,
i will get it. Even if i must
twist my brains into fountains of
 
what?"
 
These are very old words in our language.
Old moves our bodies hit other bodies with.
 
If you are fighting,
you got on board
too late, too late.