Category: Uncategorized

Somebody farted

Variations on a fart by a smart feller. things not said in polite company.

Somebody farted,

Was it wind or a whisper?

Friends soon departed

.

Somebody farted

Hearing a sigh feeling a breeze ,

The room held its breath

.

Somebody farted

A cloud of mystery lingered

As I departed

.

Matsuo Basho ate radishes both because they were plentiful and because he had stomach problems for most of his life. No doubt he passed gas in polite company, but it was never mentioned.

each time the wind blows

Matsuo Basho is, for much of the time, an observer of nature. It is summer, we may assume, and the poet is in his garden tending his flowers and enjoying the butterflies. Perhaps, he is thinking of Zhuangzi’s butterfly, and dreaming he too is a butterfly. But along comes a gust of wind, and the butterfly flees for the protection of the willow tree.

each time the wind blows,
a butterfly flees my garden,
for a willow tree
— Matsuo Basho, Summer, year unknown

Japanese

吹くたびにfuku tabi nieach time the wind blows
蝶のゐなほる chô no inaoru,a butterfly leaves my garden
柳かなyanagi kanafor a willow tree

蝶のゐなほる, also, Chō no wi na horu; horu (abandons, leaves). Compare cho no niwa 蝶の庭, butterfly garden.

One can read more into this haiku. Sometimes a butterfly is an omen good luck. Sometimes it is a symbol of a dead person’s soul, more often it is simply a thing of joy, a fleeting moment of pleasure.

What is your take?

Do Butterflies Dream?

You were a butterfly,
And I Zhuangzi,
— In my dream-like state

君や蝶我や荘子が夢心
kimi ya chō ware ya Sōji ga yume-gokoro
— Matsuo Basho

[literal translation. kimi (you) ya (exclamation, wonder) chō (butterfly) ware (I or we) ya Sōji (Chinese philosopher Zhuangzi, Japanese Soichi) ga (still) yume-gokoro (dreamy-state, lit., in the heart of one’s dream)]

The Chinese philosopher Zhuangzi (4th c. BC, Japanese Soichi) once dreamed he was a butterfly, flitting and fluttering around, happy as could be. Then he awoke, but was he Zhuangzi and was it still a dream.

Men think. Men dream. Dogs think and dream. Butterflies go about their work happy as can be. But butterflies don’t sleep they say, but do they daydream?

Do butterflies dream,
Of kale
in Spring?
— Bashō no yōna

Matsuo Basho does not strike me as much of a gardener. The plant he is most associated with is the banana (basho), but even this was the housewarming gift of a friend. Last fall I planted kale. By May it rises on tall stalks with tiny yellow flowers surrounded by white butterflies in the morning.

flowering kale

Light the Fire

To see in the dark

One only has to

Turn on the light

.

If it were only that easy, but it’s not, or maybe I’m trying too hard to find the switch.

.

I’d light the fire

And you’d place the flowers

In the vase and add water

— Crosby Stills Nash Young

.

The afternoon sun

A tall snowman holding a broom,

Becoming nothing

.

Random thoughts

Reading Alan Watts

Waiting for the sun to rise

Jasmine

The smell of jasmine

So distinctly sweet,

To man and moth, one wonders?

Naxos, Greece

The Greek islands are dry and arid. But from Mykonos to Paris to Naxos the landscape became progressively greener. Although the islands are surrounded by the Aegean Sea, it rarely rains in Summer and Autumn.

It was in mid-October, only on Naxos, that the moths, the bees, and I came across the delicate Jasmine, whose Persian name, Yasmin, means Gift of God.

Far away, one hears the frightful call of all our war. One wonders.

Crested Butte

Five Days in Crested Butte, Colorado

It was mid-September in Crested Butte.

The mornings were cool and crisp. The kids were back in school. The guests were mostly gone.

Not me.

On Elk Street, in front of restaurants and bars and coffe shops, past art galleries and clothing shops, couples promenaded hand in hand. Or singly, with a dog. Twice, I spotted a blind man, his white cane tapping the rough pavement, a woman on his arm.

Even a blind man,
Finds the sound of Aspen leaves,
Lovely as can be.

It was not peak Aspen season. (Full foliage is mid-October.) But here and there on the mountainside, the leaves were turning golden yellow and red. Just as lovely, is the sound of the leaves fluttering in the breeze. Amazing to think, an Aspen grove is one biomass.

One day we rented E-bikes and road to the tiny town of Gothic. It was silver town, played out, now the center for the Rocky Mountain Biological Laboratory. A coffee shop, usually closed, a museum and gift shop, usually open, a great place to stop and chat.

Especially while it rains.

In the pouring rain,
E-bikes on the road to Gothic,
Then a moose — Wow!

— Bashō no yōna, October 2024

Deer and elk, we take for granted. A fox not often. A bear let’s hope not. Moose, should you be lucky enough to spot one, are pretty docile unless they’re cornered. It’s best to wait before you pedal onward.

Road to Gothic

Hot, Hot, Hot


Beginning,
Sixth month, fifth day (19 July),
Oku no Hosomichi, 1689

From the Three Mountains of Dewa [Mts. Haguro, Gassan and Yudono], from the shrine at Mt. Haguro, to Tsuruoka, where as guests of samurai called Nagayama Shigeyuki, Basho attended a renga, then by boat to the ocean and Sakata.

One can always argue about the hottest time of day. It is not noon, for the thermometer is just heating up. Some say, 2 – 4, when the sun is on your back, but how about 4 – 6, when you’ve been out all day.

At the hottest time of day, the sun
splashes in the sea
— Mogami River

暑き日を　海に入れたり　最上川

Atsuki hi wo Umi ni iretari Mogamigawa
— Matsuo Basho, Sakata, late summer, Oku no Hosomichi, 1689

Note. For those trying to retrace Basho’s steps on the Oku no Hosomichi, it appears that he and Sora made their way into Dewa province on an ill-marked trail, then proceeded down the roaring Mogami River to Obanazawa. There they retraced their steps back to the Rissyakuji Temple at Yamadera.

The path of life is not always a straight. We go down the wrong road, we get lost, we turn back, eventually, we forge ahead.

Zen time

On a walk or a run,
Thirty minutes is nothing,
— Time Flies
— Bashō no yōna

Zen is many things to many people, the slowing down of time, the sensation of the world around you, what on might call ultimate reality, the absolute, disconnected from the cell phone, in tune with Nature. On a run at Pawnee Prairie Park in May. The lake is full, beside the lake the yellow Iris are in bloom. In the lake the turtles rest on logs as ducks and their ducklings swim by. And as you near the water’s edge, the frogs click before they jump into the water. Ker-plop!