Tucked into a diary, I found a folded sheet of paper dated May 6th – 22nd, 2023. It contained these 18 haiku under the heading "writing dharma haiku".
In our 3rd Irish residence in County Clare, my listening room for work was right behind Ivette's office where she did all her graphic work and writing. Here she listens herself with Chai Baba our Bengal attending.
| * * * my coming, my going trying too hard, even the sparrows ignore me |
* * * there are moments of presence – remember to breathe |
* * * a life worth living – the pains of growing this body to suffer the thought of it |
* * * cutting a ripe peach I smile cutting a ripe peach |
| * * * |
* * * |
* * * |
* * * |
| a broken heart is a whole heart never split in two |
teachers and their teachings… ultimately I am on my own |
to find myself where I am from whence I came – grace beside me |
like changing tides boredom, doubt and discomfit – a blood-orange moon tonight |
| * * * |
* * * |
* * * |
* * * |
| beliefs and thoughts – no moment is forever, these fleeting states of mind |
catching myself still catching myself with this self |
doubting the story, meditating to discover who I'm not |
listening, when no one is here to what I tell myself |
| * * * |
* * * |
* * * |
* * * |
| tight-lipped clamshell only to be pried open with love |
I do what I do how I do it, so why should it bother you? |
first do no harm to this body to this self |
how to forgive these knots of entanglement – without you where would I be |
| * * * |
* * * |
* * * |
* * * |
| nothing can gratify this body-mind so everything is worth doing! |
* * * |
* * * |
where the river meets the mouth of the ocean, swans bathe in seaweed |
| * * * |
* * * |
* * * |
* * * |
Cleaning out Ivette's office after her death, I found a stack of papers containing 36 printed-out haiku. I suspect she wrote these in our Liscarney house outside Westport in County Mayo.
| * * * thunderous hailstom while waiting for Godot here stands Ganesh! |
* * * this and this and this – sitting to silence the mind snow changes to rain |
* * * January mourn – light beams across the valley a dark Irish green |
* * * recalling Christmas: the smoke scent of chestnuts from warm paper bags |
| * * * human tracks in snow like moss creating islands creating patterns… |
* * * wild Northern wind daring a flat-sided stone to skim the ocean |
* * * following a crack in a vase glued together – smell of peppermint |
* * * winter wonderland in silhoutte, bare branches overwhelm with crows |
| * * * her faraway look… dressed in his moth-eaten robe meant to give away |
* * * cold winter sun having to smile with the eyes the masked child cries |
* * * fields of snow-white ash… an afternoon of eating pomegranate seeds |
* * * looking for solace found in all the wrong places – god in a rainbow |
| * * * these winter violets stems in cloudy tap water bend toward the sun |
* * * reading Ken Jones who am I really at the heart? snows on Croagh Patrick |
* * * Jersey black butter winter of picking apples a place to call home |
* * * blinded by the snow a pound of grandma's ashes windblown by the sea |
| * * * early morning race – sunrise on a lake of ice does silence the ducks |
* * * whirl of Christoph here roof shingles rip from their frames – warmer climes tempting |
* * * midwinter starlight a sky I can fall into from my windowsill |
* * * two meters apart at the end of confession wildflowers remain |
| * * * the sky a mauve blue clouds become mushrooms become clouds in snow-patched fields |
* * * view of Adi Da – picture under a glass dome gaze to remember |
* * * the eye of the storm – watching a stream of ants float on a raft of wood |
* * * listen to the rain my winter of resistance praying in the dark |
| * * * ring around the moon… crow on a wire teach me how lonely birds sing |
* * * winter of one no room in a loaded heart – seeking refuge where? |
* * * lump green tomatoes their thin skins yield to the boil – ripe for the new year |
* * * fallen leaf on the snow under the same moon rising over both of us |
| * * * snowy mountain peak not recognizing the face that I wake up to |
* * * our life and my life fingernails with ripples born of seashells and sand |
* * * two rabbits in snow one after one another – clouds running amok |
* * * snow on snow on snow – snow on the tips of pine cones the psalms of winter |
| * * * my candlelight, heart worth a thousand reflections… vespers said at dawn |
* * * Basho knows Basho – winter moths already know to exhale, inhale |
* * * hard work raking leaves – what ease it is to let go of those windblown few |
* * * your shards of blue glass a strike of lightning in sand – winter beach treasures |
| * * * |
* * * |
* * * |
* * * |
