Poems by Jerry Bolick ...

More poems
by Jerry Bolick

Mr. Bolick is a lay speaker in various Jodo Shinshu temples. In his poems and writings he relates his experience in modern life and Buddhism. Jerry can be contacted at: Jerry.Bolick@BankAmerica.com. Comments are welcome.

Receiving Refuge

Canggu, Bali, Indonesia
July 2, 2010

To take refuge is to play
in the quiet of the 10,000 things.
Among the falling raindrops,
small, white-crested birds, fly!

In his book, "Zen Wave," a study of haiku poet, Basho, Robert Aitken Roshi writes:

“NamuAmidaButsu … is the cord that will draw the dying person to ease of heart.” I like the image he presents here, particularly the phrase ease of heart, because it emphasizes the assurance given in traditional Pure Land teachings, assurance of the future, assurance of lasting peace after death, but does so with a telling image of movement in the present.

We are assured that the future holds the transition from human life into the embrace of the eternal, from turmoil into lasting peace, which is to say, we are assured that it will all be OK, then. But these teachings are not just about death, but also about life. Assurance is something we experience here and now. The NamuAmidaButsu that is pulling us to ease of heart is pulling us now. Given to us by Buddha, by eternal, timeless reality, NamuAmidaButsu emerges into time on our lips; on our lips, the movement of the eternal, continually assuring us, continually drawing us closer to fuller realization, in the present moment.

And neither is the unburdened heart restricted to those on their deathbed, because as living beings, we are all, by definition, dying. When I see clearly that I am, not that I will be, but that I am the dying person, then I see Buddha’s message is directed to me, Buddha’s assurances are for my benefit. Then I begin to hear the teaching in a different way.

Within the life of NamuAmidaButsu, the anxieties we experience due to the myriad changes that occur as we live and age, the fears, small and large, of what the future holds, our resistance to the inevitable, all become infused with the assuring movement of eternal care and concern, extended to us in and through NamuAmidaButsu. And in this we can know the ease of heart that is the content of our liberation and the certainty of eternal refuge -- it will be OK then, and it is all OK now.

#1. I wrote the first poem after reading the following by Ryokan:

"Yes, I'm truly a dunce
Living among trees and plants.
Please don't question me about illusion and enlightenment--
This old fellow just likes to smile to himself.
I wade across streams with bony legs,
And carry a bag about in fine spring weather.
That's my life,
And the world owes me nothing."
              -- From "Two Poems for My Friend"  

I've trees and plants in abundance where I live.
Mountains in name only.
But I don't live among them,
nor do I wander through them
as the masters did through theirs.

I tend more to move through a human wilderness;
more comfortable with curiosity than purpose,
I climb mountains of steep and slippery "relationships."

Passes can be very high and howling winds carry unexpected names,
including the corporate; in this world
even the unenlightened freely admit to a fictitious nature.

But here, too, there are silent, peaceful meadows,
blanketed with sheets of snow in winter
and spectacular flowers in spring,
those strange, delightful,
unpredictable flowers that sprout only from human seed.

And wading across high mountain streams,
even here, one can pause
and drink deep of that shimmering gift.

Different paths, same wilderness.
Different wilderness, same path.
Either way, neither or both,
at this age fifty-five
I've finally uncovered my life:
to find and share the poems.

Reading Ryokan is like receiving
an unexpected message from a
close friend and brother: it goes
straight to the heart.

With palms together
Namuamidabutsu.

#2. This is the kind of poem, one of this living and dying we do, that I hope to find and to share.

In memory of Kazume Nakagawa (February 4, 1914 - January 30,1999)

Obachan

You may not get this;
one of those times
you just had to be there,
just had to take part.

She was small and bent over,
even in the wheelchair.
And I'm, well..., tall.

And there was history and culture
and years
and the toll of years
between us.

So we never had the time for that
small talk, the kind
used to "get to know,"
but which often enough
tends only to clarify the distance
between us.

No, the distance was clear enough;
but there we were
eye to eye.

So we just stepped across,
"cross-wise," you might say,
across all that stuff
and met right in the heart:
four hands touching,
forehead to forehead,
four lips uttering
Namuamidabutsu, Namuamidabutsu.

Electric. Warm. Humbling.

I can still remember
the rush of tears, still recall
the move of the dance,
the music of the living shared
between us.

It was one of those times
you just had to be there,
just had to be a part.

#3. Thoughts ...

The joy of dharma fellowship:
the joy of living and of grieving
together, knowing
it will be alright.

Namuamidabutsu

April 1, 1999 

The morning light of spring
finds its way
through the window,
gently touching
the scroll
on the altar.

Even through closed eyes
I can feel it,
illuminating
the shadows
inside.

It all comes down to this:

Poems appear
right at that point
in our living
and our dying
where the eternal
breaks in to time.

All else, 
no matter
how artful
or profound,
is stilted, contrived
and ultimately false. Watch. Listen.
What a joy this is!

Faceless,
as we are,
we leave no thing
behind, except
the false notion
that we do.

Our living and dying
is as light
and free of tracks
as the birds' flight.

That we are being lived,
that purpose and meaning
are thereby given,
does not relieve us
of the desire to live
purposefully, meaningfully.

More so,
seeing it is a gift
reveals the joyful essence
of the effort.

On Gratitude:

finger held match 
burst of flame 
lit incense
curling smoke 
calling aroma
answering nose
skin on skin 
bones on wood
bending back 
moving lips 
sound silence

On chanting Juseige...

A rush of warmth
pours over the page
singing praises
of the Vow.