{"id":20523,"date":"2018-08-17T06:44:16","date_gmt":"2018-08-17T10:44:16","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/?p=20523"},"modified":"2018-08-17T06:44:16","modified_gmt":"2018-08-17T10:44:16","slug":"i-dont-belong-here-do-i","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2018\/08\/i-dont-belong-here-do-i\/","title":{"rendered":"I Don’t Belong Here… Do I?"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"Image:<\/a><\/p>\n

[Image: <\/em>Senecio, by Paul Klee. 1922; watercolor, pen and ink. This work seems to have drawn an interesting range of interpretations. Sometimes it’s described as just a mask, or a mask-like representation of a human head; it’s apparently referred to sometimes by the alternate title <\/em>Head of a Man Going Senile; and Wikipedia notes<\/a> that <\/em>Senecio is the scientific name for a genus of the daisy family and is Latin for, simply, “old man<\/em>.” For a fairly exhaustive rumination about it, see this book<\/a> (starting at the page to which that link takes you). Note that the “about this book” description of the book says, in part, that it “reveal[s] the importance of metaphysics in everyday life through a disclosure of the grounding principles that inform the bureaucratic approach to human predicaments” — so, brace yourself accordingly.]<\/em><\/p>\n

From whiskey river’s commonplace book<\/em><\/a>:<\/p>\n

Individuality<\/strong><\/p>\n

Individuality?
\nis not of the substance of elements.
\nIt is an organism, indivisibly
\noccupied
\nby elementary objects of a divergent character:
\nif you
\nwere to attempt division, these parts
\nwould die.<\/p>\n

Myself,
\nfor instance: an entire dramatic company.<\/p>\n

Enter an ancestor, prophetic;
\nenter a hero, brutal
\na rake, alcoholic, to argue
\nwith a learned professor.
\nA lyrical beauty, rolling her eyes
\nheavenward, a case
\nof chronic infatuation —
\nenter a heavy father,
\nto take care of that.
\nenter a liberal uncle — to arbitrate….
\nAunt Chatterbox gossiping in a corner.
\nChambermaid Lewdie, giggling.<\/p>\n

And I, watching it all,
\nastonishment in my eyes.
\nPoised, in my left hand
\na sharpened pencil.<\/p>\n

A pregnant woman!, a mother
\nis planning
\nher entrance —
\nShushhh! you
\ndon’t belong here
\nyou
\nare divisible!
\nShe fades.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Paul Klee [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and<\/a> (in somewhat different words):<\/p>\n

While I was at UCLA, D.T. Suzuki (the famous Zen scholar, writer, master, etc.) came to visit. They set up the Regents auditorium for him. So we were all there, the audience all excited, and out came the head of the Oriental department. The audience all quieted down. The [department] head introduced [him]: “Here is D.T. Suzuki, world class Zen scholar, writer, master, etc. Here he is!”<\/p>\n

We all sat in silence. This little guy comes out to the mike. Adjusts a pair of glasses. This is him, we’ve seen pictures of him before, but he looks smaller and etc. He reaches out and taps the mike.<\/p>\n

A hollow ping sounds though the hall. He says, “Zen Buddhism, very hard understand. Thank you,” and walks off stage.<\/p>\n

The audience went crazy! There was a mad struggle backstage, and then the head led Suzuki back out, a couple of the department professors with him. They set up some chairs, sat Suzuki down and asked him questions for an hour so everyone would be satisfied.<\/p>\n

But I can still hear his voice: “Zen Buddhism, Very hard understand…”<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Jonathan Greenlee [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Not from whiskey river<\/em> at all (as far as I know!):<\/p>\n

Counting Backwards<\/strong><\/p>\n

How did I get so old,
\nI wonder,
\ncontemplating
\nmy 67th birthday.
\nDyslexia smiles:
\nI’m 76 in fact.<\/p>\n

There are places
\nwhere at 60 they start
\ncounting backwards;
\nin Japan
\nthey start again
\nfrom one.<\/p>\n

But the numbers
\nhardly matter.
\nIt’s the physics
\nof acceleration I mind,
\nthe way time speeds up
\nas if it hasn’t guessed<\/p>\n

the destination—
\nwhere look!
\nI see my mother
\nand father bearing a cake,
\nwaiting for me
\nat the starting line.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Linda Pastan [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

Once there was a monk who was an expert on the Diamond Sutra<\/span>, and as books were very valuable in his day, he carried the only copy in his part of the world on his back. He was widely sought after for his readings and insight into the Diamond Sutra, and very successful at propounding its profundities to not only monks and masters but to the lay people as well. Thus the people of that region came to know of the Diamond Sutra, and as the monk was traveling on a mountain road, he came upon an old woman selling tea and cakes. The hungry monk would have loved to refresh himself, but alas, he had no money. He told the old woman, “I have upon my back a treasure beyond knowing — the Diamond Sutra. If you will give me some tea and cakes, I will tell you of this great treasure of knowledge.”<\/p>\n

The old woman knew something of the Diamond Sutra herself, and proposed her own bargain. She said, “Oh learned monk, if you will answer a simple question, I will give you tea and cakes.” To this the monk readily agreed. The woman then said, “When you eat these cakes, are you eating with the mind of the past, the mind of the present or the mind of the future?”<\/p>\n

No answer occurred to the monk, so he took the pack from his back and got out the text of the Diamond Sutra, hoping he could find the answer. As he studied and pondered, the day grew late and the old woman packed up her things to go home for the day.<\/p>\n

“You are a foolish monk indeed,” said the old woman as she left the hungry monk in his quandary. “You eat the tea and cakes with your mouth.”<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Dan Bammes [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

Star<\/strong><\/p>\n

All the way north on the train the sun
\nfollowed me followed me without moving
\nstill the sun of that other morning
\nwhen we had gone over Come on over
\nmen at the screen door said to my father
\nYou have to see this it’s an ape bring
\nthe little boy bring the boy along<\/p>\n

so he brought me along to the field
\nof dry grass hissing behind the houses
\nin the heat that morning and there was
\nnothing else back there but the empty day
\nabove the grass waving as far away
\nas I could see and the sight burned my eyes
\nwhite birds were flying off beyond us<\/p>\n

and a raised floor of boards like a house
\nwith no house on it part way out there
\nwas shining by itself a color
\nof shadow and the voices of the men
\nwere smaller in the field as we walked on
\nsomething was standing out there on the floor
\nthe men kept saying Come on over<\/p>\n

it’s on a chain and my father said
\nto me Don\u2019t get too close I saw it was
\nstaring down at each of our faces
\none after the other as though it might
\ncatch sight of something in one of them
\nthat it remembered I stood watching its eyes
\nas they turned away from each of us<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(W. S. Merwin [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

[Image: Senecio, by Paul Klee. 1922; watercolor, pen and ink. This work seems to have drawn an interesting range of interpretations. Sometimes it’s described as just a mask, or a mask-like representation of a human head; it’s apparently referred to sometimes by the alternate title Head of a Man Going Senile; and Wikipedia notes that […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":"","h5ap_radio_sources":[],"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"activitypub_content_warning":"","activitypub_content_visibility":"","activitypub_max_image_attachments":3,"activitypub_interaction_policy_quote":"anyone","activitypub_status":"","footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"Paul Klee, Linda Pastan, et al.: 'I Don't Belong Here... Do I?'","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[247,1393,250,50,251,713,4159],"tags":[351,1812,2929,3556,4783,4784,4785,4786,4787,4788,4789],"class_list":{"0":"post-20523","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-ruminations","7":"category-whiskey-river-runningaftermyhat","8":"category-art","9":"category-language-writing_cat","10":"category-poetry-writing_cat","11":"category-humor-writing_cat","12":"category-essays","13":"tag-ws-merwin","14":"tag-linda-pastan","15":"tag-zen","16":"tag-buddhism","17":"tag-jonathan-greenlee","18":"tag-paul-klee","19":"tag-dan-bammes","20":"tag-fitting-in","21":"tag-not-fitting-in","22":"tag-self-possession","23":"tag-self-alienation","24":"entry"},"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6kZSG-5l1","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20523","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=20523"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20523\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":20527,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20523\/revisions\/20527"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=20523"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=20523"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=20523"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}