Knocking at the Gateless Gate

Knocking at the Gateless Gate
-a zen rough draft

Try it now,
stop the stream.
There’s no way how.
so it seems

the moment is a passing thing
and as such not a thing
at all
so it seems

And who are you?
if not it too?
the river is land
and ocean too

And who are you?
if not it too?
a river, not land
nor ocean blue

And who are you?
Before the question is posed?
out of the silence
to which it goes

out of a silence
a no one knows
and into silence

Speculations on Love and Hate

Hatred snuffs
No! It is a bridle and incessant finality
No. It is a cut-down – No. An interruption.
It is cold as death, smothering life like a blanket in hell

And Love stretches out towards one horizon and returns o’er the other,
And Love is in the fullness of breath, alpha through omega to omega

It is rightly said that love conquers all
All is held in all.
The contemplation of which warms like love and awe

Hatred can be knowledge and fill pages in a book
Black words on blank white-

Love is in the slow sideways soft rays of sunset light,
Cascading color

Hateful speech is rushed, generous in assumption,  and nullifying
The conversation of love sees a beautiful vibrancy of contrast where hate sees contradiction


I’m not going to pretend it wasn’t planned out. It sure wasn’t spontaneous and that might explain the blank look – on the cashier’ face. Smiling and pointing back at the full litter of Barnes and NowayamIgonnafinishthetrademark books behind me (did I lose you?) I act out with a most earnestly contrived tone of sincerity, “I’ve been looking everywhere… And I can’t seem to find any of your EBooks.”

Blank. His face is blank. And time stands still, the way it does, pardon me, the way it seems to do* when an awkward statement throws the center of attention into the nether long enough that parties involve find themselves recollecting themselves.

“It’s a joke,” I offer up with smiling lips and goober eyes, “just not a funny one I guess.”

“Oh yeah. I guess not” replies the man who refuses to  let the bookworm controlled, analytical stereotype fade into the mucky mess that is the un-analyzed suchness of now – but, you know, back then.

But – And yet- Alas! the red headed cutie pie near the door laughs and looks me dead in the eyes. Someone thought I was funnehhhh… And of course being the Don Juan that I am, I stroll over to her, and – after my field of vision is encroached by what looks like a Hubby Buddy following a gut feeling to suddenly address his wife about that wandering ginger child entranced by the world’s finest coffee table tomes – ahem – I stroll over to her, and stroll right by her, and walk right out the door into and onto the next mystery.



The Apostle Paul said Blogs don’t have rules.

This ol’ squiggle

Before realizing he was a squiggle, and long before writing blog post about himself in the third Person, Johnny Martinez was an Is. And this Is wouldn’t Was for no one.

Before he and they became things and categorical themes, Johnny had the opportunity to know Loving and Losing – yes, before they became the Love and Loss presented here- but alas he did you the favor of articulating his is-ings in words and phrases less than clear, so his musings (his was-ing) might make you Is a little yourself.


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