Tag Archives: dogs

Three Haiku for Three Dogs

Cowering dog-

Afraid too,

Of his owners shouts


Down the path

A poodle strolls-

Prettier then its owner


“Why the leash”

Says the Black Lab

Tongue outstreched


V. Trimming the Dogs Nails While Letting Ours Grow Long

Trimming down the dogs nails, I have the realization of what would happen if we let ours grow long on the path to Buddhahood. I, who impose my aesthetic on the most enlightened being in my presence, will be present as his aesthetic takes over me, and then be a witness to a zillion feral children all before me. Barking mad with their personalized depersonalization, but forever cursed with the lunacies of animality. Never being understood, and always transcending. The cycle, no matter how much humanity we impose onto it with monolithic structures and organized hierarchies and picking orders, will always be burrows and food chains. Whether subdued, or in the open, the cycle is playing forward and backward, repeating only synchronizations, repeating only ignorance at the face of bliss. Subdued, repressed, liberated, free, what spirit of the beasts do we not inherit being the most savage of them, but also the most compassionate? I long for fangs and claws upon rebirth. Renouncing this sage path; I’ll smell their ass to say hello.

II. Finding a Porcupine in the Forest and Naming a Mountain

Guided to the forest by his nose, I let my hound meet and smell every dog and post that he meets, tail always wagging on the way; the dog has Buddha nature. We enter the bluffs by the high schools smoking section, marked and marking its stupas of garbage cans, old fence posts and its vacancy. And there, the tranquillity of the ravine, the path meandering down through tall, narrow birch trees, where a porcupine off in the distance runs out of view. Curiosity makes me lead that sniffing Buddha nature to a place where I could get a better vantage point, and though we are uphill, the hound doesn’t mind the welcoming of smells new and familiar. And even I can notice the first auroma of spring releasing off the young pines and ceder. The porcupine, avoiding every glance except the first one, and I taking every path I think would bring me closer, getting nowhere, but taking the path I impose as getting me farther, I majesticate distance and soon forget about the porcupine. Finding a marked grave at the foothills of my favorite path I’d never noticed until this moment, that lead up into the steepest points, and upon climbing up and seeing the valley below as it shakes off its winter snow, I name my first mountain in honour of the grave which housed the bones. Or was it the collar, like Bodhidharmas one sandal, of quite a holy golden retriever that I would have bowed to and taken up as master. Me, his wagging tail, puppy-eyed disciple. How many hits of the cane would it take, and would I learn about how tight the leash is and the collar? Here, have I confused them with the knot and the shrinking noose that forms from it? And such a puny mountain it is, and such an immense valley. Would a hermitage do well here, with so many dogs walking in their nirvana.