We are always
really carrying
a ladder, but it’s
invisible. We
only know
something’s
the matter:
something precious
crashes; easy doors
prove impassable.
Or, in the body,
there’s too much
swing or off-
center gravity.
And, in the mind,
a drunken capacity,
access to out-of-range
apples. As though
one had a way to climb
out of the damage
and apology.
(Abbot Ed pointed me to this poem as we were talking about yesterday’s class, in which talk Suzuki Roshi used the image of the tamban-kan, the person carrying a board on one shoulder who can only ever see one side of a situation).
Shundo David Haye 