Everyone can keep their windows clean. Mistaking mirrors for windows can be a problem.
Had a top dollar crystal ball come to me out of the blue. After a few years I thought to have a go. Several experiments later it was seen to be not one's thing. Like an unplugged black box, 'twas figured, simply a sleepy child's prosthetic. A cumbersome contraption. Curiously, though, I did manage to trap the spirit of a rival in it.
To my knowledge she's still in there, enjoying the misty plasticity and the undulating lava lamp peacefulnesses and the flu-echoing quietnesses, embedded in mutable alabaster fogs and breathing oscillating duck's eye pink perfumed gases (tinged in variagated green turismo, all a-speckled-o and a-fleckled-o, as 'twere her bonnie freckles-o, a-falling out of upside down trees).
So mote it be. . . .
trance of mirrors—
scrying the wind's leaves
through a Kodak's lens
jp
^..^
27-09-11
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No, haiku is for life. Not doing haiku is a discarded present. As for Zen - how deep is that? Like an abandoned kitten or a broken promise. . . .
in a trance of mirrors
at the seedling sale
stone Buddha
Yes, it's one of those slogans that can be infinitely recessed, like those mirrors themselves, opie. My original use was the association with those trances they catalogue in Buddhism. You know, like the trance of sorrow , for example. That was the thought at the garden centre where this haiku popped out of zoka (as Robert might say).
in a trance of mirrors
through empty trees
stargazing . . . .
jp
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