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Published in 2019 • Homebound Publications
Front Cover Image: Adobe Stock | Photographer: © Alexandra Daryl
Interior Brush Illustrations © by Elina Li
Cover and Interior Designed by Leslie M. Browning
2
Preface
A Mountain Dragon’s Heliocentric Model of Poetics
The Dao is my sun
moving through space.
My now-gone teacher,
Dao-Sentiment River,
threw off her human robe
and is over there now
meditating inside the Big Dipper.
Back on Earth,
I practice her way
within The Way.
I walk,
and swim,
and dream,
and spin
round and round
the sun-like Dao.
Solar flares
and echoes of ghost stars
pass right through
this dreaming body.
I catch them in my midnight nets,
wash them in moonshine,
and let them dry for a season in the sun.
After they have dried and cured,
I offer them up to travelers
in their various forms.
I don’t know what to call them
but passerby
after passerby
refer to them
as “poems.”
3
Introduction
The Temple of Warm Harmony is a book of poems. It is also a map. Some of the poems are about me. Some of the poems may be about you. Some of the poems are about us and the times we’re all living through. Some of the poems are invitations. Some of the poems are mini-exorcisms. Some of the poems are healing incantations. As a whole, the book is divided into three parts: “In The World of Red Dust,” “Heartbreak and Armoring,” and “Entering The Temple of Warm Harmony.”
In the World of Red Dust
The “world of red dust” is a concept that comes out of the Chinese poetic tradition, which is deeply influenced by ancient Daoist and Ch’an (Zen) Buddhist cosmology. The world of red dust is the world of strife. The world of red dust is the world of stress. The world of red dust is the world of humans living in a state of disharmony with Nature, Heaven, the Dao, the body, the soul, each other.
Though metaphorical, there is also something quite tangible—visceral even—about the imagery of the world of red dust when you consider the current backdrop of conditions we collectively face, from global environmental destruction, social violence, and cultural turmoil. The world of red dust is anything—anything, and anyone—that bleeds us dry and grinds our “blood” (our vitality and life-force) and our “bones” (a sense of our sturdiness) into a lifeless “dust.”
The world of red dust is war. The world of red dust is hatred. The world of red dust is hopelessness and malaise. The world of red dust is sarcasm and chronic complacency. The world of red dust are those examples within human societies that operate based upon economies of greed and exploitation. It is companies that mistreat employees. It is marriages that have lost their soul. It is humanity unable to see the humanity in one another. The world of red dust is any realm that turns life, joy, and innocence into a lifeless boneyard.
Though there are many lovely nature-praising poems that come out of the Chinese and Japanese tradition, there is also a robust thread of poetry-as-social commentary among the long-standing lineage of hermit-poets of China and Japan. Some of them, like Bai Juyi and Zen master Ikkyu, were profound critics of the government of their day, the corrupt religious authority, and the energetic reality of the society in which they found themselves. At times, these poets even openly criticized the men of their day for being warmongers and “on the take”—as in ‘being corrupted’.
At other times, these poets, and others—many of whom elected to live as wandering recluses in the mountains, or hermits embedded within the city—would reflect upon the psychological toll of living in the world of red dust, and in urban environments characterized by obsessive distractions and addictive gluttony (people numbing their pain in the decadence of what some Japanese philosophers termed “the floating world.”).
Other contemplative poets, like Ryokan, Issa, and Santoka, would reflect upon the loneliness they felt in choosing to live on the periphery of it all. In the end, when faced with the world of red dust, these keen observers of the Great Pattern saw that—at least for themselves—a quiet, solitary, contemplative life was the only way for them.
In the section of this book called “In The World of Red Dust,” you will find poems that acknowledge some aspect of these energies, either as a perennial feature, or as a characteristic of our era.
Heartbreak and Armoring
Whether individually or collectively, anytime we encounter the energies of the world of red dust, that “dust” can cover our eyes, clog our lungs, and settle on us like a thick film. The strife, aggression, and confusion that characterizes the world of red dust can cause us to suffer a potential disconnection from the Source-Energy of Life. Put another way, it can cause us to fall out of step with the Dao (a Chinese word, sometimes spelled Tao, meaning way or path).
We can even experience low-levels of post-traumatic stress, stinging heartbreak, or numbness—all qualities I’ve heard people describe in response to the state of the world, the psychological impact of environmental degradation, the wounds and wounding between men and women, between races, or the unrelenting, daily weightiness from our divisive political climate. When this occurs, we can end up armoring ourselves (often unconsciously, though sometimes consciously).
This armoring is natural. It is a force of nature. Just as a tree will grow thick scars to protect itself when its trunk or limbs are wounded, so too can individuals and whole cultures when faced with similar conditions. Armoring ourselves when faced with heartbreak, loss, or harm makes perfect sense. It is a defense mechanism activated by wise energies in service of self-preservation. However, to remain armored is stifling and ultimately snuffs out the primal reasons for living in the first place.
In the section of the book called “Heartbreak and Armoring,” you will find a series of poems that explore various shades along this spectrum, both microcosmic and macrocosmic in tone.
Entering the Temple of Warm Harmony
When we become disconnected