Introduction

Some years back, I grew interested haiku. Initially, because these short gems struck me as the perfect match for Twitter—a marriage made in digital heaven, as it were. Besides, how hard could it be to write a seventeen-syllable poem.

As I normally do when my interest alights on something, I read several books on the subject (that this time included Higginson and Harter’s wonderful The Haiku Handbook) and from there proceeded to immerse myself in several well-known haiku masters, such as Bashō, Buson, Issa, Shiki, et al.

Meanwhile, I began trying my hand at these things, initially strictly adhering to the five-seven-five syllable format, which, I soon came to find out (from online self-proclaimed haiku gurus), was quite a crude adaptation of that principle seeing that Japanese syllables do not necessarily correspond to English syllables (which are, by expert reckoning, quite unwieldy by comparison). Also, reading a lot of (published and respected) English language haiku I soon realized that both the five-seven-five and the seventeen-syllable “rules” had long since been abandoned by the better (and more creative) haiku poets.

As a result of seeing things in this particular light, I soon began taking liberties with the five-seven-five rule but for some odd reason the seventeen-English-syllable statute remained on the books, refused to leave, had found a home in me—if for no other reason than that my little haikus (which I soon named Wolfkus for an obvious reason) seemed to percolate to the surface fully grown and just about always in a string of seventeen-syllable creations. And when they did not, say they surfaced as an eighteen-syllable Wolfku, or a sixteen-syllable one, well, then I discovered that when I sand-papered the longer ones into seventeen, or added some air into the shorter ones into seventeen: the meaning seemed clearer, more definite—besides, this was a fun exercise (I love language and its many words and their bendable uses).

Struck by something, an image, a feeling, a thought, before long this seventeen-syllable raft came bopping to the surface (having been let go of by some curious and creative, though shy, deep-sea Wolfku deity). During a morning’s walk by the Pacific, three or four or sometimes five of these Wolfkus might surface, and it was all I could do to remember them all until I returned home to a pen or a keyboard.

Sometimes I did forget them, memory like a sieve these days.

Before not so long, many of these Wolfkus arrived more as aphorisms than true haikus, as little containers of distilled perhaps philosophical reflection. Well, since many of them struck me (the creator, or recipient might be a better word) as both unique and insightful, who was I to call a halt to this quite enjoyable, if curious, phenomenon.
A phenomenon that still flourishes and seems to have no intention to do otherwise, for I rarely return from an hour’s walk without some seventeen-syllable epigram or other.

Seeing, though, that the earth from which these Wolfkus sprung (and still spring) was replete with impressions and sometimes micro-epiphanies, I thought that perhaps it was time to revisit these Wolfkus and examine this fertile soil for what else it might hold. What, indeed, I wondered, gave birth to them, what carried them from darkness to light? And where did they, in turn, carry me? This is what gave birth to the idea of Wolfku Musings—a collection of Wolfkus and the soil that sprung them.

I have published Wolfku Musings, Book One, and will soon publish Book Two, to be followed by Three… Four… et cetera.

Meanwhile, I realized that I really should assemble a sort of archive of those Wolfkus that I have posted online, by now running into the several hundred, and also publish future Wolfkus Archives as I write and post them.
Lately, say over the last many months, I’ve begun to give my Wolfkus titles as well, just for, well, I don’t know why really, just felt right. As I now compile these Wolfkus from oldest to newest, I’ve also added titled to those who never had one.

All this said, here then, the thirteenth installment.



Wolfkus 1201 – 1300


— 1201 —

World Weary

Nicely settled
  in Samadhi
when Language
  storms in
to take over

Nicely settled
  in Samadhi
when Pictures
  storm in
to take over

Nicely settled
  in Samadhi
when Feelings
  storm in
to take over

Nicely settled
  in Samadhi
when Maya
  storms in
to take over


— 1202 —

Genius

Ducks, Newburyport:
  a simply perfect
Lucy Ellman
  word shower

the fact that
  hers is the
brilliantest
  word galaxy
river ever


— 1203 —

Virus

Man is just like
  any other
  dumb virus:
busy killing
  its host


— 1204 —

Just Sitting

In Shikantaza
  who or what
  just sits?
Just sitting does
  the sitting


— 1205 —

Memories

Memories are but
  emptry trees
for the mind
  to hang
ornaments on


— 1206 —

Images

For me, mental
  images
carry flavor
  more than
the visual


— 1207 —

Time Cracks

Now and then
  time develops
  hairline cracks
that let light
  beyond
  seep through


— 1208 —

The Self

This particular
  blend of
  consciousness
Never existed
  before

This particular
  blend of
  consciousness
Will never exist
  again

This particular
  blend of
  consciousness
Here and Now
  calls itself Me

This particular
  blend of
  consciousness
Here and now
  Just sits
  Just breathes


— 1209 —

Samsara

Any movement
  consists of
  four lies:
Matter, Energy
  Space and Time

To this we add
  meaning
To this we add
  thought
to kickstart
  Samsara


— 1210 —

The Orchard

Life itself is
  the Orchard
We, on the
  other hand
are all
  canned fruit


— 1211 —

The Big Question

How did Brahman
  fragment itself
into delusory and
  canned fruit


— 1212 —

Heidegger

I try to catch
  Emptiness
in this net of
  hopes, thoughts
and images


— 1213 —

Language

Beware you don’t
  shipwreck
your Samadhi boat
  on the shoals
  of language


— 1214 —

Words

The clumsy fingers
  of language
sundering my
  delicate notions


— 1215 —

Attachment

Attachment sunders
  the whole into
little self-fragments
  of wanting


— 1216 —

AnapanaZazen

Delimited by
  awareness
I dwell in a sea
  of thoughts—
some mine

At times the sea
  is but a puddle
Other times
  a raging ocean

Expanded by
  awareness
Ascending as air
  I leave them
  both be


— 1217 —

The Divine Joke

Incomprehensibly
  large
Incomprehensibly
  small—
A cruel joke

Trillions of galaxies
Trillions of atoms
  in a dew drop—
That joke


— 1218 —

AnapanaZazen

Anapanasati settles
  oh, so sweetly
in Shikantaza


— 1219 —

In Zazen

In Zazen
  Being and
  Seeing
are the very same
  sweet miracle


— 1220 —

Sweet Gravity

Sit into the arms
  of gravity
and his beautiful
  stillness


— 1221 —

Language

Language—
  the warm
and magical
  multi-faceted
layer of mind

Transcending
  language is
a beautiful
  freedom
all unto itself


— 1222 —

Ego Views

Said the Ego—
Well, enough
  about me
here’s what
  I think
  about you


— 1223 —

One Question

The one question
  the Universe
is asking itself:
“What have I done?”


— 1224 —

Roots

The mind is
  a subtle
  root system
that provides
  both anchor
  and chain


— 1225 —

Language

Language not only
  energizes my mind
it wields bricks
  and mortar


— 1226 —

In Zazen (short)

When sitting
  and breathing

language deepens
  and refines
into silence

knowing deepens
  and refines
into being

being deepens
  and refines
into always

always deepens
  and refines
into never


— 1227 —

Zazen Doers

Being air
  is air
Breathing
  just breathes
Sitting
  just sits
Being
  just is


— 1228 —

Food

Kill or be killed
  whoever designed
this menu was
  a lunatic


— 1229 —

Memories

These memories
  are not mine
Their me is not me
  for there is no me


— 1230 —

Nimitta

Air when still
  grows luminous
Nostrils when still
  grow eyes—
I see air


— 1231 —

The Body

The body is
  a galaxy
of little selves
  just doing
  their jobs


— 1232 —

Distance and Size

The farthest star
  the nearest atom
Equally small
  me in-between


— 1233 —

Aslam

Nadeem Aslam’s
  writing is so rich
it is physically
  nourishing


— 1234 —

Memories

This brain is replete
  with little memorizers
Thus, these memories

There is but one
  backup system—
Yogacara’s buried
  Karmic vault

Only perfectly
  illuminated
  emptiness
gains us access


— 1235 —

Sweetness

Oftentimes
  the memories
  are sweeter
than the
  happening
  itself


— 1236 —

Self-Doer

The Constructor
  of viewpoints
The Builder
  of walls
The Maker
  of self


— 1237 —

Undoing

The universe
  is a constant
  doing
Zazen is pure
  non-doing

Samsara
  is a constant
  doing
Zazen is a pure
  non-doing


— 1238 —

My Zazen

The air holds
  no memories
The air holds
  no thoughts
stay with
  this freedom

Posture holds
  no memories
Posture holds
  no thoughts
sit in
  this freedom

Being holds
  no memories
Being holds
  no thoughts
discern
  this stillness


— 1239 —

Wide-Aware

Wide-Aware: Be Air
Wide-Aware: Just Breathe
Wide-Aware: Just Sit
Wide-Aware: Just Be

I breathe away
  the hindrances
I sit away
  the senses
I am away
  ignorance


— 1240 —

Nimitta

Unifying the
  scattered
  strength
that dreams
  the Cosmos
—therein the light


— 1241 —

Touch

Touch—the original
  the first and last sense
What air does to nostrils


— 1242 —

Global Warming

The Earth
  will survive—
likely by
  ridding itself
of humanity


— 1243 —

Small vs. Big

Atoms are stars
  Cells are galaxies
The body is
  the universe


— 1244 —

Language

All language
  is metaphor
a symbolic
  stand-in
  for real life


— 1245 —

Eternity

What is born
  must die
for eternity
 cannot have
a beginning


— 1246 —

A Micro Letter

Dear Ego,
  Please let go
your artificial
  walls and
false boundaries


— 1247 —

Disguise

Words will always
  distort their
  meanings
by dipping them
  in syllable


— 1248 —

Season Tickets

Consciousness has
  season tickets
  to the brain
and front-row seats
  at that


— 1249 —

Crucial Question

I have but one
  question:
How does
  Emptiness
fragment into
  Atman(s)?


— 1250 —

Mantra

My breath
  is a silent, tactile
  mantra
transcending both
  word and thought


— 1251 —

Truth

The ultimate truth
  proves everything
and is proven
  by everything


— 1252 —

Eternity

Every now and then
  eternity squeezes
itself in between nows


— 1253 —

Reality

The perennial
  question:
Am I awake,
  or just
dreaming
  harder?


— 1254 —

Enemies

Genetically
  (apparently)
deluded man
  needs an
  enemy


— 1255 —

Proof

I experienced
  the proof
that experience
  is proof—
the best proof


— 1256 —

Sweating

Sweating, he said
  “I am soaking”
Sweating, too
  she said
“I am so queen”


— 1257 —

Anapanazazen

I sit in
  Anapanazazen
to train the Self
  again to see


— 1258 —

Original Nostrils

Timeless then
  is timeless now
as timeless now
  is timeless then

Sizeless big
  is sizeless small
as sizeless small
  is sizeless big

Sizeless and timeless
these original nostrils
are air in—air out


— 1259 —

Just Words

They’re just words
  They’re just words
They’re just words
  They’re just words
They’re just words
  Just words


— 1260 —

Advaita

I sail an ocean
  of thought
at times calm
  other times
  stormy

At times
  gentle amusing
  breezes
other times
  screaming
  hurricanes

At yet other times
  no ocean at all
no sail, no rudder
  no boat

No sailor


— 1261 —

Witness

It’s not so much
  what we focus on
It’s all about
  who’s focusing


— 1262 —

Traces

My nostrils are
  a cloud chamber
tracing air particles
  in and out


— 1263 —

Ego Food

Another’s
  attention
is ego food
  Fame
is ego heroin       


— 1264 —

My Trajectory

Be air
  Be peace
Cease—
Where Ceasing
  encompasses
Ceasing
  the Ceasing


— 1265 —

Anapanasati

When you breathe
  absorb—
rather than
  be absorbed by—
the air in
  air out


— 1266 —

Egocide

By denying it thought
  I am to starve
  the ego
to peaceful death


— 1267 —

Conundrum

Am I doing?
  Or do I imagine
  that I do?
Or do I imagine
  that I imagine
  that I do?


— 1268 —

Knowing

The clearest
  surest
  purest
way to
  truly know
is cease
  not knowing


— 1269 —

Bhagavad Gita

As for the Gita
  I’m with Arjuna
on this, really:
  fuck this war

And yet,
  Lord Krishna
  insists:
this is but a game
  please, go ahead
  Play


— 1270 —

Stay Aware

Do not let
  Samadhi
become
  nothing more
than a pleasant
  stupor


— 1271 —

The Gospel Truth

Any Canon—
  Millennia of
smoothed edges
  and rounded
  corners


— 1272 —

Two Questions

Does the will
  need space
  to exist?
Does the will
 need time
  to operate?


— 1273 —

Straitjacket

Perceptionally
  the body is
one hell of a
  strange
straight jacket


— 1274 —

Creating Brain

As a fetus
  creating brain
was a little like
  knitting neurons


— 1275 —

Morning Wind

At about eight a.m.
  God is up there
  opening
the wind faucets


— 1276 —

Proof

And then
  I experienced
  the proof
that experience
  is a proof


— 1277 —

Anapanasati

Being but air
  singles my intent
and hones my
  discerning focus


— 1278 —

Mental Images

If we stopped
  mentally recording
  everything
then Karma would
  cease


— 1279 —

Language

As a writer
  I do subscribe
to the lovely
  logic
of language


— 1280 —

Imagination

Creation is
  Imagination
with a small
  helping of
  steroids


— 1281 —

Stillness

Verily, I am
  the stillness
  inside you
to comfort
  and guide you


— 1282 —

Maya

Maya—
  Dependent
  Origination:
The ultimate
  Randomness


— 1283 —

Fragmentation

Once upon a time
  God fragmented
This was an
  impossible feat


— 1284 —

Sex as Synonym

Sex is a
  one syllable
  synonym
for temporary
  madness


— 1285 —

Frugality

I aim to elevate
  frugality
into a simple
  artform


— 1286 —

The Maya Problem

Here’s the
  Maya Problem:
If she never began
  she is
  (by definition)
Eternal

(Which is not
  the case)

For she did begin
  She is just
  being a little
  vague
about when
  (precisely)


— 1287 —

Shedding Sheaths

It is the discerning
  stillness that knows
  the bricks and mortar
of food

It is the discerning
  stillness that knows
  the ever movement
of life

It is the discerning
  stillness that knows
  the holography
of mind

It is the discerning
  stillness that knows
  the clear sky
of intellect

It is the discerning
  stillness that knows
  the ageless lie
of ego

It is the discerning
  stillness that knows
  the laughing fountain
of bliss

It is the discerning
  stillness that knows
  the Maya
of the many

It is the discerning
  stillness that knows
  the sweet illusion
of space

It is the discerning
  stillness that knows
  the width-less window
of Now

It is the discerning
  stillness that knows
  the ever echo
of Me

It is the discerning
  stillness that knows
  the ever stillness
that knows

And thus Atman
And thus Brahman


— 1288 —

Emptiness

Of course
  Nagarjuna’s
  Emptiness
is Brahman
Of course
  it is so


— 1289 —

Egocide
(Starving the Ego to Death)

The brain is not
  your prison
Nor your skull
  its walls—
These are
  Ego walls

Opinions and beliefs
  the bricks
Hungers and desires
  the mortar

It feeds on thought
  It drinks conviction
It breathes the very
  need to be

Dead set on survival
  at any cost
It will fight you
  all the way

Deprive it of thought
  even for a moment
and it will buck
  and squirm

Discern and uproot
  its many convictions
and watch it desiccate

Follow the ego-less air
  at your nostrils
as it begins to fade

Be but air—
  no thought
  no dream
  no Me
and the Ego
  will starve
  to death


— 1290 —

My Internal Life

It’s mostly
  a matter of
  dialogue
Even Wolfkus
  (with myself)

Where I say, this
  and you say, maybe
And I say, that
  and you say, yes

Where you say, this
  and I say, maybe
And you say, that
  and I say, right

Where I say,
  wait a minute
what on earth
  am I thinking
  about now?


— 1291 —

Coinwise

Seems to me
  Letting go
 and Un-be
are the
  same side
of the
  same coin


— 1292 —

Fingertips

When all is still
  even the physical
is mental—
  at fingertips


— 1293 —

Slaughter

At the base
  of Truth Mountain
Man slaughtering Man
  for the right of Path   


— 1294 —

Debate

At the base
  of Truth Mountain
Man debating Man
  Path debating Path


— 1295 —

Faux I-Thought

Brahman thought
  I am many
many eyes
  I am many
many Is

Then made each
  I think
I am one of
  many eyes
one of
  many Is

Happy Birthday
  little Egos


— 1296 —

Bliss

Surely the bliss
  of Nirvana is
  simply relief
from Samsara

Surely the bliss
  of sat-chit-ananda
is sheer relief
  from Maya        


— 1297 —

A Relevant Question

When, during gestation
  does the brain-fuse occur?
Or is it at birth?

Either way—
  Now, these many
  years later
It re-fuses to un-fuse

I’m con-fused


— 1298 —

Sleight of Hand

Being the body
  to sense the body—
Not a little
  Sleight of hand

Being the mind
  to sense the mind—
a finer sleighting of
  the same hand

Body through body
  and mind through mind—
What else will you
  have me believe

For that which
  never dies
  to be reborn—
The cruelest
  sleighting of all


— 1299 —

Thinking

I will never
  think my way
  out of think
or word my way
  out of word

Or language
  my way
  out of language
or head my way
  out of this head

for how can there
  be an outside of
  (or inside of)
an illusory
  non-head head?


— 1300 —

Self-Enquiry

In the stillness
  of samadhi
discern the
  ultimate source
of self


— End —