Tea with Willie Takahashi

Dear Ones, every precious once in a while, you meet a bright light that warms you with the gratitude of their life, the ups and downs, all conditions for thanksgiving. Such a friend passed with prayers of gratitude on his lips and those of his family. His lesson for me came on the second sunset, after he had passed. I share it here as a dedication to recognize the blessings of my life this week in all my writing shares, starting here….

Tea Ceremony with Willie Takahashi

©2024 Karla Johnston, InnerConstellation.com

 

“What is the sweetness you can add to your life so it is not so bitter?”

Green Matcha tea astringency, 

Greets my tongue,

Warming the core of my body, 

As I kneel on a buckwheat cushion

In streams of late afternoon sun.

 

Touch of maple syrup, added on a whim,

Is awash,
Palatable sweetness,

A living question, 
Swallowed down the dark tunnel of my body.

I bow, 
Add to my tears: 
Warm sunshine,
Clouds, tinged gray,
Slowly moving, 
A soft and gentle Pureland
In a windless sky.

Springtime rests on mountain’s horizon, 
Cupping sun’s setting rays.

 

“What is the sweetness you can add to your life so it is not so bitter?”

Dear Friend, Willie, is the question yours?

Are you here, continuing to stir our hearts,

Boundless in shape and form?

 

Five o’clock chime of the Mahogany clock, 

sings back a familiar, melodious tune. 

The question, so tenderly rests here…

Like Green Matcha Tea, with a touch of maple syrup,

Shared ceremoniously between you and me.  

Your Other Lives

In my journey of letting go of the many things I can't control, and fully appreciating the things I can, a poem arose. I'm grateful for the people in my life who allow me to practice my North Star ~ Compassion as the #1 condition, before being right, proving something or any other reasons my ego contrives.... 

Your Other Lives
©February 3, 2024 Karla Johnston, InnerConstellation.com

Irish Poet and philosopher, John O’Donohue,
asked a lilting question—
In the major crossroads of life,
you make pivotal decisions,
that send you in a completely different direction—
What happens to your other lives?
What happens to the ones who continue onward,
not turning at the crossroads?

My other life called last night,
I understood only about half of what he said,
compromised in a myriad of ways.
He longs to travel, but has not yet physically voyaged 
beyond where we were born and raised,
and so, because he, too, feels our connection,
he asks about my recent trip to Hawaii.
We talk of the ocean, shades of every imaginable blue,
crash of giant waves, reverberating in the gut.
His listening pause is companionable, knowing, spacious and true.
We speak of a Sea Turtle, rising above the coral floor
and staring with huge black eyes, into mine.
“Hmmm,” he says dreamily, “that’s awe-some.”

Even now, that ancient one wedges herself among the reef and rests
while liquid waves of poetry roll by....

When conversation flows to slurring mush,
I wrestle with expectation,
I want to ask about the recent battery of tests,
analyzing his beautiful brain.
I feel an almost unbearable desire to see the unseeable,
to know what is happening inside our cellular body.
I wish to penetrate beyond phone waves,
beyond instinct
to understand what is happening.
Then, Dear Second-Body,
I have a moment of lucidity:
all of this expectation,
competes with just loving you,
just loving us.
You are my life,
and, I am yours.

Riding the waves
as roads intersect:
addiction, recovery,
healthy, unhealthy,
clarity, unclarity,
I walk the only road I care to walk ~
that of love.

The Teacher’s Continuation

While visiting the land of Aloha, I wrote a poem to Dear Thich Nhat Hanh, who is one of my teacher’s, and now a spiritual ancestor. It’s been 2 years since his passing, January 21 in the USA and January 22 in Vietnam, his country of origin. 

The Teacher’s Continuation

January 21, 2024
©2024 Karla Johnston InnerConstellation.com

 

Hawaii, wake up: 
moisture-sky, rain droplets and rooster calls. 
Good morning, Dear Thay,*

Two years since your passing.
Beloved teacher, I bow to you.
Feeling the quality of my teacher’s breathing

In…and out…as driving to the temple, I park,

grateful for the auspicious timing of the visit. 

 

Kwan Yin statue ~ golden, monstrous, garish.

Bows, incense offerings, 
bows, fake money aflame for prosperity, 
bows, an old mangy Tom Cat batting around his empty dish,

not too hungry for affection, we greet, rub, bump.

I walk next door to Foster Botanical Gardens,
to a Bodhi tree, a descendant of the tree of enlightenment.

A gifted branch, planted by Mary Foster. 
Its green heart-shaped leaves quiver and shine.
I bow my head to my ancestors, to the care and tending of Mary Foster, 
to the tall, sprawling green-armed bodhisattva, entirely alive. 

Self-tour of ancient trees, numbers 1-21.
Number 18 remains allusive, 
even after persistent returning again and again to the map.
Undiscovered, Doum Palm, an early relative that produced fruit found in King Tut’s tomb, 
a prized specimen, largest in the U.S.

I sit beneath the Bodhi Tree, 
breathing-in enlightenment…
breathing-out, poetry. 

Then, I pack it up, and walk back to the temple, to a still-hungry cat,
who is now mewing his unhappiness. 
I sit beside him, offer my condolences, 
consider if he would share the banana I have in my backpack. 
A temple tender opens the door next to us
and we produce the most sorrowful expressions we can muster. 

She smiles and comes back with a bag of Meow Mix.  

All of us are entirely dependent on a multitude of kindnesses: 
a Bodhi tree, an ancient Egyptian fruit, 
the hands that feed us, our dear teachers,

If we think that’s the only magic, 

the point is missed. 

 

I offer a single stick of incense, watch the cat hum happily,
drop a donation in the jar,

walk to my friend’s borrowed car and start the engine.

Every single thing encountered, is sacred—

a vehicle, an inspiration, a holy persistence,

and we are their continuation.  
 

*Thay – Vietnamese for ‘teacher,’ in this instance Thich Nhat Hanh