DREAM SUTRAS
Something here in Japan, perhaps the lightness of the summer mornings, perhaps the way the land subtly shivers and sways, perhaps that we are intruders unfamiliar with the nuence of its neural patterns, make night dreams here more vivid. Certainly I awake more often from fright, or from discomforting imagery than at home. An alien technology, or maybe the sake!
in Japan
these eloquent dreams:
still completely mysterious.
Last night, a strong constant wind accomapied us through the entire night. Sometimes I would wake and wonder if a rainstorm was passing overhead, the roar was so steady and insistent.
the long wind
fuelling strong dreams.
mysterious purpose.
Of all the dreams that night there was one particularly convoluted and long-lasting, (or so it seemed). Based around an old man, something of a genius, both an artist and a scientist, as well as an amateur sleuth or criminal investigator. He was involved in many complex layers of research, but was the bane of those who loved and cared for him as his health was failing fast and yet he would not take rest nor ease up on his schedules.
Long wind,
who is the dying sage
so eloquent and ancient, in my dream?
dragon wind
dreams of sages
utterly bemusing.
An interesting point I saw recently on a post about haiku was that amongst the many ‘rules’ was one that stated that a haiku should make no comment. Haiku as a record of perceptions that can evoke numinous emotion without explicitly saying what the emotion should be. Like a haibun, a haiku can lead to endless mazes of commentary and extrapolation. A thought motif, a riff, a theme, can lead to jazz-like improvisations. Now, this rule is not one of simple objectivity. The poet is always objectifying the internal as well as external. Perhaps it is the avoidance of the passing of judgement, not reinterpreting or making a second or a third judgement, that makes haiku resonant, that prevents it simply becoming a commonplace sentence divided into short lines. Who knows…
how many miles is this long wind?
night-long it roars through the curtains.
even my own dreams
are a complete mystery to me.
Haiku, seen as a child-like entrancement (entrancing entrance), a fluidium between self and not-so-self. Paying attention to when nothing is happening, we discover that something is…
roaring dragon wind
how many miles
do you traverse?
as wide as the moon:
this long wind
over hills and valleys.
There is a shamanic, primal sort of awareness in the best haiku. An overlay of worlds. A denial of incorrect or correct ways of perception. Juxtaposition, significant only because it is juxtaposed. For an instant, in this mind, and then in the mind of the reader, sense data and interpretations hold equal value, are equally valid, equally ephemeral.
long wind,
aching bones.
mysterious dream
of ancient sages.
maybe it is my aching bones:
dreams of ancient sages
and steep hillsides.
long night wind.
my dream too,
arising from distant lands.
dream sutras
though inexplicable,
endlessly fascinating.
Finally, the long hours of the night begin to move away, light edges between things, but the wind, having blown away most of my thoughts, still remains.
long wind
blowing away night
to other lands.
In daylight, the warm airs sweep yellows and golds. The palm tree still shaking its dry fronds between the houses, laughing, dancing, bending, chanting.
cats in the sun
eating, sleeping,
composing haiku.
—–
simonhlilly 
