The ten ox-herding pictures represent stages of enlightenment in Zen Buddhism. Below is my idiosyncratic rendition and interpretation of the pictures. The art is Japanese ink-brush on paper towel. Follow this link to Tricycle to see more traditional ox-herding pictures.
- searching
bitching the while away,
i sniff pasture and sky
for what i do not know
nor am.
i remember; it hides.
i forget; it pursues.
i have no choice
except always
to be leaving this desert.
- traces
wading these dunes
dappled with fibrous piles
of beastly residue,
my encrusted boots
bear the only sign
that i am in it already.
the stuff
is everywhere—
to my nostrils
a testimony of absence.
- seeing
i am spotted
by the shaggy bull’s eye,
not my dream’s mirage
(a charging buffalo)
but a granddaddy brahma bull.
he glimpses, dodges
and is gone.
i am left staring into desert space,
a drugstore cowboy,
a dude,
belly to belly with earth
and hungry
for steak and more.
- catching
driven
by his two points
of horn
into a cactus-strewn
box canyon,
i lay hold
of a muscled neck
and humped back.
with rope and knot
i bulldog the beast
exposing
his very upside down.
- taming
elder bull,
dance you to the crackling tune
of the whip’s curling lash;
lumber to the music
of singing leather taking on wings.
open the spaces
between your very ribs,
and tune your bellowing
to the drum
of these two banging, clanging
noisy knees.
- riding
between the beast’s breath and mine:
no difference.
between hoof and boot:
no distance.
in this homecoming parade
there is neither
rider nor ridden,
player nor played.
all breathing is harmonica.
all stomp-and-thunder is drum.
- no bull
just walking
this way in the desert.
no path, no whip, no rope.
just this way
is home.
- no cowboy
no bull, no cowboy.
no light, no dark.
a horizon so empty
that no hand nor trace
can cling.
- source
a flash of desert rain:
the cactus flower springs yellow
the sage breathes purple
the rattler is bathed
in one fine hour
of liquid sun
- entering
in clown-patched cowboy rags
he enters the city’s circuit
of burger and dollar.
eyes do not recognize him
as he hands them
their lives
by the seat of his pants.
Originally published in Marrying & Burying.