I was recently reading Cloud Tectonics by Jose Rivera and it got me thinking about poetry. I have written before about the prosaic and the poetic and while that discussion was limited to adverbs I wonder how the distinctions between the nouns themselves operate. What makes something prose and something else poetry? Can a visual image be poetry or is it only poetic? Do these distinctions mean anything or are they simply clever language games?
Cloud Tectonics I would argue is as much a dramatic poem as it is a theatre piece. Rivera’s work often gets the label Magical Realism and while that is a fine label it seems to me much more Poetic Realism. The magic exists, but that is not the point. It may be part of the point, but it feels to me more a technique for achieving some end rather than an end in itself. The poetry, however, feels like an end in itself. The point is the poetry.
And this I think gets at the heart of the poetic mentality. Poetry is not a “Form” or a “Medium” or a “Genre.” Rather poetry is a way of Being. It is a mode of existence. Poetry is a mode of existence that runs directly counter to the mass consumerist monolith of contemporary socio-artistic reality. I was listening to a Dharma talk yesterday by Shugen Sensei. The topic of Tibet came up and someone asked something to the effect of “Is it possible to have a Buddhist revolution against the Chinese government.” His response was that Buddhism is the revolution. The meditative life, like the poetic life, does not show a way out of the suffering and dehumanizing tendencies of modern reality. It is the way out of suffering and dehumanization.
Be the change you want to see in the world.
I have been thinking a lot lately about the relationship of spiritual practice to ones life work. To me the two are interchangeable and ultimately indistinguishable. My introduction to Zazen began around the age of 11. I studied Aikido from age 7, but changed Dojo’s around 11 years old. At this new Dojo I was placed in a mixed ages class. The end of each class would have a very short (5-10 minute) sit and a brief talk. I also at some point began meditating on my own. My relationship to meditation has been an on again off again one. I will go years without and then suddenly jump back to doing 30 minute sittings.
A few weeks ago I did a meditation workshop. While it was not Zen, I noticed far more similarities than differences. Or rather the differences were inconsequential. What was significant was the relationship between breath and awareness. This seems to be a fundamental connection between all mystical traditions. At least from my knowledge. The breath is what binds all living things in common action. People breathe. Animals breathe. Fish breathe. Plants breathe. Fungi breathe. I am sure if we had the patience we would find out that oceans breathe and rocks breathe.
Breath is life reduced to a single poetic action. In the breath we become a revolving door between an inner infinity and an outer infinity. We become the still point in the storm. The opening between two chambers of an hourglass. My spiritual practice has been one of the most powerful and profound influences on my thinking and my work. Be it sitting or dancing, my spiritual activity, this reconnecting with the infinite self gives me awareness that I can bring to bare on my daily life. But this activity is not separate from daily life, it is daily life.
Sitting at a drafting table working out the angles of the lights is a spiritual practice. Reading through a script and breaking down the actions is a spiritual practice. Finding the poetic center of self and bringing it to bare on these ultimately mundane tasks is a spiritual practice. This is the poetic life. This, the mundane sensory world, is poetic realism. Sometimes we may forget the magic, but is always there. Waiting.
