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#1727 - Wednesday, March 10, 2004 - Editor: joyce (know_mystery) 



Tropical White Butterflies ~

music: Lullaby2.mid from 


white butterfly
darting among pinks -
whose spirit?

~  shiki ~

the butterfly too
on the scales of karma
is weighed

~  issa ~

flitting butterfly--
thus is Buddhism
in this world

~  issa  ~


pausing for a nap
on the temple bell
the butterfly

~  buson  ~

        on the offering shelf
        does the butterfly also hear
        Buddha's promise?

        ~  issa  ~ 

a butterfly falls
and all of a sudden puddles
freeze over.

~  onishi  ~

a previous life's bond?
little butterfly
on my sleeve, asleep

~  issa  ~


for a companion
on my walking trip... perhaps
a little butterfly  

~  shiki  ~

        in tree shade
        dwelling with a butterfly...
        friends in a previous life

        ~  issa  ~

a fallen blossom
returning to the bough, I thought --
but no, a butterfly.

~  moritake  ~

     butterfly -
     wings curve into
     white poppy.

    ~  basho  ~


window open--                              flower under harvest
a butterfly pulls my eyes               sun - stranger
across the field                             to bird, butterfly.

~  issa  ~                                        ~  basho  ~


flecked with sand                           yellow butterfly...
from the whirlwind...                      fluttering, fluttering on
little butterfly                                  over the ocean

~  issa  ~                                         ~  shiki  ~

hot tub steam
wafts softly, softly...
as does a butterfly

~  issa  ~

it's all yours
butterfly, take a rest
on the mushroom

~  issa  ~

the butterfly in a mad

~  issa  ~


stuck to the dog
curled asleep...

~   issa  ~

        softly folded fawn
        shivers, shaking off the butterfly...
        and sleeps again

        ~   issa  ~

among the dewdrops
the butterfly's mood

~   issa  ~

butterfly in my hand --
as if it were a spirit
unearthly, insubstantial.
  ~  buson  ~

 Panhala ~ Joe Riley

Tilokal Lake
(the Frozen Lake)

In this high place
It is as simple as this
Leave everything you know behind

Step toward the cold surface
Say the old prayer of rough love
And open Both arms

Those who come with empty hands
Will stare into the lake astonished
There in the cold light reflecting cold snow
The true shape of your own face
~ David Whyte ~

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wake, butterfly -
it's late, we've miles
to go together.

~  basho  ~

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Nonduality: The Varieties of Expression Home

Jerry Katz
photography & writings

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