Topography of Silence
Poems from the Space Between the Worlds
“Ten-Thousand Forms of the Formless” The Tao cannot be sought from others; it is attained in oneself. If you abandon yourself to seek from others, you are far from the Tao. - from the Huainanzi __ The Soul of the Wayfarers is a luminous prism. The Spirit of Wayfaring is a light that shines through each facet differently. Don't compare your 'way' to another. Remember the Wayfarer Santoka and his words on the matter: "I cannot be Basho. I have no choice but to be Santoka." ___ Liner Notes: The Wayfaring Spirit shines through Baisao and emerges as tea gatherings under pines. The Wayfaring Spirit shines through Rengetsu and emerges as sculpted clay bowls and paintings. The Wayfaring Spirit shines through Hanshan and emerges as a rustic in a cave. But, if we belabor the point by too much explaining, we will get away from our own Wayfaring. ___ "Integral Breakfast" Master Dragonfly said: "Sitting still, sunning... Flying with zip-zip-zip abandon... Having breakfast... ...all are meditation. ___ "The Lost Scroll of Hidden Mountain" If a master-sage hands you a text and says, "Something to govern your life..." ...always read the fine print.* *Enlightenment means every dark corner of the self. ___ "What They Do Not Tell Us" What they do not tell us is that regardless of outward goings-on the threshold of midlife leaves one speechless, stupefied even attending a silent, invisible funeral for all that you were and have been; and the journey cannot truly resume until one has completed the tasks of one's deep inner-looking. Everything else is a detour. Everything else is a thin tributary incapable of quenching the greater thirst. ___ "Sendatsu" When I encountered the Tao in human form I realized there is no guiding others; only supporting others to guide themselves. ___ "Have You Seen Them?" Cross-eyed coyotes standing at podiums vomiting lies. A nation of brave defenders conscripted into a confederacy of dunces. American Presidents once mounted horses, hill-walked mountains; talked the night away beneath giant sequoias with Nature-loving visionaries. Now we are ruled by a devil in diapers. ____ "Swiveling Ribcage" The last time I split open the husk of the "self," I found a pesky saboteur lying in wait. Like a stranger that moves into one's home village and starts seeding all manner of discontent, I sparred and sparred against his ways. This time, becoming aware that I've covered myself in armor again, I watch as the husk slowly disintegrates, drifting on like eagle down being carried by the Spring wind. I'm gentle with the husk now. I'm gentle with the "self" now. I've embraced my Imperfect Fool status. ____ "Everyday Homecoming" Some of us, by Red Dust World standards, are strange birds. We much prefer a hidden perch at the edge of the world than to shape ourselves for the world of constant being-in-Time. Being outside-Time the "self" can settle into the Way of the Self, into the Way of Nature, into the Tao. The Way is an everyday homecoming. ____ "This Ever-Deepening, Ever-Going" I already hear haunting echoes of things yet to pass. Having "traveled ahead," I've stood upon the soil of memory and ashes. I've wept beneath pines, mountain laurels, waterfalls. I've seen days, nights, in the quiet valley beyond. I sit alone in the cascade darkness sipping tsukizake (moon-sake). Veils of remembrance billow around me. My old friend: Solitude punctures me anew. I exhale and begin a new life of measured speech and unmeasured days. ____
© 2026 / Frank Inzan Owen / The Luminous Procession: Poems From Within and Beyond the World of Red Dust
soundworld: “Waning Crescent” / Scenes From A Ghost Train / Forrest Fang
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