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The Impostor

The Impostor

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Published by hgrevemberg
New work from the desk of H. Grevemberg - a weekly podcast on The Zen Revolution feed. Get it on iTunes or your fav aggregate. This is the impostor..
New work from the desk of H. Grevemberg - a weekly podcast on The Zen Revolution feed. Get it on iTunes or your fav aggregate. This is the impostor..

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Published by: hgrevemberg on Sep 13, 2010
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04/06/2011

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D
ays are no longer my own. Time ows sweetly, nottoward an accomplishment, or more likely disillu-sionment — but a living thing o its own. There are many in-tersecting nodes, stories — uncountable. The ollowing collec-tion o essays are meant to be wild, appearing as they will romwhatever circumstance I nd mysel in. I nd in nature the best experience when things are let to go their own way — thenatural pattern that emerges. I there is a movement orward,and there must be, and all o the ancient orms abandoned,still there will be a pattern to our activities, inner patterns. It beats its own rhythm, dazzling, the scope o it. Who says wecan only see so much, eel so much? Truly there’s no limit,only how much you’re willing to burn.This season a mad amount o work i I’m to make winter kyol–che in Korea with some old Zen dogs who ring like tun-ing orks this whirling poem o existence. I I don’t make it,then another retreat o solitude in the Louisiana wilderness,when conditions allow. There’s no problem anywhere.The rocking o the subway pulls me rom this, across the bay, into the silver light o San Francisco. The shipping con-tainers rise in pale blocks o orange and blue, the cranes in the
ONE.
THE IMPOSTOR
A WALK INTO THE SUNSET
RAZING THROUGH THE FORESTS
NO END OF NIGHT
 
distance quiet. Down to the depths! The razing blackness o the tunnel pulls at me as i I were alling out o the sky. Howmany thousand pass above us, unaware? There are so manyhere. I wonder i anyone else on the train can eel the weighto it, the intensity! Yes, all o them.. they all know. A meeting with a sword master, unique in the world. Heinstructed me or an endless time — or the next phase o prac-tice beyond the wall. It can’t be repeated here. O this I mustremain silent, but the miracle o this time, on this I will writevolumes, the pattern repeated again throughout my days here.The meeting was a sword cleaving me in two halves. I remaindestroyed, out o necessity.Outside o his careul work, I was to meet a Zen Master about rejoining the lineage — but he was away in Alaska, andotherwise busy. I suppose the lineage can wait? I did have amarvelous night with a Christian minister o great depth, anold riend. We spoke at length about orgoing the Zen/Chris-tian convergence in avor o a pagan one.“Why on earth… what about Father Kevin Hunt? He’s aRoshi now.”“The contemplatives are on a dierent path. Regardless,Christianity has is its own line. It doesn’t need or want Bud-dhism. Do a long retreat alone in the wilderness — beore long  you’ll have a mound o dirt, a clearing, a bonre. You’ll be pay-ing close attention to the phases o the moon, the movemento the animals.”He didn’t respond to this, but the Christians and Pagans,not a lot between them. The crab retreats into its shell. Theonslaught, the source o breath, is so compelling in its razing through the orests just outside, out
there
. What’s the point o protecting against it? To endure a tattered daydream lie that begs to be snued out? From sheer exhaustion!How much meaning can there be? How much renzy isoptimal here? The years are ew, perhaps too many, but the
 
end is certain, and so what use these observations? It’s hard to judge, so transient and illucid. Who is the victor? The one whoclamors to the top o attainment to see into the tangled cordo lie, or the docile citizen? I it comes to the same result, thestruggle would seem pointless, except or the small matter o enlightenment, and passing on the torch. How many imagespass through the cortex, yet without the careul work o themother, o raising the child in the bosom o modern society,the hard work o our oreathers, the human strain would turneral in a single generation.What is the value o human lie? I’m pressed to divine itrom every glimmer o an eye, every hot breath. It’s dicult toconvey what I’ve seen, or the answer is such a long equationone has to detach completely rom the world beore the wordscan be discerned, and they pass like lightning!The rising, there is the real mystery. How can the ran-dom movement o particles produce the witness? The moreI stare into the origin o things, the more quiet I become, andless hopeul, less desirous, more independent, driven… giveme the onslaught, the wild thing unknown that I must weldmysel to, give up my blood and bones or — or there is theonly solace. The cycle begins anew with contact with society,the dissemination o what has been trammeled out. The bond between the unseen depths o phenomenal lie and what isshown in its reection — on the surace.I there’s such a thing as knowing with the whole body, thatis how this thing must be perceived, as it rings, pulses, singsthrough every cell, every thing. A mind is lost in it, held lov-ingly, sweetly. The mystery, the press orward, the wellspring,the magnetism o the atom, the dark matter, the beehive, thecore o emotion, the only true love — as it excites every cell o every living thing, every mineral, spore — to orever expand,move orward, assimilate, learn, adapt to the light, to producea new, stronger seed. It’s evident uniormly in all directions,

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