This podcast is offered by the San Francisco Zen Center on the web at www.sfzc.org. Our public programs are made possible by donations from people like you. Good evening. I'm told that this Dharma Talk has to have a title, so it has a title. And the title is The Dharma of Wallace Stevens. But I want to start with a dedication that I love. And it's from the Perfection of Wisdom Sutra in 8,000 lines. It's the opening admonition. And it seems to me it's always useful to remind ourselves of this. two things in case some of the language is odd to you.

[01:01]

Taints or like stains or defilements. Shadows, difficulties. And the other is weal means as in commonweal, welfare. So it says... Call forth as much as you can of love, of respect, and of faith. Remove the obstructing defilements. Clear away all your taints. Listen to the perfect wisdom of the gentle Buddhas taught for the wheel of the world for heroic spirits intended. That's us. So yesterday afternoon I spoke to the folks in the Song Awake and a few others about a poem by Wallace Stevens that is a companion poem in my view and in Robert Akin's view and perhaps others to the one I'm going to talk about tonight.

[02:18]

But I thought I should start by introducing it a little bit. It's called, the one I spoke about yesterday is called The Snowman. And it's a pretty well-known poem, and I think Zen teachers use it a lot. I understand that Paul Haller read it here not long ago. And I think of the snowman as being about clearing away all your taints, about setting aside all the extra, about not living in your ideas of what is, but instead simply in So the snowman is the clearing away one. And we'll get into Tea at the Palace of Hoon, the second poem. But I wanted to just read the snowman. I don't want to talk about it particularly, but I thought I should read it so you have some sense of what I'm comparing it to, the other one too.

[03:21]

So it's about the snow person. It's not about Frosty. One must have a mind of winter to regard the frost and the boughs of the pine trees crusted with snow and had been cold a long time to behold the junipers shagged with ice and spruces rough in the distant glitter of the January sun and not to think of any misery in the sound of the wind, in the sound of a few leaves, which is the sound of the land. full of the same wind that is blowing in the same bare place. For the listener who listens in the snow and nothing herself beholds nothing that is not there and the nothing that is, the no thing that is. The one way of understanding that is how much we make

[04:27]

objects, things, solid things, solid objects of our experience, trying to hold on to it, make it permanent, trying to grab the same river twice. So tea at the Palace of Hun is the one I want to talk about tonight. And you'll see, it seems on the surface to be about creating a story. In a sense, of course, the snowman is about not creating a story. And then here we go with the tea at the Palace of Hun. Not less, because in purple I descended the western day through what you called the loneliest air. Not less was I myself. What was the ointment sprinkled on my beard?

[05:31]

What were the hymns that buzzed beside my ears? What was the sea whose tide swept through me there? Out of my mind the golden ointment reigned, and my ears made the blowing hymns they heard. I was myself the compass of that sea. I was the world in which I walked. And what I saw or heard or felt came not but from myself. And there I found myself more truly and more strange. So I'll read it one more time. Not less, because in purple I descended the western day through what you called the loneliest air, not less was I myself. What was the ointment sprinkled on my beard? What were the hymns that buzzed beside my ears? What was the sea whose tide swept through me there? Out of my mind the golden ointment reigned, and my ears made the blowing hymns they heard.

[06:37]

I was myself the compass of that sea. I was the world in which I walked, and what I saw or heard or felt came not but from myself. And there I found myself more truly and more strange. I fall in love with his language and I sort of have nothing to say. I just want to read it again. However. It seems this one is about making a story. I made it up. And what a story. It's called Tea at the Palace of Hoon, P-A-L-A-Z, and Hoon is H-O-O-N. And I asked Norman about it, if it had some meaning, and I did a little Googling and so on to see if there were some particular reference. And Norman Fisher said, no, I think he was just playing, just playing with language.

[07:39]

But still, it's a palace. And I descended in purple, right? Not less, because in purple I descended. the Western day. And purple is a royal color. Royal people get to wear, noble people get to wear purple. I descended the Western day. The sun descends the Western day. Twilight, the end of the day, may be a reference to death. I am, we are, of the nature to die. Are we royal? Are we hot stuff? I think we are. Through what you call the loneliest air, the loneliest air, descending the western skies through the loneliest air, certainly seems like some reference to death, but also to that sense that we're alone, that each of us is alone.

[08:48]

You may be pretty special. You may be royal. And you're going to die. And you're going to die alone. Even if you're surrounded by loving family and friends, nobody can do it for you. Not less because I am noble. Not less because I am going to die. Not less because I'm alone. was I myself. I'm completely myself because I am so wonderful. I'm completely myself because I am of the nature to die alone. I am, after all, impermanent. And so are you, just in case that's a surprise.

[09:52]

We are. We are impermanent. And not less ourselves because of it. In fact, perhaps more ourselves when we totally accept that. You accept just how amazing you are. And in contrast to the snowman, which is about don't add anything, don't make a thing, don't make an object. Just let this landscape of winter be a landscape of winter. Don't make misery out of it. Don't make a story out of it. Just let it be cold and snowy. Let it be what it is. Strip away anything extra. And here he is in this other poem saying, Wow. I am... completely myself because I am so special and because I know I'm going to die.

[11:01]

So what was the ointment sprinkled on my beard? What were the hymns that buzzed beside my ears? What was the sea whose tide swept through me there? Again, big images. You anoint with holy oil, you anoint royalty. You also anoint people who are dying. But we tend to think of anointing a beard with ointment as what's done to maybe a king before he's crowned or something like that. That's when we get anointed. And what were the hymns? You sing hymns to gods, right? hymns of praise. What were the hymns that buzz beside my ears? And the sea whose tide swept through me there. Salt water, which is what makes us up mostly.

[12:10]

Tides change and so on. And then he says, out of my mind the golden ointment And my ears made the blowing hymns they heard. I was myself the compass of that sea. Compass. It's a wonderful word. Compass is something that makes a circle, but also something compasses things because it surrounds them, contains them. The compass of my days. I was myself the compass of that sea. I contained that sea. So he's saying, he's making up all of this. And he continues in the last section to say so explicitly that I made the golden ointment out of my mind and the hymns and so on.

[13:17]

If ever there was creating a story, this is it. So how does this relate to this other one where he says, don't create any stories? I was the world in which I walked. And what I saw or heard or felt came not but from myself. And there I found myself more truly and more strange. Which brings it back. What is that? That's the koan of the poem, right? I found myself more truly and more strange. I made all this up. I made this. I did. I was the world in which I walked. And in the process, I found myself more truly and more strange. I don't think it's about advocating that we make up a lot of stories and then inhabit them.

[14:33]

Though, of course, we do make up a lot of stories and then inhabit them. That's what we do. But the way I understand the two poems together is that we find liberation if we allow the stories to kind of make themselves up You know, there's a, some of you know, some of you speak Spanish. There's a Spanish locution, which is that we don't say, I forgot my umbrella. We say, my umbrella forgot itself to me. It's great. That's not my fault. My umbrella forgot itself to me. And I think that in a sense, the universe, through me, the universe is making itself up. So my story is making itself up to me, but not in the sense that I am controlling it. Julia and I were talking, and she reminded me of the line in the Genjo Koan, which is a Dogen, our Japanese founder.

[15:42]

He says, you know, when you carry yourself forward and experience the myriad things, that's delusion. But when the myriad things, when you allow... the myriad things to come forth and experience themselves and create a self that way. That's enlightenment. So these hymns and this purple and this amazing golden ointment, that is our life. Our life really is this joyous, light-filled, pain-filled miracle. And, of course, the problem is that we make it into a story and we make it solid and we try to make it permanent and we muddy the water. And what if we allowed ourselves to inhabit this purple western sky?

[16:50]

What if we lived our lives remembering that we're dying, remembering that we're of the nature to die, remembering that the golden ointment is of the nature to die and the western sky is of the nature to die and the hymns will die and so on. When we live our lives remembering death, then we can live a life that's really special and really alive and wonderful. Hospice people will tell you that. I was the world in which I walked. And what I saw or heard or felt came not from but myself. Not but from myself. It's all I know is what I'm making up anyway. And it's just fine to do that. It's just... The problem is when we believe it too much and we say, sometimes we say we give it substance and then we create problems.

[17:58]

But itself is not the problem. Itself is just this wonderful story that goes on. As Blanche says, Blanche Hartman says, she doesn't believe her story so much anymore and life got much easier when she stopped believing in it quite so much. But she has a story. We all have a story, that's fine. So he's saying, enjoy it. It's a purple story. Because I just saw there's also that notion of purple prose. That's very extravagant. It can be an extravagant story. And you get gold anointment. That's pretty neat. Just let it be a story. And if we let it be a story, if we allow it to simply be a story, and to express itself rather than trying to lean in and control it, then we really truly know ourselves.

[19:05]

When we can simply allow it and respond to it, then we truly know ourselves. And it's more strange. It's more strange than anything you could imagine when you're telling yourself a story and trying to control it. It's not nearly as good as if you simply allow it. So strange in the sense of fresh, delightful, wondrous, a wondrous story. So not strange in the sense of scary odd, though it could be scary odd too, but not so much that. But I found myself more truly and more strange. Because I let my story just be a story and let it unfold. There's a great deal of joy in allowing your story to simply unfold. And allow yourself to be just as special as you are.

[20:11]

But without this. Do you have any questions or comments? Would you like me to read it again? Yes. Not less, because in purple I descended the western day through what you called the loneliest air, not less was I myself. What was the ointment sprinkled on my beard? What were the hymns that buzzed beside my ears? What was the sea whose tide swept through me there? Out of my mind the golden ointment reigned, and my ears made the blowing hymns they heard. I was myself the compass of that sea. I was the world in which I walked, and what I saw or heard or felt came not but from myself, and there I found myself more truly and more strange.

[21:16]

A friend of mine, Alan Sanaki, says that he can tell When he is telling himself the story, when he's trying to control the story, because he says he has a sense of urgency. He's leaning in. And I think Stevens is telling us not to. And if we could drop all the extra and just see the story that unfolds. Just hear the creek. See the sky this afternoon. How many of us just saw the sky this afternoon without, oh, thank goodness it's going to clear up. Oh, maybe tomorrow we'll be warmer. The road is probably okay. Oh, how many of us just saw the sky this afternoon? But that's our life. That was our golden ointment today. Not easy to just see the sky.

[22:21]

But what a joy when you do. So do you have any questions or comments on this poem? One, two. Yeah. The loneliest air. I'm not sure, because he doesn't have... I'm not that familiar with his poetry, but somewhat. And other people here I know a lot more about Wallace Stevens' poetry than I do, but I don't think it's common for him to address somebody. It's not usually intimate in that way. So I don't know. It feels like somebody close to him said that, and that he just put it in there... not by chance by any means, that's not his way, but that it was something that evoked in him this notion of impermanence.

[23:30]

So what you call the loneliest air, twilight, that kind of, as the sun is descending the western sky, that some people experience that Twilight is a lonely time, kind of in between, not night yet, not day. But the short answer is I don't know. I think it was just meaning to evoke that. And in a sense, you called it the loneliest air makes it more poignant, which may well be what he had in mind. But one of the wonderful things about poems is somebody writes it and publishes it, and then it's mine, it's yours. It's useful to think about what he meant, but it's also what we think it means.

[24:44]

And maybe he's saying the same thing again. It's not a good thing to attribute. Maybe. Maybe. You called the loneliest air. I don't know. It fits. I like it in there. And it just, to me, that it evokes more loneliness somehow. Yes. I just had the thought that, you know, if... If these are all just our stories, why not have them be as extravagant? As long as we don't believe them. That's true. You know, I sometimes think, you know, I have a very sort of simplistic idea of death and dying, that there's not an I that's going to die or that's recognizable in another lifetime. There must be some... nexus of energy that goes on or something but not this kind of notion of Vardo and I go to that and I would be in control and I would come back as a llama or whatever.

[25:54]

And then I think, well, you know, if we make it all up, why not make that up? I don't know. Yes. Ad nauseum. I'm a hospice person. So stop me when you get tired. I mean, I just think that when we remember the impermanence of our experience, when we remember, if you will, emptiness... It helps us to be more present right here. If I know that if I live with the knowledge, real knowledge, not just, you know, because if I say, are you going to die? You'll say yes. But do you live your life?

[26:57]

Do you relate to your friends and your family with that in mind? Or do you let resentments fester sometimes? Do you leave things... positive things unsaid. We all do that. We don't live much of the time as if we actually knew we were going to die. So it robs our life of a certain vitality, of a certain truth. Because the truth is that I am going to die and it could happen anytime. So if I could remember that, and know it in my bones, then I can live my life more fully. And that's what hospice people say, that they get a lot more from the hospice patients than they give. And a lot of what it is is that it's very real. Oh, I'm going to die. Me? Oh. And then you can live your life more fully.

[28:02]

And you know, you've probably heard or known, you know, cancer patients or whatever, saying that life has become, for them, more vivid because they know that they're, you know, if they're terminal or something, they know that they're going to die. So then all of a sudden, colors are brighter or food tastes different and things like that. And I don't think that it's that the colors have changed or anything, but there's that knowledge of impermanence and then a sense of the poignancy and sweetness of it. So... I think that's part of what he was pointing to. And it does, people who are dying are often more honest because they don't have time to screw around. So that's more true. Anybody else? Oh, excuse me, yeah.

[29:07]

possibly balancing the hunger that comes with that kind of vitality. With? With Buddhist practice. I think that that is more that that aspect perhaps is more reflected in the snowman, in the sense of not adding on to it. And it's a deep acceptance of what presents itself to you. So when it falls over, when we fall over into greed, That's a problem. And I think that part of the accepting, part of life, is being willing to be with the fear, for example, the fear that death brings.

[30:19]

And if we're willing to be with that fear or that kind of thing, whatever the sort of negative or other side is that may be triggering the greed, then the greed eases. And that's part of my story also. And the greed is something extra that I add on to. Maybe it is a leaning in rather than allowing this story to unfold. And in a sense, that's our practice, right? Our practice is to sit still, get quiet, and pay attention. And we see that greed, and we see that leaning in. We see that carrying ourselves forward to make things happen. And that's a kind of a greed. And we see how much suffering we cause ourselves and others over and over and over again, and we get tired of it, hopefully, and we stop doing it, or at least we don't do it as much.

[31:19]

Is that responsive to what you're asking about? Anybody else? Yeah, maybe. So, you know, it's summer, and there's not as much time to sit. It doesn't feel like there's as much space to watch things arise and fall away. And what if it's being coming up and it doesn't feel like it's being controlled? It just seems like it's coming up again and again and again, you know? And it's happening in the summer. Well, it may be fragrant. It may smell like shit, you know. Yeah, like compost, which isn't so far off.

[32:21]

Anyway, then that's your story right then. It's pain, and it's true in the summer. It sometimes feels so busy you don't have time to process what comes up. Or your buttons get pushed and a guest is unhappy about something and you really can't, there's nothing you could do and it's painful or somebody is irritated because they're tired and things. Those kinds of things, it happens and it pushes our buttons. And there is a way in which it is harder in the summer. But when pain comes, that's her story right then. I don't know. He's not here. We can't call him up. But I don't think that Wallace Stevens would say that he thinks that life is all purple robes and golden ointment.

[33:29]

There are times when it really is very... painful and very hard and times when it's boring and that's the story right then and sometimes the only way out of it is through it and to allow allow the story to tell itself you know I know that you've heard me talk about this before, you in particular, but when the story is up here, that's not the story. It's the story that comes from the gut that's the story. It's a story that feels like it's telling itself to you, not the one that you're trying to control that matters. And sometimes that story is hard. And sometimes it's painful, and sometimes we hurt each other, and sometimes we have to apologize. Many of us in the Sangha Week came in on Sunday, and we had an interesting time at China camp, and we, in various ways, triggered each other.

[34:39]

And we actually, was it yesterday we talked about that? I guess. Anyway, we spent a lot of time. talking about it, and how we caused each other pain, and we apologized, including myself, which I'm not going to go with. If you want to hear about it, we'll talk about it. We talked about it plenty. At any rate, but that's part of our story for Sangha Week. Anyway, I wish that it weren't so, but I think the only thing is to go... to go through it as gently and as kindly as you can. So, oh well. Yes, oh well, oh dear. Oh hell. We have time for one more. Yes. Just share a thought rather than ask a question.

[35:44]

Yes. Say something. Probably, but I don't have to, but yes. So my thought was, because I remember hearing this exchange just now, I was telling my teacher about some really intense anger and feeling, and he said that Dogon would say, beautiful love is a beautiful guy. My thought was that in the Law of Stephen's poem, purple robes and beard ointment, doesn't necessarily mean just, you know, eating a rich shop of cake in this life or, you know, sitting, having some nice tea and getting a cat, that essentially any part of this experience, compost, sadness, anger, that that is, you're going to get purple robes. I think so. I just think he didn't say that. He did talk a little about loneliness and so on, but most of this is not, it's rather joyous images.

[36:51]

But I don't think that Wallace Stevens thought for a minute that life was just that way. Karen, go ahead, and then we need to stop. Well, I don't know why I would say this, but the first poem has this, it's almost, you know, And the second one, to me, is more challenging, because the thing is to, you know, it has to be mine, which is part of what is. It's part of what is. It doesn't fit as well, you know, into me, which I think is something really neat. That doesn't fit. So I think it's interesting. It's challenging. Yes. Well, I think then that's that koan of the last line. I found myself. I made all this up. And in the process, I found myself more truly and more strange.

[37:56]

What's that? What's that? Because we do make our lives up. but we also simply experience them, and they are. It is wondrous if you can just stop crying so hard. Easy to say, I know. Thank you for listening to this podcast offered by the San Francisco Zen Center. Our Dharma talks are offered free of charge, and this is made possible by the donations we receive. Your financial support helps us to continue to offer the Dharma. For more information, Visit sfcc.org and click Giving.

[38:38]

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