Haibun: Braiding Stories

Among the flowers and grasses, tiny yellow-and-brown things with wings land and take off, take off and land. Should I be worried that I do not know their names? I lift one of the things from a flower stained with its excrement—so small to have made such a big mess! Looking at this nameless thing strips me of all notions of superiority. I know that the day is coming when my own stains will be concealed by the undertaker’s art. But that day can wait. I still have stories to braid.
 

A woman sleeping
on a green park bench wakes up,
stretching and yawning.



 

Haibun © 2021 by Magical Mystical Teacher 

 
 
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Haibun: True Tale

Every tale I tell is true, although they may not have happened exactly the way I tell them. I embellish a detail here to emphasize a point. I subtract a detail there so it doesn’t detract from the narrative. I once held an old tabby cat until she died, feeling the blood rise and fall in her veins, and the faint purr of gratitude in her throat. No one wants to die alone, not even a cat. After her death I walked along the beach and picked up a shell. Everyone knows you can hear the ocean in a seashell. I heard my cat. She seemed to be whispering to me as she often did at midnight when she lay beside me in bed. “One day the current will carry you to me forever. Until then, I will speak to you as the wind or the waves. Listen.”
 

My first memories
burned to ashes long ago,
yet I still sift them.


 

Haibun © 2021 by Magical Mystical Teacher 

 
 
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Haibun: Easter Meal

The anchovies on the pizza were too salty, and I’m desperately thirsty. I keep trying to drink some water, but the table wobbles and it’s hard for me to pick up the glass. I never expected to be eating alone in a sad café on a chilly Easter Sunday. Through the dirty window an almost biblical scene unfolds: sheep grazing on lush grass. A shepherd has led them there. It’s so restful to watch that I close my eyes for a moment. But the impatient water prods me back to awareness by snapping out a single word: “Finished?”
 

On a windy day
the white dove loses her song
somewhere on the way.

 

Haibun © 2021 by Magical Mystical Teacher 

 
 
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Haibun: Some Wild Thing

Some wild thing roves outside my door. It always comes at twilight. It moves stealthily among the shadows, zigzagging, never in a straight line. It is so swift—like a meteor’s flash or the whirling rings of Saturn—that I barely catch a glimpse of it. But I know it’s there—a constant presence as night comes on. Does it mean to harm me or to help me? I’m not sure, so in order to sleep I check the door locks and chains once more.
 

The Book of Bad Luck—
why do I keep reading it?
I know how it ends.


 

Haibun © 2021 by Magical Mystical Teacher 

 
 
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Haibun: Sacred Grove

I walk barefoot on the gravel path, ignoring the pain. My pulse quickens, my blood runs hot. I feel as though I could float, or leap for joy. I’m going to visit my old friend the ginkgo. To shave off time, and arrive sooner, I double my speed. Now I see the ginkgo, framed as always by two recumbent Buddhas. From one of the Buddhas, a startled dove takes flight. On the head of the other, a monstrous crow grins, and plucks a passing insect from the air. I stand in the sacred grove where mystery abounds. All is well.
 

Urged on by the wind,
a little girl’s dragon kite
circles round the sun.


 

Haibun © 2021 by Magical Mystical Teacher

 
 
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Haibun: Give Thanks

“I’m too tired to be grateful,” I growl, and sip a third cup of coffee. I listen to my watch ticking. I remember the scent of the tangerine I peeled on a long-ago Thanksgiving Day. The citrus oils stung my chapped fingers, making me wince. But that was the best tangerine I have ever tasted. And the longer I live, the more clearly I see that I can choose how my day will go by changing my attitude. “Don’t be fooled,” I say to myself, “gratitude is the path to contentment. Make every day a holy day. Give thanks.”
 

autumn meander—
making my way toward twilight
with a few detours

 

Haibun © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher

 
 
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