While Mr. Tao slept among the Petals of the Emperor

1. While sitting in the tea house listening to the rain, Mr. Tao would often simplify his sleep. He’d pour a glass of wine and study all the words he’d found inscribed in the wet garden sand. Surely messages from the Bean-flower Emperor! Or characters lost—lost in an empty visibility. Just suppose this world hasContinue reading “While Mr. Tao slept among the Petals of the Emperor”

On Island

Child, do you see anywhere that I could sit, either on the common ground or in the groves belonging to the god?* For your eyes’ glint, green is not of land, but of Anselm’s famous assumption that greatness resides in existence—like salt water in the sea, say, or fantasy’s strange struggle with what is, afterContinue reading “On Island”