FAITH AND RELIGION ARE NOT THE SAME, #%^!

Now, the method of Buddhism, and this is absolutely important to remember, is dialectic. That is to say, it doesn't teach a doctrine. You cannot find out anywhere what Buddhism teaches, as you can find out what Christianity or Judaism or Islam teaches. Because all Buddhism is a discourse, and what most people suppose to be its teachings are only the opening stages of the dialog.
                                                                               --Alan Watts




"Faith" is more and more being used a synonym for "religion."  This works fairly well for those three religions of Middle Eastern origin, but not very well at all for many other religions.  Not all make a virtue of believing something for which there is insufficient evidence.  Not all have a absolute truth to have faith in.  This very parochial linguistic practice makes it even more difficult for us to make sense of unfamiliar religions.  And it drives me nuts.

Thought of a test for how much weight to give the in-order-to-provide for-a-militia part of the 2nd amendment: What if there were a part of the Constitution that included a statement of purpose that said it derived from something we now see to be factually incorrect, would that affect the prescriptive statement to which it was attached? What if there were something like this: "Tobacco being an especially healthful substance, Congress shall make no law abridging the right to produce, sell, or use it." Since we can see that the reason cited is based on a provable untruth, does that invalidate or modify the prescription to which it is attached? Or do we go with the prescription no matter the validity, or lack thereof, of the reason given for it? Would it make a difference if the reason were in the record of the framers' debate rather than in the text of the Constitution itself? 

WHAT I KNEW: RICHFIELD TOWNSHIP, 1980

In the grass,
hundreds of toads
hopping away
from the pool
in the old foundation:
the frogs I watched
as tadpoles.

SUNYATA

We are all past,
which is not present,
selves a continuous emptying,
vessels defined
by what they cannot hold,
clothes that leave their shape
as they disappear
with the body--and the others
who crowd at our elbows,
they are sensuous absence,
accumulated silence
after just having spoken,
period after period.

MOUNTAIN AND RIVER, FLOWER AND BIRD

Birds chitter tunelessly,
unseen in the trees.
Last night's rain
still dampens the gutter
as the road slopes down
to the daylillies blooming
in the ground between
where the sidewalks cross
and the corner.
Alle Natur ist gross.

A HAIKU BY BASHO, REPACKED IN A LARGER, TANKA-SHAPED BOX

Double Vista Bay.
Farewells at autumn's ending.
We part, opening

as these shells on tender flesh,
as eyelids upon the eye.
      --my translation