Let me swim in your cool eyes.
Though the hazel corona hides your emotion,
I boldly dive into the unreachable depth.
Being refreshed by the coolness of water,
yet, I breathe the warmest communication.
Let me swim in your clear eyes.
Though the color of these are not that of the sky,
I float and melt to unlimited space,
while the moment extends infinite time.
Let me have you swim in my eyes.
Being pierced by the beam of your eyes,
I become transparent!
Absorbing your ray,
I emit the rainbow arch surrounding us, You and I.
7/70
Still I do love you.
Don’t you ever think you are superior or anything.
Don’t you ever think you are the winner or anything.
Sooner or later I’m gonna beat you up!
You’re gonna go to hell. You know that?
I reserved the ticket for you and reconfirmed it.
I guarantee you’ll go to hell.
But let me know before you go,
for I want to give you a goodbye kiss.
1970
I want to see you.
Don’t ask me why.
For I am afraid of the moment,
my desire would vanish,
my hope would be killed under your feet,
my wish may float away.
So, don’t ask me why.
But, let me see you soon.
Then, I will tell you why.
4/26/70
When the consequence of a chosen alternative turns out to be unfavorable,
One regrets, “I should have chosen the other alternative.”
Even if one had chosen the other,
the consequence of which might not have been so favorable.
It might have been just as bad.
If so,
There is no better way than to make the best choice at each moment,
in the given circumstance.
There is no better way than to keep discipline oneself
To be able to make the best choice at the time.
Best? From what criteria?
Of course, Subjectivity
1970
I have my own world.
Within it,
I am a God
I am a creator.
I am a sovereign.
I am always right.
Because when I find I am wrong, I will correct myself
My own inner world does not cut off the outer world,
Nor reject it.
Rather, within the outer world,
Through the outer world,
My inner world exalts and expands,
While it is independent from it.
1970
Pulling my hair over my nose,
I enjoy the very fragrance of myself.
And I like myself very much.
Being dazzled by the intoxicating smell of my vagina,
I know I am palatable.
And I like myself very much.
Acting so spontaneously,
yet, I found myself “OK.” I like what I do, what I say
…my being.
And I like myself very much.
Wanting my plan accomplished,
yet, each moment, I listen to the voice of my feeling;
“Do I really like to do this?”
“No!”
Then I don’t, being contented with the miscarriage of
my plan.
And I like myself very much.
Struggling with the problems overwhelming me,
yet, I feel a streak of hope;
“I have gotten through many many hardships…
Probably this time too.
There must be a way to go.”
And I like myself very much.
1970
Response to a theme given by Dr. Schneider in his class:”Ask yourself if you like yourself. Not because your mother told you ‘I love you.’ Not because someone told you that you are likable. Find out, ‘Do I like myself?'”
In Dr. Schneider’s class
Who knows?
Why you always present your knowledge
using the first person, “I.”
That reveals your being, owning yourself.
Who knows?
You always end with good closing.
Just like after a good lovemaking, good bowel movement
or good concert,
there is a good closing.
Who knows?
A closing itself is the accomplishment of
the period of time.
Yet it is the good promising of
the next genuine beginning.
Who knows?
In the midst of exhaustion having given
your precious being,
you sometimes don’t get the response of
being understood.
You soothe the pain of empty feeling
in your lonely smile.
Who knows?
1971
Being with you,
your voice permeates through my resistless being.
Being primed by your voice,
my Libido flows as spring flows.
Being with you,
I feel warm in your eyes glittering in green.
Come on to me sailing on your Libido,
while my Libido flows as spring flows.
Being with you,
You always get thirsty.
I always hear the pounding of delight.
Why don’t we drink out of our life,
while our Libido flows as spring flows.
1971
Love is a trap, a magic trap.
Being paralyzed, I fell in the trap helplessly.
The trap is fragrant, the scent of rose.
Being intoxicated, I built a castle — my love nest.
My castle was a mirage, vanishing when I reached for it.
Disappointed, I started to get out of the trap.
The more I tried to escape, the more I was dragged back.
Realizing how dear my love is to me, I indulged in fantasies.
I even tried to fall in other traps!
Being dragged back to the old trap,
yet I breathe the painful pleasure,
“I am glad that I experienced love even for a moment,
even as a mirage. It’s better than nothing.”
8/8/74
When I see a star sparkling in the sky,
I think of you, your eyes.
And I feel like you are watching me all the time.
Recall the moment we had a union in each other’s eyes.
When I look up to the moon,
I become the moon.
In that thrilling moment I remember
that you were the one who taught me
how to perceive things as they are.
When I am distressed,
I imagine you in the midst of air.
Recalling your voice ever caring for me,
my life wells up within me as if I were with you.
Don’t blame me for not forgetting you.
1974
Shall I lay my love for you
in a white coffin of abstinence
lit with crystal tears I have shed for my love.
Shall I decorate my love for you
with white roses of my suffering
ribboned by the fragrance of my black hair.
Shall I sing requiem for my love
which, never fulfilled, yet has to die
with my wish, “May it vanish into Nothingness”
1974
at the campus of Northridge
The sky is as blue as it could be.
The grass is as bright as it could be.
But I feel something’s missing.
What I am missing is
your eyes clearer than the blue sky,
brighter than green grass.
The plum blossom is as pink as it could be.
The singing of birds bounces in the sunshine.
But I feel something’s missing.
What I am missing is
your voice more pleasant than plum blossoms,
sweeter than the singing of the birds.
The orange blossom is at her best.
Its fragrance is playing with the breeze all day long.
Yet I feel something’s missing.
What I am missing is
the smell of smoke on your clothes,more enchanting
than orange blossoms,
more comfortable than a gentle breeze.
I know I have to live with this emptiness.
I know I have to suffer through this loneliness.
For I said, “Sayonara, the 18th Camel.”
*18th camel derived from Boss:
“In short, the analyst should be able to play the selfless role of the eighteenth camel of the ancient Arab legend. here an old father is on his death bed. He calls in his three sons and bequeaths all his worldly goods—seventeen camels—to them. The eldest son is to have one-half of these, the second one-third, and the third one-ninth. The father closes his eyes forever. The sons are complete loss. Eventually they find a man who is as wise as he is poor. His only property is one camel. The three sons ask him for his help in solving the seemingly insoluble problem of dividing the heritage. The wise man merely adds his own camel to those of the father, and the division immediately becomes chidishly simple. The eldest son gets half of eighteen camels, namely nine; the second one-third, namely six; the youngest one-ninth, or two. But lo and behold, nine and six and two make seventeen, the original heritage. The eighteenth camel of the wise man has departed of its own; it is no longer necessary, although temporarily it had been essential. (Boss, Psychoanalysis and Daseinsanalysis, p.259. New York; Basic books, 1963.)
Lonely, lonely,
lonely, lonely,
emptiness pierces through me
as water soaks through cloth.
Lonely, lonely,
lonely, lonely,
in front of me,
a huge emptiness opens up.
I am barely holding on.
Even tears do not come.
Lonely, lonely,
lonely, lonely,
if I ever listen to my heart,
lonely, lonely,
lonely, lonely,
it is muttering endlessly.
lonely, lonely,
lonely, lonely.
6/8/1976
The petals of cyclamen are proud of their elegance
in a light pink.
My eyes smart from them so badly.
When music flares its melody in carefree delight.
My heart is pierced through by its delight.
“Please don’t bloom so beautifully,
don’t sound so inviting.”
Because, your beauties remind me that
there are beautiful things in this world.
And my thought goes to the beauty which I have lost.
“So, please don’t be cruel, don’t be beautiful…”
1976
The glowing Western sky is opened in front.
A dark silhouette of bushes praises its glory.
A moment of peace…
The irritation of the rush hour is being washed away.
Rosy clouds extend their love to the Sun,
in the most extravagant manner.
A moment of beauty…
to whom shall I give it?
Nobody but you.
Recalling back my feeling for you,
I breathe the moment of peace
in the most natural flow.
1978
? LOVE
Yes, I remember there existed such a word.
It was a lovely castle to me,
where I was trapped irresistibly,
where I barely escaped trading my spring of love
to hang on my life.
? LOVE
Yes, I remember there existed such fantasy.
The flow of spring water
being moistened by it
the whole world was breathing for loveliness
which I traded for living in reality.
? LOVE
See, I am worn out of that battle,
there isn’t much so-called love left in me.
But I am existing here,
I live right here.
Isn’t it good enough. No?
May 14, 1979 7:40am