B.A., The Evergreen State College, 1995
Mr. Kilvington is a licensed California Real Estate Broker, who after graduating from The Evergreen State College in Olympia, WA, spent four years in Korea and Japan teaching English. He has made an earnest and active study of many of the Zen philosophies, observations, and techniques described and referred to in the book for twenty-five years. Author of three books: Indelible; Metaeconomics; and Junk Drawer.
Latest Publication Title
'Daemon Clouds run away from Bodhisattva Sun, and now he is walking on the
backs of the fishes—like the man from that story he once heard.
He continues to float upwards, now no longer on the top of the waters, he is rising steadily upwards as if flying like a dragonfly on a warm updraft, yet he recalled the field of battle.
It screamed at him like a lightening bolt from the earth, as sometimes happens, this during a cloudless sky, shooting him upwards at the edge of the bolt.
Blood from everywhere! Spear tips jostling and poking, men being hacked and shredded—the sweat, mud, blood, and tears—o yes tears—at some point in the battle of Oyama the muck in his eyes had forced tearing to enable his eyesight. That is what he told himself all these years, but was it really the other way around?
Now, as if a bird in the sky, he witnesses himself below in that terrific struggle, bodies strewn all around, soaked in the blood of men from both sides, blood commingling over his body and under his armor, blood with no boundary line or fiefdom to delineate, screaming and hollering tears his ears, as tears stream from his eyes, while he witnesses that self down there had been transformed into that most violent of animals his grandfather had designed and fashioned, the way a craftsman would design a sturdy yet intricately carved box with the most precise lock and well made handle.
The red of the blood strewn on his remembered body fills the sky as he continues to watch it all. He looks up, and the sun is red. Not the brilliantine light that fills the eyes so that when asked to describe the color of the sun we are left to imagine it as red, because that is the color that remains in our eyelids. It is like the red from a peony set out before a high guest in a fine blue and white Chugoku* vase.
Now he sees the last battle he fought in. It was the conclusion of that time he was hiring himself out as a ronin to pay and move his way through Honshu to find the Suwaki, he managed to travel across several fiefdoms and boundaries he would not have been able to cross otherwise. He was thinking to escape just days earlier, and then they began a sudden siege of a small castle, the name of which he can’t recall.
He witnesses his former self battling half-heartedly, trying to save his skin, and landing in the water-filled moat of the castle after a tussle. Water, mud, and blood floated the bloated corpses of men and horses as the instruments of war sink slowly to the bottom.
It is there in that fetid mess—yes there—that he had decided to never kill again— in that soup of human disaster he had even given up the thought of killing Suwaki at that point!'
©2008 Kilvington Enterprises Ltd.