I is a shadow. Though it conceals, it cannot be concealed.
I is morning fog. After clearing, it marks nothing.
I is an opening flower. Help it, and you destroy it.
I is a thief running through a crowd. He is slow and obvious.
I is a circling bird. It is seen by everything, but much remains unseen by it.
I is the noon sun. The highest reveals the most.
I is an injured back. All limbs are reverent.
I is a broken lock. Thieves steal only the replaceable.
I is a snow castle. That it will melt soon is among its beauties.
I is the fire of a single log. Warmth may not be saved long.
I is a breaking bone. It will heal stronger than before.
O is a bed of frozen seedlings. Another beginning is sometimes the only remedy.
I is a boat going downstream. You must paddle enough to steer, but only this much.
I is a good reputation. It is greatest in those that ignore it.
I is a slowly built house. The patient are the joyous.
I is good seed. Your hand holds next season's harvest.
O is gratitude. To receive it well is to earn it again.
I is a sudden change of fortune. Even when good, its suddenness is a violence.
I is a dandelion. When it is ready, a small breeze is enough.
I is sea froth. The soft waves increase the fragile.
I is an egg. It is best broken from inside.
I is a soap bubble. Even when it is still, its skin swirls.
O is a bell. Add anything, and you ruin its voice.
O is a cloud. The full can float as well.
I is an anchor. Location is a thin line.
I is a child's kite. The leash of the high is in small hands.
I is a balance. It rocks in judgement.
O is a sieve. Only the small are lost.
I is a sunbeam. Dust dances its shape.
I is a thrown stone. It must bend to the earth, whatever its speed.
I is the musician's heart. Can you hear this beat?
I is a medicine bottle. Health is frightening in dark glass.
I is a knot. Be grateful that this problem is not smaller.
O is a pair of scissors. The blades must oppose one another.
I is a necklace in the road. Others' broken chains can be great fortune.
O is a firecracker. Nothing but fire can make it sound.
I is a hand closing. Fingers hold best by meeting.
I is lightning. Its sound outlasts its sight.
I is a box lid. Only its weight resists opening.
O is a locked glass box. Sight alone may trespass.
O is rain. Each cloud has a million hands.
I is a palm. The least flexible holds the most weight.
I is a tree bent by a storm. If the roots are firm, it will stand.
I is riverbed rock. Patience sculpts.
I is a sunrise. The most essential beauty passes quickly, but daily.
O is the polar star. The untouchable guides.
O is a hawk diving. Its speed is in descent, not height.
O is a wind. It is seen only by what it can move.
I is a bolt of silk. Just unfolding it is a pleasure.
I is a warm bath. It is most pleasurable if it is left while it is still warm.
O is a glass of cream. Luxury alone is too much.
I is winter sun through a clean window. Some joys erase all their costs.
I is ice cream left too long. We must hurry.
I is a pillow. It appears to be understuffed, or overstuffed, to the sleepless.
I is a child held by his mother. The world is arms and breast.
I is a low candle. The circle of light diminishes.
O is torn clothing. It admits breezes and embarrassments.
I is a false preacher. He teaches a great lesson at a great price.
I is a patched roof. The greatest reward for labor is forgetting its need.
O is night rain. It is a priceless lullaby to the well sheltered.
I is a table between friends. It supports four elbows and a million words.
I is a path covered with dry leaves. Each step talks back.
O is a hot sun. It can open any jacket and steal a thousand shoes.
I is a tent pole. It nails the tarp to the sky.
O is an empty wallet. Nowhere can a coin seem larger.
I is a jeweled box. You can wait to see what is inside.
I is a locked door on weak hinges. Once unlocked, it will remain open forever.
I is a twitching muscle. It wants activity this much.
O is the last leaf on a tree. Winter needs one last wind.
I is a pond rippling from a thrown stone. The expanding circles lead others more faint.
O is the uneven walk of an old man. Time has taken more from one side than the other.
O is a bridge leg in a swollen river. Waves churn behind it, but it remains.
I is a sheet of paper in violent winds. It will tear if it is fastened.
I is the belly of a sail. Stress lends a fertile form.
O is the base of a waterfall. Can you drink here?
O is an eddy. Circles embrace the lost, and trap the drifting.
I is the bridge of a fallen tree. Beautiful accident is rare.
I is an old banister. If it cannot hold weight it is better torn out.
I is a pendant. Though below the chain, it leads.
I is an index. The last is the first to the hasty.
O is a broken finger. The hand limps four times.
O is an umbrella. Upturned, it catches the rain.
I is a single shoe. Whatever its quality, it has no worth.
O is a missing tooth. What is hope to the young, is fate to the old.
I is the edge of a long dress. Only luxury drags.
I is a swing. Shifting support can be soothing.
O is a broken window. Is this a great trouble in summer?
O is a cat crossing the street. Some things move only quickly enough.
O is a chair. Arms that are always open, never embrace.
I is a mirror. Its surface may be known only by cracks and dust.
I is a pendulum. It speeds from the middle, and yet stops there.
I is a smile. It may be repeated or renewed, but not saved.
O is unhemmed fabric. The edge threads escape first.
O is ice. Warmth smooths and diminishes.
O is spilt red wine. It intoxicates with color.
O is smoke. The high must become hazy.
I is a thumb. The four fingers serve it, but it must first come to them.
O is a seldom-opened closet. Would it be so bad to find it empty?
I is a mending thread. Some are brought together by what pierces.
I is a fishing line. It must be kept politely tight after the hook is set.
I is a handle. Do not weigh it alone.
I is a fist. It can hold little, but it holds little well.
I is the barb of a hook. It must turn back, to catch.
O is a rolled rug. The weaver's work must hide to be carried.
I is a tree branch. It will stretch even downward to catch the sun.
I is a fork. Would it work with a single tine?
I is a burr. It takes a thousand fingers to hold this well.
O is a deep well. Only a splash may return.
I is a morning before sunrise. When we rob from the night, we must be quiet.
O is a lake sparkling with wind. The invisible excite as they pass.
I is a moth confusing a light with the moon. When image is destination, we only circle.
I is a calf feeding. Hunger nourishes enthusiasm.
O is a fire built on snow. Its health melts its support.
I is the first edge of the sunrise. All else seems darkened.
I is the darkness of a cave. The smallest fire will burn it all.
O is a stone bead. Only the hole is new.
I is lightning. Its voice comes from the darkness after.
I is new growth from an old stump. This much cannot be severed.
O is a step down in the dark. Can you see with your foot?
O is a cracked stone. Its center may now be seen.
I is money found in a dream. A little regret will follow waking.
O is a morning stretch. Waking is expanding.
I is a stout lock on a thin chain. You may choose your obstacles.
O is a new mushroom. Only the pale grow quickly.
I is a floating candle. A thin dish will do for small waves.
I is the highest leaf. The unshaded are pulled by each wind.
I is a seed sprouting. One hand ascends and the other plunges.
O is a thin stream. Why wade where you can leap?
I is a plant with new, pale leaves. A hundred empty palms turn to catch the sun.
O is a long, patient rain. Only this will raise the river.
I is the tallest tree. It alone will call eagles.
O is a great lake. The silent have the audience of a thousand rivers.
I is a city gate. Other entrances are ignored.
O is a gutter. Rain and time sweep well.
I is a market. Bargaining has a small place and a small language.
O is a beach. Each step is the ocean's door.
O is a wasp at its nest. Some beauty should not be approached.
I is a children's game. The fun lies in changing the rules.
I is strong thread. Its hold will outlast what is held.
O is a kaleidoscope. Repetitions pleasantly confuse.
I is a closed book. All words are this patient.
O is a tiled floor. What meets our feet may please the eyes.
O is a refrain. It ends each verse differently.
O is the weave of a basket. It must alternate to hold.
I is the root of a weed. To remove half is only delay.
O is a lost traveler. He will give his direction to a stranger.
O is mortar. It must mimic what it holds.
I is a shell button. The beautiful helps the useful.
I is a torn map. Knowledge too far followed is ignorance.
I is a worn key. It fits the lock too well to work.
I is a violent rain. The streets will be clean tomorrow.
O is a broken clock. Extra time may be deceiving.
O is a path of wet stones in a river. It would be better to wade.
I is a tree on the cliff edge. The edge must be firm, but there is no reason to trust it.
I is a frog leaping into a pond. It escapes to where jumping is impossible.
O is cool water. Thirst makes it beautiful.
I is a pair of new shoes. Skin and leather will adjust.
O is a fever. An ill body makes an ill mind.
O is a pruned tree. New growth is easily imagined.
I is a tarp. Some things serve only to cover.
O is a shouting lunatic. Madness is easier to share.
I is a scar. Injuries provide their own memories.
I is a letter of introduction. The value of the past can fit on a single page.
O is a song in a foreign language. Only the words are confusing.
O is a sign in a flood. Words unread are useless.
I is an insult. Though you shout, you will soon wish the hearer deaf.
O is ink spilled on a diary. This relates itself.
O is a tattoo. After it is accepted, it is repeated forever.
I is a well-rested traveller. A hunger for distance wakes with him.
O is a blank piece of paper. It is a strong barrier to weak words.
O is a magnet. It attracts with selective compulsion.
O is an open hand. It is prepared to grab, or push.
I is a creeping vine. The slowest seek the still.
I is a spreading fire. The passionate cannot return.
I is hesitation. The tensions within it, crack it.
O is a step backwards. To move away from the goal is to move blindly.
O is an inspiring memory. We must follow ghosts cautiously.
O is a doorbell. This must be your voice here.
I is a doorknocker. Why use your knuckles?
O is an unlatched door. A nudge here will do more than petition or patience.
I is a large breakfast. Readiness comes delicious.
O is back wind. The air travels with you.
O is an onion. Its center grows without earth or water.
O is a lantern. Lift it above you, and you will see farther.
O is a mountain peak. Descent welcomes return.
I is a nap at noon. Sleep enjoys a surprise.
I is a rattle. It is loudest when nearly empty.
O is a sleeping bird. Small, silent sights are rare.
O is a frozen lake. Cold earth and cold water seem the same.
O is the rustling of a curtain. This may be a breeze or an opening.
O is an egg. It is only small food today.
O is a swollen branch in spring. The inevitable is announced, not foretold.
O is a flock from the south. Spring flies with them.
I is a surprise rain. It sits undrained on the shocked earth.
I is the second halfmoon. As it peaks, the sun escapes.
I is a fallen tree limb. It meets what it shaded.
I is a sore foot. The earth is now brutal.
I is a fragile jar. Do you want to see what is inside?
O is a dog at the door. Waiting and watching erode each other.
I is a stage. Before empty seats, it is only a raised floor.
I is a choir. Their voices are closer together than their shoulders.
I is a market. Merchandise and money are the lesser exchanges.
I is a coin. It is either a large command, or a small favor.
O is a window over the courtyard. Each sight is loud invitation.
O is a new soft spot in the floor. What is beneath it?
I is a new bump in the sidewalk. Ground steps back slowly.
I is a feast. What has taken a year to raise, can be finished at a happy sitting.
I is wine gone to vinegar. Patience can rob too.
O is a flowering tree. The most striking fade quickly.
I is mistletoe. The high may ignore winter.
O is the lines of an orchard. We see through only at angles.
I is an unturned card. The obscured have any face.
I is a dull knife. If you force it to cut something, it may choose you.
I is a rock on a high mountain. Great work can be undone with a shove.
O is a frightened flock of birds. Escape may not be direct, but it can be beautiful.
O is a dog shaking a toy. Pantomimes of the brutal may be funny.
O is a carousel. Sometimes we desire to go nowhere on wooden beasts.
I is a melody. The simplest live longest in our minds.
I is the highest wave. By this blow, the tide is satisfied.
O is a ring of dancers. Each may embrace all.
I is a top. It will topple only when it slows.
I is an early evening star. Only the brilliant may climb on dusk's back.
O is a dirty window. The sky will clear when you clean it.
I is a northern wind in the morning. This chill may last only an hour.
I is a cow. It chews more than it has eaten.
O is a tree stump. You may sit where the tall fell.
I is a cut finger. The knife obeyed your error.
O is an angered bee. Run, be still, kill it or be stung.
O is a stumbling. Hands and feet rush to get underneath.
I is a docked ship. You will soon see what it carries.
I is a low doorway. All but the short must bow.
O is a burning field. Black ground welcomes autumn.
O is smoke. The stronger fire gives less.
I is a fence blown over. To the powerful, all walls are gates.
O is the swimmer submerged. His image trembles on the surface.
I is rotting wood. A hand is axe enough.
I is a rock on a frozen lake. This response to patience is sudden.
O is the plow's work. A bed must be made for the harvest to wake in.
O is a walnut. A thick shell is sometimes worth a small reward.
O is a tree split by a storm. Large arms cannot carry the wind.
O is distraction. It must be welcomed to be defeated.
I is a division in the road. Three paths are identical here.
O is the corner of a room. Where does it end?
I is a low gate. If the latch sticks, step over it.
I is a hilltop. All roads lead downwards.
I is a roof. What holds nothing, shields best.
O is the river at night. Who knows what floats by?
I is a stray dog. Pet it once and it will follow you miles.
O is a chipped glass. Without intending, you may drink your own blood.
I is a kettle lid. It dances heavily in its occluding work.
I is a boat on the land. Even the best are naked and useless.
O is a voice in a cave. All words return from the empty.
O is a package opened in travel. What is lost will be noticed too late.
I is a plate falling from the stack. Can you catch it without dropping the rest?
O is a loose shoelace while you are running. Care will do until it can be tied.
I is a free day in a strange place. To become lost is the best destination.
O is a parrot in a big house. The cage opened becomes a nest.
I is a thin banquet tent. It will hold rain only until evening.
O is a stairway of stone. Ascension is rarely this firm.
I is a flooded path. Muddy water may be of any depth.
O is a cave. Can you breathe air as old as the walls?
I is a handrail. Even unused, it serves its purpose.
O is a veil. Obscurity is sometimes beauty.
O is a chimney. The highest exit is reserved for smoke.
O is the first snow of winter. All things are anxious to wear white.
I is a shared burden. Weight is common, but handles are not.
O is a footprint in the mud. The soft remember best, but only briefly.
O is a dish of paint. Is it an unhatched picture, or a sleeping stain?
I is a rope. It will hold only when binding, and bound.
I is a sculpted stone. True beauty forgives all subtractions.
O is a silence. It is loud when unexplained.
I is short travel. The wonderful may be very near.
O is an empty bed. Even at noon, it welcomes sleep.
O is a wide, shallow box. The tall must topple to fit.
I is a homecoming too soon. The same things do not welcome again.
O is an opened fan. The thin are best at moving the thinnest.
O is moss on a statue. What does it take to live on stone?
I is grass at the desert's edge. Slow battles appear motionless.
O is a gong. Its only depth is noise.
O is an echo. The return is weaker, but mysterious.
O is the face of the moon. You may see anything in its markings.
I is an impromptu feast. Eating is more than the end of hunger.
O is a sealed envelope. Reverent mouths wait for a welcome.
I is a dense hedge. Will you look over what is difficult to see through?
O is an oyster. Fortune, or at least food, waits inside.
O is an oven. What we give is baked or burned into what we receive.
O is a maze. Confusion is always at least entertaining.
O is a tightly ribboned gift. Generosity and pride require pretty obstacles.
O is a small bag. The contents are easily carried, and found.
O is a strange place. What is adventure to you is common here.
I is a thick blanket. Form is lost in comfort.
I is a long road. It ends at the horizon and at your feet.
I is a smooth cliff face. Nothing clings to it but our vision.
I is a home in the valley. To return is to descend.
O is a blank canvas. It asks frightening, but joyful, questions.
O is a long walk at night. All pillows are patient.
I is a running dream. You will wake tired, but relieved.
I is the night barking of a dog. He knocks at each window.
I is travel at dawn. The birds sing good-bye.
O is an empty vase. Do you have a more welcomed chore?
O is an empty stomach. All things are empty to it.
O is a frightened cat. Everything fluffs, except the claws.
I is a missing keystone. The uppermost would hold this base.
I is a faulty lock. Would you prefer it stuck open, or closed?
O is a large drum. Tight skins make loud voices.
I is a window pane. Pass through it with anything but sight, and you will be cut.
O is a drawstring. A single pull gathers all.
O is a cramped muscle. Too much force seizes.
I is a ram. A thick skull is required to charge.
I is a hammer blow. It stops only in moving others.
O is a burst pipe. Water now has its will.
O is a torn bag. What use is it to you?
O is an empty rain barrel. Today's rain is too late.
O is cracked earth. How is it mended?
I is a spring. The magnificent begins unseen.
O is a brittle, green leaf. It can only be regrown.
I is a canal. What cannot be carried, may be directed.
I is a wave. The ocean's hands stretch to you.
O is a pair of stilts. It is dangerous to walk on what you carry.
O is a harmony. One does not stray alone.
I is a dog's tail. It waves hello without a hand.
O is a company of dancers. The space between them dances as well.
I is a dense forest. Even the wind slows here.
O is a bed of cooling coals. Though they are still, they shake air.
O is a log at the riverside. The flood waters will come again to take it away.
O is an echo. Only a great space may hold so many voices.
I is a drum. Once is meaningless to the hollow.
O is a garden wall. Larger stones ask for more mortar.
O is a fern frond. Only the tips turn inward.
I is a net. It must catch fish, not hold water.
O is the image of a rock. It can pass through glass without smashing it.
O is a house on stilts. The creaking of the floor is louder here.
I is a crooked arrow. The best archer and bow fail here.
O is a canal flowing into the desert. This land can drink forever.
O is bread dough. It grows through injury and warmth.
O is an ornate ceiling. Its beauty will cause guests to trip.
O is a vase at the table's edge. There is only a short distance to either fate.
O is a wine glass. Its bottom rounds as it is emptied.
O is a nest. Many eggs need a high edge.
I is a dark cloud. The provident may ride wind.
I is a wind vane. Sudden judgement stands on only one leg.
I is a bird on a clothesline. If it slips, what does it matter?
O is a dry river bed. It invites you to imagine flood.
O is the foundation of a ruined house. Where vines grow, walls stood.
O is the smile of a stranger. It may mean anything.
I is a stage curtain. Once opened, it is forgotten.
I is beautiful carpet. Bare feet see.
O is the last dry inch of the dam. The quiet and slow may be the most feared.
O is a puppy let loose. It will try to be everywhere at once.
O is a weak yoke. Burden will free the bound.
O is a migrant bird. Impressive journeys start anywhere.
I is a drum. The most simple leads.
O is the arc of an axe. It ends dangerously inward.
I is the last match. Only wise plans make this suffice.
O is a dancer in the rain. Music is shelter enough.
O is a guitar already tuned. Will you tune it anyway?
O is the soft voice of a salesman. Empty pockets can be a defense.
I is a bird falling. The ground will be met if it is only watched.
O is an old cart's creaking. Slow problems are long winded.
O is a curse against the rain. Words weigh less than water.
O is the foot of a duck. It is hidden when it swims, and when it flies.
O is spreading fire. It may not retreat.
O is a loose balloon. The light must obey wind.
O is a solid roof shingle. The dutiful may be ignored.
I is a falling star. It passes the others briefly.
I is a kite. It cannot fly without a tight string.
O is a fountain's pool. The small may receive infinitely.
O is an uphill path. The straightest may not be shortest.
O is incense smoke. Pleasures may be pale.
O is wind from a cave. Will you find its source?
I is the top of a waterfall. The water does not hesitate.
O is someone carrying fire. The lightest burdens are held carefully, and high.
O is a poorly gravelled path. It has buried itself in mud.
O is a thin beach near a cliff. This way will drown by dusk.
O is the sun setting into clouds. The horizon is softened and obscured.
O is a parting in dense brush. You may meet what has gone before.
O is the first star. It has no name before the others shine.
I is a door opening to the traveller. Each welcoming can be destination enough.
O is a held hand. Unless it is held firmly, the heart is held as well.
O is a morning breeze. The night's smoke is swept.
O is a wider boat. More current is carried as well.
O is a wide gate barely opened. Many have paraded where now one must squeeze.
O is a blanket thrown off. The world of sleep is forgotten this easily.
O is a gold chain. We choose to bind ourselves decoratively.
I got an itch to break open the I Ching and see what its guts look like. The I Ching was born three millennia ago, in a pictographic language. I was born in the sixties in Oakland. You can't get there from here.I've never studied Chinese, the language or the history, so what I see in the I Ching is not cryptic or academic, religious or political. It's common and it's common in my life, anywhere I choose to look for it. For half my life I've consulted the same old paperback for old wisdom and strained to bring those distant symbols home.
I looked for what I found most compelling in the I Ching, that power that must be without context, cultural or temporal. I got out the beat-up book and I threw the coins. The I Ching gave me, again, a strong message. I came up with this image of what I thought it was trying to say in its awkward language of princes and wars, and it had nothing to do with princes and wars. It had to do with dancing. I wrote it down.
I did this to many of the hexagrams-- every one that I threw from then on. After ten or twelve, I gave one of them to two of my friends. The thoughts this provoked in them were extreme: rich, noble, and philosophic. Though this may say more about my friends than my insights, it gave me confidence and pushed me into a real, undeniable groove. I was onto something. I was into the guts of it. Here is what I saw.