Whispers by the Bay

We often listen to bad advice,

Meaningful words spoken and written

By which we hope to gain some understanding

Of the deep chaos that our lives present—

If you ever choose to consider its meaning…

I have sought, listened, and read

Many of those I hoped knew so much more than I did.

Now, sitting here by the Bay,

My silly little mongrel dog next to me

On our morning bench.

The sea calmly reaches out to the rocks below.

Nearby, the beach is empty of people.

How is it that I found this answer?

Just as the sun rises and warms my bones,

A scent of saltwater— beside me,

my little dog.

—Bruce Linton

Zen Commentary on  Whispers by the Bay (generated by Chat GPT – AI)

This poem illuminates Zen practice: the journey from seeking to stillness, from striving for answers to simply sitting with what is. It explores the movement from external searching to internal realization, reminding us that the most profound answers are not found in words, but in silence and presence.

The opening lines acknowledge the human tendency to seek guidance, to grasp for meaning amidst life’s chaos. In Zen, this grasping is often seen as a barrier—an effort to impose order on something inherently fluid and mysterious. The lines suggest a recognition of this: the advice, the words, the written teachings—all attempts to intellectualize what can only be experienced directly.

Yet, the poem turns from seeking to being.  Sitting here by the Bay,  you are no longer reaching outward but resting in the simplicity of the present. This sitting, with your  silly little mongrel dog  by your side, is itself the teaching. Zen often points us to what is already here—beyond words, beyond understanding, in the immediacy of the moment. Your  morning bench  becomes a dharma seat, where the great truths of life unfold without effort.

The imagery of the  sea calmly reaching out to the rocks  mirrors the movement of the mind in meditation. The chaos of seeking subsides, and the calm rhythm of presence emerges. The  empty beach  symbolizes a clearing away, a spaciousness in which the truth can reveal itself. In Zen, this emptiness is not void but fullness, the fertile ground of awakening.

The question,  How is it that I found this answer?  is a koan—a question without a logical resolution, pointing the reader back to their own direct experience. The answer is not something to be grasped or articulated; it is simply what is. The  sun rising to warm your bones,  the  scent of saltwater,  the quiet companionship of your little dog—all of these are the answer. Nothing needs to be added, nothing needs to be taken away.

—Bruce Linton