HOME

You have landed on the home page of KNOTBUCHWERKS, too (KBWt). To read my older posts on this site go to the ESSAYS, STORIES, or POEMS pages. I have also created a list of my self-published books with a brief synopsis of each title. Find that list on the BOOK LIST page.

Previously my work was published at MAJIKWOID, and those posts can still be read at that site. My oldest entries are still available at CONVERSATIONS with a Hypoxic Dog and KNOTBUCHWERKS (KBW). Links are provided under this site's title banner.

Painting for the title banner is by Zhang Daqian, Panorama of Mount Lu, 1981–83, wall mural in portable scroll format, ink, color on silk, 70 x 392 inches (178.5 x 994.6 cm), National Palace Museum, Taipei.


MISTY RAIN
Indistinct Shadows of the True Man With No Title

This is the third installment of MISTY RAIN, a book that is but a concept, not yet reality. The first installment was posted on January 1, 2026. The journey should be of some interest, at least for me. You are welcome to come along.


THE MYTH OF KNOWLEDGE

The old poet carries on bravely, the Chan master’s words are gentle and profound. 

Too drunk to follow what he’s saying, conscious only of red and green blur.
Su Tung P’o

The brain of homo sapiens, it is said, weighs about the same as a bag of flour; yet runs (and runs and runs) on little more than a bowl of porridge. Still a blur, this brain of ours. “The human brain can process one billion bits of information every second. But our conscious minds can handle only 40 to 50 bits of information a second,” so says Science. And our thoughts trundle along at a mere 10 bits per second.

Knowledge is more than just bits of information. Apprehension and understanding take the bits of perception and create conceptionalizations which in turn may or may not become concepts. The process is not exactly clear, not even to the neuroscientist. The mind of man is a whirlagig made up of all manner of sensations, feelings, emotions, desires, instincts, ideas of worth, of aesthetics, of time and space and number, ideas of differences and resemblances, ideas of dependence between events, and between ends and means, subject and object, judgments of affirming, denying, doubting, supposing any of the above ideas, and judgments upon the previous judgments that affirm, deny, or doubt.

The myth of knowledge is that there is no certainty about what we know, and that there is no way to know what we do not know. To probe mind with mind becomes a case of a man riding an ox in search of an ox.

From a Chinese collection of stories compiled in the 4th century and titled Soushenji (搜神記, "Investigations into deities") comes this tale:

A man traveling along the road at nightfall came upon a grass-roofed hut, newly built, by the roadside. From a window, an old woman gazed at him as he passed. He asked her for a night’s lodging, which she granted. During the night, he heard a young boy outside, calling and saying, “A-hsiang, the Governor says to haul out your thunder cart!” Looking from his window, he saw the woman with her cart walking down the road. Later that night there came rolling thunder and heavy rain. The next morning the man found himself alone in the hut. He rose, called out, but received no answer. Starting down the road, somewhat perplexed, the man looked back at the place where he had spent the night, but saw only the mounded dirt of a newly dug grave.

Perceptions can be quite perverse. What we think we perceive ultimately depends on one’s point of view, one’s perspective; and one’s perspective is a product of genetics and experience. An oft quoted paragraph from THE LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON by James Boswell (1740-1791) is this:

“After we came out of the church, we stood talking for some time together of Bishop Berkeley’s ingenious sophistry to prove the non-existence of matter, and that every thing in the universe is merely ideal. I observed that though we are satisfied his doctrine is not true, it is impossible to refute it. I never shall forget the alacrity with which Johnson answered, striking his foot with mighty force against a large stone, till he rebounded from it, ‘I refute it thus.'”

Dr. Johnson (1709-1784), noted English writer with many contributions as a poet, playwright, essayist, moralist, literary critic, sermonist, biographer, editor, and lexicographer, hit the stone a telling blow, it is true; but, like Jung, missed the mark.

George Berkeley (1685-1783) was an Anglo-Irish philosopher, writer, and clergyman who is regarded as the founder of "immaterialism", a philosophical theory he developed which later came to be known as subjective idealism. He was a talented metaphysician famous for defending idealism, the view that reality consists exclusively of minds and their ideas.

Both of these notable men came at the world with different perspectives. Both were correct in their views; both were mistaken. Western philosophers divide their world into reality and metaphysics. Most Eastern philosophers make no clear distinction between the two. Engineers tend towards factual, concrete conceptualizations. Poets (those individuals who live in their heads) tend to gravitate to abstraction and metaphysics generally and Chinese philosophy in particular. A rather efficacious metaphor often used to describe the state of mind for those reared by the dogma of Western civilization is that of a coin. The two sides of the coin are abstractions created by our minds. The solid center portion of the coin is the real stuff of which the natural world is made (which was said to be a plenum by James et al and which includes us of course). Place good and evil (black and white, left and right) on the faces of the coin. The relative natural world is neither and both and fills the space between.

Knowledge, of course, leans heavily on perspective. One man’s ceiling is another man’s floor. Newtonian physics offers one view of the material world. Quantum physics (Einstein’s piece of the pie) gives another look to the business. And the holographic universe (Hawking and his black holes) provides a third. All three are different, yet all three necessarily overlap.

Knowledge has grown exponentially since the industrial revolution, and continues to befuddle humans with new bits and odd twists of the old bits. The universe, for example, as theoretical physics would have it, is not a ‘uni’ but rather a ‘multi.’ The universe we perceive is currently occupied by 8.3 billion humans. Out there (or in there or wherever) are an infinite number of universes with, perhaps, an infinite number of living organisms. The multiverse is defined as a ‘hypothetical collection of diverse universes, each of which would comprise everything that is experimentally accessible by a connected community of observers.’ So it is claimed at www.britannica.com/science/multiverse. I mention this just to add fuel to the fire: just how many bits of information might there be in a multiverse?

Knowledge of just our universe, that which contains the Milky Way galaxy and our solar system, has so far eluded a complete scientific explication. We know a good deal about the observable universe, but that accounts for only 5% of what is out there (in there?). The other 95% consists of dark matter and dark energy of which we know literally nothing. And a multiverse?

Spare me.

The multiverse is an example of the expanding world of knowledge, billions and billions of bits that line up on the unknown side of the ledger. The more we know, it seems, the more we need to know. The same conundrum exists in every branch of science, and in every corner of the humanities. Those who seek answers so assiduously are like men (or women) locked in a room with no windows and but one locked door. The key is in the lock, but will not turn. There they stand in a frenzy, shouting and pounding on the door.

Consider: If brute force will not force the door, perhaps some subtle strategy, some sleight of hand, might do the trick (see Sun Tzu, element number seven). If one gently jiggles the key, might the lock not turn? This is of course the Chinese concept of wu wei (無為), doing less to get more. If a practical example is needed, consider trying to texture sheet rock: a frustrating business for the DIY home owner. The more spackling he spreads, the worse it gets.

Wittgenstein, when asked what his aim in philosophy was, gave this answer: To show the fly the way out of the fly bottle. The fly is us; the bottle is the plenum. There is no getting out (probably); but we would like to know what we are about. The physicist presumes to show how that fly got in the bottle in the first place as well as the whence and wherefore of the bottle. If one swaps the fly for a goose, one gets this Chan Buddhist story:

The governor of Hsuan province came to Chan master Nan-chuan (748 - 835 CE) and posed the following problem: A man raises a goose in a bottle, watching it grow until one day he realizes that the goose had grown too large to get out of the bottle. Since the fellow did not want to break the bottle or kill the goose, he was quite perplexed, hung out on the horns of a dilemma. What should he do, asked the governor. Nan-chuan gazed at the man for a moment, then quietly addressed him. My esteemed governor, he said, and then shouted, THE GOOSE IS OUT!

Hypothetical questions can always be answered with hypothetical answers; and isn’t it all hypothetical? Well, yes and no.

Dr. J stubbed a gouty toe on his rock. The nuns of my catechism classes, as I remember, when asked if God were all powerful, could He make a rock that even He couldn’t lift, always answered with their malevolent yard stick smacking the arm of the offender.

So how do we find a modicum of certainty in what we know (or think we know)? And what do we do about all that dark matter we know nothing about? The word ‘tree’ is a common concept. But ‘tree’ is not a tree. If our knowledge stops at ‘tree’ we essentially know nothing. Arguably all we ‘know’ comes to nothing (did I hear Bishop Berkeley chortling?). And it is in that sense that metaphysics suggests that all form is void, all is nothingness (Dr. J is apoplectic). Not a plenum; but rather a vacuum or something like. Lao Tzu (Laozi, 6th C. BCE. Well worth a visit, but not on this excursion.) would suggest the Tao (道, way) which is the label for that which is nothing but also not-nothing and from which comes the ten thousand things.

The fly and the goose are still with us but the ‘fly’ or the ‘goose’ are not.

There. The fly is out.



NOTES:
‘The old poet carries on bravely,’ SELECTED POEMS OF SU TUNG P’O, Burton Watson translation. Copper Canyon Press. 1994.

https://www.technologynetworks.com/neuroscience/news/caltech-scientists-have-quantified-the-speed-of-human-thought-394395

See https://www.worldometers.info/world-population/. This year (2025) there have been over 131, 400, 000 births; and 62,000,000 deaths.

Ludwig Josef Johann Wittgenstein (1889 - 1951) an Austro-British philosopher who worked primarily in logic, the philosophy of mathematics, the philosophy of mind, and the philosophy of language.

My thanks to William James for the conversation on categories of mind.

HOME

You have landed on the home page of KNOTBUCHWERKS, TOO (KBWt). To read my older posts on this site go to the ESSAYS, STORIES, or POEMS pages. I have also created a list of my self-published books with a brief synopsis of each title. Find that list on the BOOK LIST page.

Previously my work was published at MAJIKWOID, and those posts can still be read at that site. My oldest entries are still available at CONVERSATIONS with a Hypoxic Dog and KNOTBUCHWERKS. Links are provided under this site's title banner.

Painting for the title banner is by Zhang Daqian, Panorama of Mount Lu, 1981–83, wall mural in portable scroll format, ink, color on silk, 70 x 392 inches (178.5 x 994.6 cm), National Palace Museum, Taipei.

***

MISTY RAIN

Indistinct Shadows of the True Man With No Title

This is the second installment of MISTY RAIN, a book that is but a concept, not yet reality. The first installment was posted on January 1, 2026 and now resides on the ESSAYS page. The journey should be of some interest, at least for me. You are welcome to come along.

MOVING ON

To the wild north we go,

Galloping on shallow ripples,

Winding streams, ponds and pools,

For a feast of early spring views.

Su Tung P’o

Logistics is commonly defined as the detailed coordination of a complex operation involving many people, facilities, or supplies. Writing a book is certainly a complex operation; but, since I work alone, no others are involved. Facilities are minimal, as are supplies. The only requirements are a desk top, a blank sheet, a pencil, a cup of coffee, and a crust of bread.

As the focus of this work consists primarily of Chinese thought, it is appropriate to call in Sun Tzu (544-496 BCE), author of THE ART OF WAR, and get some background on the elements of logistics. Sun Tzu begins with ‘Reckonings,’ the first things a ruler intent on war or a  general planning an attack  must consider before embarking on any campaign. He writes:

Appraise it [‘it’ refers to a declaration of war on another province or an imminent single action campaign] in terms of the five fundamental factors and make comparisons of the seven elements … so that you may assess its essentials.

The five fundamental factors are:

1. moral influence (correctness of the government’s or general’s position)

2. weather

3. terrain

4. command (the competence of one’s personnel)

5. method (tactics)

The seven elements are:

1. Know Yourself & Your Enemy: Deep understanding of strengths, weaknesses, intentions, and patterns.

2. Know the Terrain: Utilize the physical environment to your advantage.

3. Adapt & Be Flexible: Adjust plans and tactics to changing circumstances (like water).

4. Deception & Surprise: Make enemies guess your true intentions; act strong when weak, weak when strong.

5. Attack Weaknesses, Avoid Strengths: Position yourself where you have the advantage.

6. Preparation & Readiness: Thorough planning and training are essential.

7. Win Without Fighting: Achieve objectives through strategy, psychology, and outmaneuvering, not just battle.

Since my journey to China is all in my head, the correctness of my position must be assumed. My disposition is rarely far away from confident and curious. I would rather not consider the terrain of my mind or, for that matter, the inside of my skull. Command is self-explanatory. I rarely write gibberish. Method, for a writer, becomes the format and literary techniques employed. For this book, a series of essays will follow one after another until the subject is sufficiently covered. A time frame is irrelevant. It will take as long as it takes. Since I am relying on the poetics of Su Tung P’o and others to open each installment, the essays will utilize the elements of prose poetry (as Master Su so often did) to make their points. More on that subject follows.

And of the seven elements, only the first one is of importance. As for the rest, I would trust the reader to accept the fantasy: the China I describe exists in part but my description is subjective and the objective reality lives elsewhere. Be flexible. Expect deception. Understand that I am attacking human nature as it is commonly perceived. My preparation? I could trot out my CV, but judge for yourself. The proof will be in the puddles. I will confront nothing for there is nothing to confront. I judge nothing for there is nothing to be judged. Abstractions, like ghosts, offer no resistance. 

But then, why do they seem to have such a stranglehold on so many? A conundrum to be sure. A mystery. 

Here, I think, a musical interlude might serve to suggest sufficient self-knowledge on my part to continue apace. (The music might also provide some welcome relief: Logistics and metaphysics are like Caesar Salads, best served with a toothsome dressing.) ‘The Lonesome Friends Of Science’ is a song by noted singer song writer John Prine (1946-2020). The opening verse is this (link to the song—for those so inclined—is provided below):

The lonesome friends of science say, the world will end most any day.

Well, if it does, then that’s okay; ‘cause I don’t live here anyway.

I live deep down inside my head where long ago I made my bed …

I have lived inside my head for 60 years. I offer Prine as another who claims such a residence. So to those who scoff at my fantasy I would suggest you reconsider. I have it on good authority that both Cervantes and Shakespeare, not to mention such literati as Joyce and Beckett, lived their lives largely in their heads.

Regardless of my intellectual idiosyncrasies, the format of the essays will be fairly straightforward. I begin with some discussion of what I am about, continue with how I propose to accomplish the task, and move on to the journey itself which will involve visits to five masters, some clerical and some lay, and the conversations we had ( are having). As I mentioned, the primary technique will be prose poetry. The form—called fu (賦)  in Chinese— has a long history and general acceptance in China, and a much shorter use and little regard in Europe and America.

A prose poem (my preference is for ‘prosepoem,’ but the neologistic compound word creates its own confusion and is best left for later) is a literary composition which utilizes to varying degrees the standard mix of description, narration, and so forth to render lines of prose that are not broken into verse lines as a poem might be, but that might have many poetic traits such as metered sentences, metaphors, allusions, even subtle rhymes and any other figure of speech common to poetry.

It is prose, then, that barks like poetry; poetry that lifts its leg like prose.

A key element in prose poems (or poetic prose) is time. The narrative does not necessarily proceed from then to now but becomes amorphous, fluid, flowing but not disjunctive or random (though it could be). Poetry, with the possible exception of epics, is seldom chronological. If a narrative at all, a poem segues from allusion to metaphor to bald statement of fact and back again. The tenses are arbitrary: often just the present tense is used to gain a sense of immediacy. Prose can be written in a similar manner, but requires transitions that move effortlessly and intelligibly from one scene to another.

Chinese prose poetry developed during the Han dynasty (206 BCE – 220 CE) from its origins, apparently, in the long poems of one Qu Yuan (c. 339–c. 278 BCE). Poets found that the style of fu was particularly suitable for description and exposition, in contrast to the more subjective, lyrical forms of classical Chinese verse. The elements of the fu form include a long line, metrical breaks within a line, and the use of balanced parallel phrases. Minimal use of rhyme places it somewhere between poetry and prose, though capturing the rhyme in translations of both Chinese and Japanese poetry is fiendishly difficult.

In Japan, poetic prose traces its roots to the seventeenth century, where Matsuo Bashō (松尾 芭蕉), the preeminent Japanese poet, created a poetic variation for his travelogues known as haibun (俳文), which melded prose elements with those of traditional haiku.

In Western culture, a bevy of French poets led a movement toward prose poetry, beginning with the compilation GASPARD DE LA NUIT by Aloysius Bertrand (1807-1841). Later nineteenth century French prose poets include Stéphane Mallarmé (‘L'Après-midi d’un faune’ ), Charles Baudelaire (‘Le Spleen de Paris’), and Arthur Rimbaud (‘Illuminations’). English language poets also embraced prose poetry, including the Irishman Oscar Wilde and American poets like Walt Whitman and Edgar Allan Poe.

Prose poetry fell out of fashion in the early 20th century, particularly in England and the United States. T.S. Eliot was a vocal critic of the form and Yeats, though prolific in both prose and poetry, did not mix the two. The only prominent figures in this period who accepted the form whole-heartedly were  Gertrude Stein, an American expatriate living in Paris, and Ezra Pound, an American then living in Italy.

I have used the technique in most of my work. Five of  my eight novels, long and short, use prosepoems to begin each chapter. My book PLUM BLOSSOMS is a narrative with 81 linking prosepoems. I will leave you with the opening (and closing, in this instance) prosepoem from my novel CONSULTING HUANG PO.

my thoughts had become largely tangential like balloons on sticks, 'ds' and 'ps' afloat, but less substantial, smoke rings, lying on my back blowing O's against an offwhite, orange peel ceiling in a small room, water stained, a garret, dim lit, alone, waiting patiently for the sun to shine, mottled through the limbs of deciduous trees, maples perhaps or elms, a white plum or rain ... the ruckus of birds about the eaves, pigeons perhaps, or doves, with jays and crows tormenting the coos with their caws, an occasional hawk, once a kestrel aghast at brick and glass and soot and horn, dieselstink, and  debauched hostility

NOTES:

‘To The Wild North We Go,’ Su Tung P’o. Chinese names, it must be said, are thorny. They change frequently; two systems are still used to transliterate them; and spelling is related to geography. In Beijing (Peking) Master Su is known as Su Dongbo. In Szechwan (Sichuan), where he was born, his surname was Su and his given name was Shi. More on this in the Sixth Installment.

Sun Tzu (544 BCE - 496 BC) was a Chinese military general, strategist, philosopher, and writer who lived during the Eastern Zhou period. THE ART OF WAR, Trans. Samuel B. Griffith.Oxford University Press, 1963.

Lonesome Friends, song by John Prine