Tag: attachment

Categories
Poetry

Feels good, man (but for how long)

I shall call it
            changing suffering
                   forevermore
                   for that is what it is

Every twinkle little star
     every snowflake near and far
                sparkling against sky or ground
     morning dewdrops all around

     I once considered beautiful gifts
     wondrous signs too commonly missed

But, no – I now see
                  (not for the first time)
        fool’s gold
                    not easily offered back
        a meaningless pocket weight,
                  (now I must buy a belt)

How can I contend with such suffering?

In temporary pleasures and joys,
       effortlessly, we’re robbed
       even if of mere time

     inescapable imputation
     immovable mountain
     sickness, aging, death

I cannot evade you
     so why am I running?
          Why do I not surrender?

The terrifying jaws of death
        protected only by an inner circle,
     a very subtle layer

(Let’s unblock the chakras
                before it’s too late)

(I hope it’s not too late)

You know, the story of the ring was this

     emptiness, bliss
     there all along,
     delusion appearing great,
                      feels too strong
     yet empty     empty
                      all along

(Of what?)

(Empty of what?)

That’s the question,
            the non-existent rub

            (still yearning for the out)

So just existing in this tub

           Trading suffering

Not for the first nor last time
        does such (dis)satisfaction
                           (edit upon the moment, day)
        depend upon my mind
  and never these infernal conditions
                                  manifest by mind

It’s my mind
         changing suffering, such!
     nature of samsara’s temporary kind

                       So will be relief
when clarity appears to replace
                        this muddled mess –
direct realization: emptiness
            with pure intention
 and, please, before death!

Categories
Poetry

A fickle thing

I started to lose interest
where it began, I cannot tell –
was it diseases of delusions?
   or the medications as well?

Aversion to sugar
I dislike that sweet —
  but a little too tart?
         sours my treat

A dash of salt
  is too salty still
     when I want a
                     silly snack

Creamy vanilla
    or buttered plain
        are two with simple
                               lack

Yet mocha dark
       or caramel glazed
              are off my beaten
                                path

So what is it I fancy?
      what is it I crave?
  and what will satisfy me?
  or quick become depraved?

For once a pleasure rises
    a pleasure, she must fall
    and he who sympathizes with
                                attachment
       is he who loses all

For grasping at an object,
impermanent, illusion best
is ignorance, the birthplace
of delusions, all the rest

So what will satisfy me
     external to my mind?
Nothing nothing no   thing
         for all that is
         is named,   is mind

Categories
Poetry Saturday Expressions

What now? | Session 18

If it was never fixed,
    it can’t be rebroken

yet it’s shattered now completely

while I am made whole

I have been repurposed
                   utterly renewed

now I know
         freedom,     not heartache,
         ensues

amazing – I waited
                   so patiently —
. . .
         okay, no
                    I begged
I literally got on my knees and pleaded

(humiliating really)

for C L O S U R E

I practically pulled my own teeth for it

(I simply stole a toothbrush instead)

I was intoxicated by the lust for a bitter end –

while being denied it again and again

knowing it’s going to come
inevitably

so I begged for early release

the buildup was incredible
intense at times

(filled with that crazed yearning)

but, as it so often is, then withheld

so when the climax didn’t come

time went by and trepidation

S t R e t c H e d

to a numbed oblivion, almost
forgotten – then rediscovered and

(as I was waiting for, begging for)

followed by the instant explosion,

so incredibly quick we call brief into question

a lit fuse to a pinch of dynamite

I waited for the punch! And it never came

it merely sizzled
                 a spark, lacking flame
                                  and while I wish

so strongly, I could say,       you too
were just a sizzle to me

instead I just admit you were a strong second

(sorry, never a first)

and of course such thirst for you

has permanently ended

no hurt            no difficult goodbye

no hard feelings

             just sweet, sweet relief

what now?

Enlightenment

Categories
Poetry

Lost Life Loss

                         a memory

it is not mine

                      upon a log I sit

           ‘neath the snowy pine

under darkened sky

                      beside earthen stove

           a bitter wind kicks up

in the moonlit grove

                      the jingle of the horse & sleigh

           as it carries him so far away

I cannot weep, I do not cry

                      a muted heart is breaking

           and as the silence lies

a frozen bough is snapping – loud

                      to crack the quiet

           still, expected in the freeze

I do not startle, there is no breeze

         no wind at back to impel me

                      my bones have stiffened here

           my mind is anything but clear

as the winter’s solitude

                      forces delusions rather rude

           inner quietude never did follow outer

now it’s simply easier to hear

                      internal screaming

         though the fire burns, continuous

it takes us not

                        because it cannot reach

         what we refuse we got

         buried below

                        alive and dead

         some peace & love

                                     blessings bestowed

how are these all stripped from me?

         as he plods on down the snowy path

                  I know he won’t be coming back

         so I’m wrecked to watch him leave

though it is not my memory

Categories
Buddhism Poetry

Simple Wisdom

In the Unforgetting World, attachment is inevitable
so my simple wisdom is this:

Attachment will rise
and as a wish fulfilled, it will fall

Your mind creates a story
you must see it all

If you see the tall tale clearly
and Dharma you recall,

Just apply a simple virtue
then, with love, enjoy it all

Categories
Poetry

Halloween Haunt

I don’t feel right
I can’t be normal
an alien in another’s skin —
how uncomfortable at times
I see myself needing
I see myself performing
I watch the satisfaction of each urge
depressed (only) momentarily, popped
deflated pimple, red, temporary
embarrassing, addictive
craving will resurface, a monster
people argue its existence — Loch Ness —
but the lie lays bare before us
recognized or not

so, it is with robotic sensibilities
I feel myself refuse to yield
to another pointless pleasure
and instead feel pain!
which I know is not the way —
but how else will I recognize
when I am being led astray
if not by monitoring such deceits
especially harmful, discovering

my own mind is the evil
that haunts me

Categories
Playlist Poetry Saturday Expressions

Hard to Swallow: A Playlist Poem Adjacent | Session 17

Hard to Swallow
A Poem dependent upon 15 songs

Runtime: 59min

I’ve to remind myself
       how I feel has nothing to do
            with what I can see now
                  for what I see does not function
to produce such un peace
       yet here it arises as if
            I were heroin-deficient
my mind chiming
                 you make me feel
                 you make me feel

and          how I hate to hear that lonesome
whistle blow
              knowing       it’s our time to
go       100, 500, 900 miles
from            wisdom, further away as
uncontrolled                  desire blooms,
wounds, pierces all the wrong places,
                births desperation, debases

a toxin edged along the blade
                    a goddamn shame
slit wrists, caught in the undertow
cold as sorrow      I can’t breathe
       I’ll drown you with me
steeped attachment       deep
       & tormented       held tightly
to my weak mind
       I’m not alright

I wished it wouldn’t happen
       but here the karma ripened
              and I found it hard

didya think it’d be easy?
              if it was easy, everybody’d do it too
don’t be the fool & certainly
                     don’t give up
don’t let me steal this moment from you       
now       get through the messy muck
       and find relief, in faithful peace
                     grasping’s           release

but      in ignorance, more so
            tell me that you won’t let go

Categories
Firescape Fridays

Self Irony | FF 22

The real tragic flaw in Shakespeare’s tragic protagonists is that the characters are not privy (in the full ripening of dramatic irony) to the fact that they are but players, actors, and they need not take their roles seriously at all — maybe just change characters completely and shed the oncoming doom.

However, like us, the players remain asleep to this key, this unlocking of their full potential — limited by imagination alone. (Moreover, the roles themselves are adored, the carefully crafted egos, skilfully induced immortality in temporary personas.)

And so, they are led — usually by the rope of attachment — to their doom, typically destroying others along the way.

God, I love a good tragedy.

#OthelloFan #Macbeth

So many lessons. So many illustrations. Especially self-destruction through self-preservation.

Are we not the same?

Categories
Poetry Thirsty Thursday

Exception

even exceptions to the rule

break the paradigm
of their     im perfection

seemingly im possible
at the time

wait for the   but 
the     except

wait for it to fall
as the autumn leaves
still green, clinging,
still receiving the nourishment they need

still strong, then cut – jettisoned
tossed, ripped in the wind
painted glory, faded and
               quickly burnt to crisps

as the feelings
               of new love
blossom and fold

as midnight candy
                      opens at night

honeyed fragrance satisfies space
a gift for senses, too soon to pass
                don’t get attached

and you might be alright —
           except

Categories
Poetry

Addicted to the melodrama

In my heart of hearts
I know

I know
what happiness is

I feel it exists
I know where it is to be found
under the bones, beneath the ribcage,
sub atomic the heart, in the subtle
in the very subtle mind

I know where all is found, created
produced phenomena
mistaken, mistaken
still mistaken
so there’s the rub
the grasp for external things
produced from an internal space
perceived from a point
moving through time and space
but a point, a personality nonetheless
     — non-existent so to speak
yet hard to see       (until it’s not)
   and it’s the rub that’s missed
the feeling, the touch,
the understood cause
of pleasure, pain
the smack, the beating
and don’t get me started on the aural
     — tongue lashings
to teach you tough lessons

What the fuck, right?

do you ever forget that people are real?
do you treat them too much like the dream characters you know they are?
can you feel – or is there a shelf in the way?

will someone please un-install the shelf!?

I think it can be recycled.
donate it. Please, help me.

the ledge is the safest place to be
if it perpetuates such refuge practice

but I don’t want to be there anymore

where do I want to be?

have I done the work, made the effort
that must render the results
effects I’ve created mindfully       (somehow)

and    somehow   I’ll do it again
                   ((blessings))

but oh! how I could do without
the melodramatic feeling!
the melancholy that arises,
                           such ache!
as if I am on the verge of losing
              My Attachment

balancing
the moment, a magic moment
while seeing the potential – certain!
decease, death of these magic moments

no phenomena exists in the same way
for a second moment
care to think about that?

the certainty of change
still surprises you;           cry about it
mourn the wisdom you missed
but receive what’s given to you
       now                   — and why not happily?

you’ve got this
after all, you’ve got the lines —
just practice them
as an actor, rehearse rehearse
perchance to entertain…   to fail…
to fly

imagination is all you need
to reach the end of the path

transform the melodrama
enjoy each step as you walk it

What the fuck, right?