All the conditions
all the instructions
all the sorrows
the pains
the long introductions
you should know suffering
and develop intention
You have all the conditions
all the instructions
all the pleasures
such joys
you should know these are temporary
called changing suffering
and seek the wisdom realizing
emptiness instead
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!
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
It always ends
like a Robert Frost poem
he speaks
in a language she does not understand
she tries,
but he is wizened, suspicious
innocence has no place on a tired vine
bird shit scattered over the fields
wash your produce, she says
and he takes it all wrong
“What’s she on about now
I’m tired of it”
he’s cracking, she’s cracked
yes, when we resign our wills
to others,
when we bend
we believe we will not break
until the ripping point is reached
will another aimless traveler
risk his life to rescue me
or shall I unravel the web
I’m caught in
and escape myself
after all,
there is no independent existence
You search for conventional cause
but come up empty handed
not quite the emptiness you seek
because the suffering is still there
the realness of a wound laid bare
and why not rub salt in it —
we’re out of control anyway
a disappointing dream, yes, sore
red, raw, sinewy once more
the band aid won’t stick
and the solitary peace that binds,
too, won’t stick in spite of such mess
Shariputra’s demon will not
prevent my efforts as a spiritual warrior
even if injured once more
after all, we’re all lunatics in
the madhouse of samsara
arrogant prisoner
trapped
hard to believe it’s not permanent
until we move beyond
conventional cause
you want to be angry,
but on what authority?
what justification could you have
for such delusion?
Thinking of virtue, compassion and love
-how do you forget love?
the simple wish for others to be happy
I am so sorry for you that you
do not know this feeling
a flame carried for all living beings
despite my own suffering
‘cause that’s life
and what say you to that?
that in a moment of weakness
we see it all
and having been forsaken, both,
and both put through hell
and failing miserably
to the lower realms we could descend
if this silly hatred doesn’t end
it’s temporary anyway
do you resist?
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I want to be
part of it all
not individual and alone
not an add-on, but integral
I want my purity to be yours
and I want to spark the virtue
in all minds, together
like water, taking shape
I want to see
the aggregate of aggregates
“I” am
I want to see the “I” differently
so I am not trickster-trapped
by selfish self-cherishing
grasping the most important “me”
I want to be
the cedar on the rock,
the bark on the trunk,
a drop of water in the earth
a molecule of worth
immeasurable yet meaningful
a part of it all
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?
I dream about the serenades
I remember each bouquet
I recollect the cards they wrote
I recall sweet things they’d say
I received all the attention,
had a taste of every gift
I enjoyed quality time (a plenty!)
some acts of service, if not swift
and how I miss the ways
they’d touch me, bow me to their will
such kind physical affection
that I crave … desire still
confused pleasure in each moment
mistakenly I named the cause
external force, sexual proponent
when really born from karmic laws
how it feels is empty
how it feels is lost
how it feels was temporary
even now I pay the cost
still missing stupid moments
I still idolize false gods
still failing through each feeling
still attached to what is, was
still hopelessly romantic
I’m still burdened to the core
still looking to step lightly
while still planting seeds of war
still learning love and patience
I still apply effort every day
still seeking Three Jewels of refuge
and for simple blessings I do pray
so when
I dream about the serenades
smell a sweet bouquet,
find the cards in deep dark drawers,
and reread things they’d say
I let the attachment slip away
the feeling cannot stay
If waiting is confusion
I must take constant action
always moving, the Tim Kennedy way,
making meaning of each moment
remembering each pain
How else will I wish to escape?
How else will I make effort to change?
A traveler bound for futures lives
knows she does not rest
intention fills each moment,
causes for future effects
Why not make them virtuous,
choosing happiness instead?
We constantly plan our suffering
as if carefully ripening its seed
whatever fruit or thorn befalls us,
we first reach forth to blame
How will we become wiser
while prioritizing our fame?
How will we help others
while wallowing in our shame?
We should make meaning of our life
short and precious and rare
We should grasp this opportunity
instead of yielding to our fear
Will you rise to the occasion?
Enjoy all moments as they pass?
Understanding true causes
I just rejoice and laugh
smart mouth, ignorant mind
quick to speak, quick to die
life too brief, running out of time
creating causes to ever find
endless suffering
why me?
fast talk, soft skin
feel without, see within
fast decisions, a life of sin
feel samsara hook you in
with attachment
why not me?
as I seek the highest highs
I learn the lowest lows
then suddenly sink lower
than I’d ever thought I’d go
the lower realms
not again
yet always I’m forgetting
the causes of my pain
making all escape attempts
nothing but in vain
putting me to shame
again
the blue of Mount Meru
reflects into our sky
all the flesh and bones
of all my lives gone by
exceed its mass
and still, again,
I try
The Halfwit Writer