Categories
Firescape Fridays Philosophy Poetry

Inner Monologue | FF 23

A political ideology is always faulty
and, lacking inherent existence, temporary
empty of true philosophy
each strawman finds himself merely
propped up in dependence
                    – in most cases –
upon a fat paycheck,
pockets stuffed with straw
and sometimes a free iPhone X

We witness a dreamlike hologram
feeling like it’s played out before
hollow men assailed by eight concerns
running to this part of the world and that
searching for sensual pleasures
                    – or escaping crap –
a quick high, come down, fall flat
putting it all online, shamelessly on the line
and still, with each desire filled
birthing seven more in place
and as the siren’s wine is spilled
each vice is found and chased

I know the appearance to be empty
I know it’s just the karma of this life
arising moment by each moment
ever changing, temporary, light
only made serious in grasping
and how we hold the tendency so tight
we struggle to create a better habit
to remember all appearance dreamlike
is just effects of actions of past mind
and in present moment torment
patient endurance does just fine
as never for discouragement
could I justify a moment’s time

While we wish it would be easy
and that others’ take our pain
there never was a politician
who sacrificed money or his name
and if I need a hero
                    – and certainly I do –
I just put Dharma into practice
maintaining faith & pure virtue
and never was a better hero
than my internal motive true
mixed with my Spiritual Guide
and all of Buddhas’ blessings too

Oh how my success is guaranteed! and
perhaps because my name means halfwit
I won’t cling to one inborn habit
finding no meaning in madness
I abandon gross self conceptuality
and break attachment to all pleasures brief
now seeing clearly the suffering it brings
not to mention pervading disappointment
hearing “Is that all there is?” old Peggy Lee sings
wondering, doubting that we’ll learn
caught in a world lacking honourable kings
I will not find a perfect ordinary being

It does no good to stomp and yearn
or spend much time out in search
of something I could never find
in this world and in this time
a (single) man – no, not even one –
who knew when to speak or hold his tongue
and understood why war was waged and won,
a man who lives with honour
and dies by sword
or                  – at the very least –
can keep his word
perhaps he has philosophy
more than a mishmash of newage trickery
a value system tried and true
but then… he would have time for… who?

No, no such person could exist
but female fantasies persist;
so this hero imagined
I take it upon myself to become
and just crank up the volume
if I wish to feel strings, bass and drum
enjoying skin-kiss from torrid summer sun
that sensual object simply swapped
for this other one
changing suffering is all we appear
until awakened from this cursed nightmare
happy ever after begins to seem
no more than an impossible dream

Yet it’s also my firm work-in-progress
because effects must arise
as no action is wasted
and His compassion prophesied
all beings become enlightened
all happy, all free
it won’t be found in samsara
won’t arise from this political crime spree –
we ourself abandon bullshit
and gain control of our mind
with spontaneous understanding
we take it upon ourself to be kind
no other can take responsibility
for this, your one precious life
for when swallowed by death
you leave this world for the next
and there is no remember
no refuge, no best
no freedom, just sufferings
for aeons, without rest

Making use of this life
means bowing out of the race
I haven’t the time
I can’t keep worldly pace
my focus and practice is a spiritual drive
never separate, never selfish
never political nor so contrived
understanding my actions imprint on all minds
I refrain from harming others
and strive to be wise
always increasing my wisdom
and with blessings apply
each Dharma teaching in correct stride
this cannot be mandated nor politicized
for a Spiritual Path is individual
and                  – in most cases –
private, not public,
but for each, he decides
when to opt out and regain control
of his conscious awareness
and reprogram his soul
until then, never satisfied

I cannot help but laugh
at the fake tears our politicians cry
even as some will believe their lies
I laugh because I am not surprised
and I will not be corrupted
                    – even in spite –
because happiness is only comprised
of parts found within the mind
                    – never outside –
so I cannot be bought
I will not run nor hide
and having removed the delusions
pure loving peace now abides
so I can truly help others
without self
                    – or political ties.

Categories
Poetry

Bitter Beauty

Winter’s hues
of pinks and blues
have brought me to my knees

Wind’s frosty bite
stings day and night
burned alive by blistering breeze

New fallen snow
rainbowed with sun’s glow
illuminates the deadened trees

Rare beauty appears
just once here in years –
so savour this vicious freeze

Categories
Meditation Philosophy Poetry

Impermanence

from happy to sad

                       so quickly

it never lasts

                 it never lasts

                                it never lasts

                                

Categories
Poetry

objectification

(alternative title: Self-Assessment)

I think my leg would make a nice lamp
   soft, supple, curved, and round

a good squeeeeeeze

if you look me up from down
   squish in the right place –
        and in the wrong
in front, a bright and lumpy face
   from behind, like every other PAWG
near-perfect ass – not too phat in size
   nicely shaped when I fold in half
        showing off some thick-ass thighs
   and big-ass ribs
an hour glass shape
   with small-ass tits
        deceiving, yes
        disappointing, almost entirely
   but most aren’t interested
in being surprised or disappointed
and so I’m left here unanointed
unbaptized but virginal – ah! a wish!
almost believable, but deceitful kiss
      when every swing returns a miss
except for the three, a perfect strike-out
who pitched to me? and filled me with doubt?

I think my arm would make a nice branch
   muscular, freckled, smooth, and strong

nice to tooooooouch

to whom does it belong?
   what soul could search and find
        a truly existent body
   independent of a truly existent mind?

no one!

   could it be a limb to build a nest?
 could it be a place of eternal rest?
could these arms wrap you up
 and hold you firm?
   or tickle-torture until you squirm?

 and would you understand
such impermanent nature?
or is your reliance political,
 predisposed to legislature?

squeeeeeeze instead

evaluate

and don’t forget
   your mind creates

and ever empties your plate
   but also fills you up

objectify this human creation
   dismantle parts with imagination
      for the whole is empty but of name
   and our mind is non-separate
we’re almost the same

 let last words be of virtue, love
      a wish for other’s happiness
and though I fit you like a glove
we play this silly game of chess
              you read these words,
            you leave them here,
            we’re left confused
           filled up with fear

       and then I pray and dance about
and use this body, to move, to shout
        and once again I live so free
   to end all fears and misery
all I’ve got’s one disbelief
        – how could it be only me?

Categories
Poetry

breaking down

rattle
    thrum
           POP
              smoke

this time
     not to be ignored

life never goes up in flames
just sizzles and fumes
                    unfavorably

ends not with a bang,
     but that goddamned whimper

three hundred thousand miles

(sounds better than five hundred thousand
                           kill –  om (ah hum) –  metres)

                         and you drop dead
(I surmise only one of us wanted
                      that camping trip)

smoke
        siren
      embarrass-
             meant-for-someone-else

smiling ‘I’m sorry’s,
       hoping to get out

(dashed hopes)

    just in case you were still wondering:

you’re here to
            stay put

            (is that an order?)

Categories
Dreams Poetry

Self-cherishing, alone

Know me,
       choose to know me
and know that you are not alone
but I will not make you
       less lonely
knowledge will not make you
       less lonely
that always you will want
       only to be
alone

Know me
see my sorrow
unpromised to a single cause
observe that
              anchor-attached
       I will drown
you will watch
       as you are drowning
              we are overwhelmed
alone

Know me
   then choose to leave me
         low and wet
            high and dry
ecologically drained
and emotionally filled
       venomous
          — or is it toxic? —
     she is both,
                       alone

Know me
        do not.
do not learn.
a box better left lidded
monogrammed P
a sell-sword’s secret sealed
unabandoned, undone
better to un-know
better to be
alone

Know me.
Choose to know me.
Know that you are not alone,
but it does not matter
     when self-cherishing strangles
            the virtue that prompts
         the mind that yearns
                    will cut off
  compassion, love
and choose the self.

Alone.

Categories
Buddhism Poetry

Futile complaint

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

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

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?