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

Curious Undertaking

They say curiosity killed the cat
and satisfaction brought her back
but in samsara’s spoiled waters
I find only ill departers
it’s hardly satisfying
when everyone I love is dying
I see sickness in all migrators
who swim wantonly with alligators
breaking open hearts and seals
contemplating Sinbad’s deal
excusing whorish proffers
while taking what’s not offered
to indulge each selfish desire
to enjoy the heat of temporary fire
turning quickly to ember, burning out
leaving grey ashes of deluded doubt

How can I help all beings
with such ailments of the mind
with intense hedonistic attachment
to each sensory pleasure, illusory yet defined
each one appearing solid, concrete
while in actuality like a dream from mind
produced from empty-like space
contaminated matter is all I find
I must vomit out this poison and
grow virtuous roots, from seeds purified

To help nurture this new garden
of joyful, chaste, and pure delights
to replace increasing darkness
with pure increasing Dharma light
I visualize taking from all migrators,
their poison, like charcoal smoke
the delusions leave their bodies
arising unobstructed from all folk
all suffering, ill intent, all harmful desires
billow like black clouds from raging forest fires
flow, now fly, to my subtle mind, my heart
and are destroyed completely at the inner drop
annihilating my self-cherishing and my self-grasping
now I give pure, boundless love and compassion,
and I too receive this medicinal nectar
all beings enjoy happiness, everlasting
and I become a pure preceptor

Categories
Good Fortune Poetry

For You, Alone


This path is for you, alone
and lonely though it seems
that’s just mistaken awareness
that perceives inherent dreams

For though no self is separate
as ordinary we can’t conceive
the pure joy of our existence
what we gain, all beings achieve

Categories
Philosophy Poetry

Elevated Intentions (…still need wisdom)

sympathy is
       I see your suffering, and I relate
empathy is
       I see your suffering, and I wish to relate
compassion is
       I see your suffering and I wish you to be free from it
bodhichitta is
       I cannot bear to see your suffering, so I will become enlightened to free you from it

Most of what we speak & seek
is causes for – and sympathy;
but how much better would life be,
if we abandoned victim mentality?

Why is sorrow such a strange addiction,
so familiar to my mind?
I cannot be free from misery;
it’s all I’ve known and all I’ll find!
       — such an easy thing to cry
believing escape from suffering a lie
unknowing there’s a firm way out
for those with patient, faithful eyes,
for those who abandon deluded doubt

                           — What imagination is this!
what strength it takes to change one’s sight
no material quest could yield such result
for in samsara one cannot do right

                           — What can one do!
rely upon blessings & elevate intention
remain natural while wishing to help; think:
Oh! What would it really be like
       to be happy and kind spontaneously
to face all problems with joyful mind
with strength and courage to defeat all foes
while maintaining love and compassion, I’ll find
it easy for blessings to arise, received and bestowed
I’ll help all living beings with ease and with grace

I’ll abandon delusion, because fearless I face
 the appearances that rise and fall –
       hallucinations, like dreams –
understanding reality, from mind,
                                  is never as seems
because I’m grasping, anxious, clinging
my stories are hard to let go
I should instead rewrite myself the hero
great responsibility mine, undeniably so

How could I cope with this level of fame?
in anonymity, no one knowing my name
in correct paths I follow
                      but I must impute
I’m no longer a victim, no longer the brute
seeing myself the lowest of all,
through infinite timelines, I recall
the artist’s drive to wield the sword
       settling instead for
              ink seldom seen and music sometimes heard
       limited proud intention
to right the wrongs and mend men’s minds
still what more can I do but mimic
in appreciation of writers of Blake’s kind
              I render copied letter into copied word

Tyger, Tyger burning bright
surprised to find you here tonight
easy confidence, phat face
curly locks, so out of place
twinkle, twinkle, of thyne eye
what is your fearful symmetry?
absent, as one pupil enlarged
brightly burning in furnace forged
what is they breath? thy breast? thy might?
so like a woman in the night!
odd & absent-minded maid
back to cold burner, you do fade

he speaks to her with bleary eye
long-winded and past-wounded
he longs for sympathy, to cry
nearly, he is refusèd
she listens with a weary ear
she’s heard it all before
her heart is hardened, scarred by fear
his hurt she can ignore
what good is sympathy to folks
with pain and broken heart
it is compassion that fixes our flaws
so simple is our part

from compassion comes love
and it’s easy to flourish
exchange self with others
with a quick change of intention
to complete all actions with ease
we develop bodhichitta motivation
with familiarity come all habits
spontaneous, effortless
removing delusions from our mind
we soon derive meaning
from the very thing that was,
from our side,      meaningless

develop and meditate upon
correct intention

pray for wisdom

sympathy is
       I see your suffering, and I relate
empathy is
       I see your suffering, and I wish to relate
compassion is
       I see your suffering and I wish you to be free from it
bodhichitta is
       I cannot bear to see your suffering, so I will become enlightened to free you from it

Categories
Poetry Saturday Expressions

Imagination | Session 20

Imagination is a funny thing
Can be a vile thing
A wildling, can motivate
Or desecrate
With or without the evidence
Mind makes its own proof
Mind draws me in attachment
Then makes me act aloof
Imagination is a lonely thing
Appearing individual and separate
Travels as though disparate
Never in one place
Ever pervading space
Remembering those I’ve met
Ever scheming, making bets
Ever brushing against yours
Yet pretending we’re all bores
How can we rely upon such a beast?
For it’s our untuned vehicle
Rattles over bumps and around curves
Unoiled, rusted, nearly busted
Soft, moth-eaten, torn-fabric seats
Our minds have been used and abused
We’re so confused, and we’re always
Giving our power to those who prey
Who eat away all day to get their fill
Upon the lonelies,
the innocents, the broken
Those who have not awoken
Those whose hearts have turned to clay
Moldable, opposable yet breakable
When dry and old and grey
May my mind not go that way
Imagination is a funny thing
A lovely thing
Can make you sing,
When you fill yourself with love and understanding
Gives you courage to jump
Lets you float before landing
And how can we access this happy mind alone?
One that helps others
Defends against crones
Simple as this
Control your mind
Or someone else will

Categories
Poetry

divination

I am the speaker of the poem
     divine entity
            beauty, grace
      flowing robes and lovely face
   sent from heaven unto this place
pure imagination
     I am water streaming,
   a silent river, sans creepy songs
absent dark tunnels
I, a speaker, fantasy
I, fucking magical
I, ever unseparate from an I
    a true personality
        untrue
glistening, golden, unafraid
       tattooed
cling and clung and am clinging to
       lacking inherent-existence-goo
       a samsaric stew
       a real fuck-you
I, a speaker, falsely accused
       lacking permanent subsistence
       a temporary view
       constantly made anew
I, changing perspective
         a bit see-through
         emptiness-clue
         with good ideas I then undo
I, ever introspective
         meditative
         on the swift escape route out
         I’m wishing you’ll come to
I, the speaker of this poem
          invention imagining the spoken you
    inception in the meta sense
        write it in the present tense
          I haven’t really any plans
     except to collapse into this poem
   when your eyes are diverted
to some other interest, next deserted
from whose side do I exist?
I, the speaker of this poem?
        divine entity
beautiful, strong
                  stunning, intelligent
             rarely wrong
         who from your mind
             came    and soon     
                  from your mind
                                           gone

Categories
Poetry

mistaken identity

I’m sorry
     have we met before?
you say you know me?
     I don’t think so

I don’t remember your face
     I don’t remember your feel
and though you seem congenial enough
     I can’t be sure the emphasis isn’t on con

for you act like you know me
     I can assure you, you do not
you talk like I can read your mind
     I assure you I cannot
you walk like I know you
     I assure you I forgot
you look in my eyes and I think you try
     to put a thought in my head
          but my soul is dead
               and I’m filled with dread
                    amongst this bread
               it’s crummy really
          but I can’t!

     I cannot read your thoughts
I know not how you feel
     I feel not what you know
I hear not what you sow
     I quietly mind my own business
so how surprised am I
     when I see a glint in your eye
as if responding to mine
     as if I should try!
                             try what?
I cannot try any harder
     I can’t try anymore!

          I feel as though I’m nerve-wracked
and body-wrecked upon unknown shore
               I never knew another soul existed
and I wouldn’t, couldn’t trust one here
     so excuse me, though you have insisted
I don’t think we’ve before been near
          and though I find it’s hard resisted
     I don’t think we’ll love sincere

though I bet your touch starts fire
     and somehow sets my heart aflame
I hope I lose this damn desire
     for you’re a stranger, only friend in claim
so I must say, I’m sorry sir
     I haven’t got the time
though by some you’re called master
     it’s your imagination, not mine
I wish I knew a bit more, boy
     like who you think I am
I wish I knew your mind, man
     there’s no mistake I’d be a fan
though you’ve mistaken my identity
     mistook me for somebody else
I became curious, intrigued
     fuck it all! it can’t be helped

Categories
Good Fortune Poetry

True Freedom is Self-Control

I am free

               listening to
The Fear’ by Ben Howard

               realization after realization
blessing after blessing pouring in

               no longer worrying
that my time is a little unclear

               no longer worrying
that I’m losing the ones I hold dear

               no longer worrying
that I live my life in the confines of fear

               I must not fear

listening to
Is That All There Is?’ by Peggy Lee

               Fear is the mind-killer

if that’s all there is my friends

               Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.

then let’s go dancing

              I will face my fear.

consistent joyful effort is clearly worth it

               I will permit it to pass over me and through me.

the prayers, the meditation, the patience

              When it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.

listening to
Self Control’ by Laura Branigan

               Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.

I, I live among the creatures of the night

               Only I will remain.*

I’m living in the forest of my dream

               but I have self-control

I am free


*Frank Herbert, Dune

Categories
Poetry

Wish for Wisdom

(alternative title: fucking begging for it)

             I want to cry
how is it possible
             once again
to become an emotional wreck
     of titanic proportions
          at least still safely submerged
too sensitive
        so overly sensitive!

Please!
     Take the sensitivity away!

Sensory overload
          at the slightest touch
and now  — my imagination!
                     runs wildly & in wild ways
        away
I’m a wreck
characters swarm my mind
barking at me
to write them down
and I cannot find my pen
where has it gone?
again!?

I cannot be barked at
       any longer!
It doesn’t make me
       any stronger!

I try and try
       to not yearn to hear
words of kind sincerity
       but again,
like salt water to quench my thirst
       a taste and I am thirstier!
       a taste and I need more!

Tell me I’m good
Tell me I’m GOOD
TELL me I’m good
Tell me I’M good
Tell ME I’m good

Am I good?

    and even if you tell me
    it doesn’t matter like it should!

because it’s my mind
that’s not good enough

to see reality clearly
to see past the real lies
deceptive tears, I moan, he cries
and I want him to pay dearly
but it’s that very fucked up mind
that wishes to take from others
in a selfish way,
        to have others pay
                    for my debts owed –

No! No longer!

Although I cannot crucify myself
I can rectify by patiently accepting
while my inner voice still screams
           I wish I was invisible
           unknowable as I must be,
still the outer quiet spoke volumes
and the sound of silence resonates
reverberates off the walls
as darkness consumes
a single lamp put out
a black night falls
           I was not as patient as I could
     be I was not as kind as I would
like others to do unto me

A little dramatic, yes
(I wish I wasn’t so dramatic)
                     but nonetheless
it’s an artist’s reflection I see

                        Carry on

It’s not temporary happiness I crave
but full abandonment
of these unacceptable delusions
and the permanent happiness
resulting from the stainless mind
that realizes emptiness directly

                        Please!

Make my mind good

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!