Tag: reality

Categories
Poetry

confusing conditions

built to be broken
 & cracked down to dust
born to be suffered
     offend and break trust
invented to abscond
 tried to be trashed
   told to fuck off
     & thrashed for a laugh
samsara’s play buckles
          pulls out all the stops
the audience participation
          wallops a good punch

nonsense and dream world
          collide innocent
how do awful things ripen?
can we prevent one torment?

it hurts so we harden
it pricks so we hack
               all beauty to pieces
        even though it doesn’t last
                                     on its own

what pride can be held
    in accomplishing the same
         as time does with no effort
              robbing us of each name
revenge becomes pointless
    as our hearts become stone
I press, we must realize our mind
‘cause I can’t take this pain
                   all apparent losses
    grief felt again and again

all relationships tarnish
      all chaos lets loose
I thought this time was different
      and so volunteered for the noose
but from this redundant perspective
      it’s so easy to see
I was built to be broken
    & caged to be freed

Categories
Buddhism Poetry

Beginning(less)

It is said
they tasted the earth
and found it sweet
and that was the birth
of attachment to the food we eat

Attachment to the forms we see
to sounds we hear, scents we smell
to the tactile sensations felt
the gods betrayed us, every one
to attach a pleasurable feeling
to a non-existent tongue

Attachment, hatred
suffering, madness
all parts of the mind
love, compassion
equanimity, gladness
in only virtue will you find
everlasting happiness

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

a week before the fall

a slothful orb ascends,
            slowly across the southern sky
    already missing its peak
it shirks responsibility,
             no longer a light above by nine a.m.
in the yard, clocked shadows hold morning’s chill
            while, with a furnace blast, blazing warmth is cast
    lethally, from an expiring sun’s face

what a time of year
    one of dread and fascination

a reverse magic of the spring takes place
    dishearteningly unbelievable

everything once vital and green
    withers away, as flames to ash
full bushes decay under still-blue skies
                       crosshatched with chem trails

autumn’s appearance should sting less
    with each year of expectation
            but the knife travels the same scar,
    ripping the tissue open once more
            spilling the crinkle of leaves, isolated chirps
                                         icy rainfall spurts

there can be no love in autumn
       what — love for a dying thing?
we expect spring’s rebirth in its vein
    but it’s different
                  inconceivably so
    as nothing can come back the same
taking its time, different life does grow

I no longer delight in season’s change
    a witness to illness arising
                                  and constant pain
    raw attachment, unhooked anew,
            broken hearts where love once grew

I cannot bear to face the task
    of reliving seasons, to watch them pass
            as all things slip like time in glass
    my cageless prison, this life, outlasts

free me before I plunge once more
    through autumn’s orange enchanted door
            cold aversion ripening
                grasping at inherent things

I know it’s wrong,     so little worse
            than self-cherishing
                        my ugly curse

may I be free before the fall
        —    just one more week
                              to see it all
                                      correctly

Categories
Poetry

Echoes

In each life
   we walk away
       from one another
       thinking this life will be different
   we tried it again
and now
   we walk away
       from one another
       a different name
       a different place
       a different time

if the karma remains
                       unpurified

       again we’ll try
       again we’ll try

Categories
Good Fortune Poetry

Antidote

I do not want vacations
I do not want jewels
I don’t mind bouquets of flowers
but someone must take them out
when they begin to rot and stink
          and I am busy spending ink

I don’t want riches
I don’t want gold
I don’t mind pearls
but that’s because they’re a symbol of purity
       – at least that’s what I’m told
I don’t want to hoard for when I’m old

I don’t want too much trouble
I’ll just take enough
to prepare me, make me stronger
for when things inevitably get tough

I don’t want to be a mark
I don’t want to be a thief
I don’t want to receive more
          than my share of beef

I don’t want my own car
I don’t want my own house
I don’t want to own pets
  or really anything else!

It may sound a little lazy
it may even sound lame
   but I’ll take a peaceful life
unburdened by such wanton things

It’s all really perverse –
      this cruel misunderstanding
of how reality exists
         manically apart and magnetically banding

I do not want the wool
pulled over my eyes
I do not want to ignore
the suffering, the cries

I wish to be free from it all
and collect only the treasure of Dharma
for there is no practice too small
and all experiences are karma

I do not want vacations
I do not want jewels
I desire no relationship
I no longer suffer fools
with all my mind in refuge
every moment, every day
it’s incredible how quickly
the three poisons fade away

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

magic of mind

believe in magic
  believe in love
    believe that life is a gift above
       all else believe that happiness is real
not to be attained, but
        merely discovered
pull back the cover, the visage of misery
for underneath,   already there
   is joy,   and peace,   and fearlessness
magical and pure
   suffering’s cure
           such allure
 & haute couture
     we make a dress of bliss
a lightweight garb
   heavenly feeling, free of attachment
free of hatred
          free of ignorance
   created with equanimity and compassion
rainbow fabric of delight
not temporary, but everlasting
     not truly existent, 
     but purified, transformed and increased!
what sorcery is this!
     not wizardry of external means
     but a realization of mind
             my mind, your mind
     pouring water into water
     mixed inseparable
may I be free from delusions
  may I fortify my magic
    may I never wreak havoc
        (more than I already have)
      may I only give Dharma,
        material help, fearlessness and love
          may I be a treasure from above
ultimately,         at last I find
         a magician’s alchemy
   is mind over matter
         for all matter is mind

Categories
Poetry

The White Rose

note: poem conceptualized & written in 2020

Petals fall from
the white rose
encased but ignored
left on loop
but no one is there
to watch the rewind
meaning it’s hollow
not empty
still, like
rats’ feet over broken glass
no more to start or
stop a revolution or war.

Petals fall from
the white roses
marking graves of fallen
soldiers who tell their
story of glory after death
words spill from a curator’s lips
or a historian’s pen tip
tales of heroism
what brutality
fighting for peace, wisdom, clarity
against another mind to somehow
find it within one’s own.

War has been on my mind
as it so often is when
I find myself waiting in fatal quiet
reality augmented by the furtive hive mind
observing and denying
battles now fought
in sedated silence
behind television screens
behind cell phone screens
the ones woven through
our own digits
stiffened and stuck to
lite brite pointillism.

White roses bloom
in my smoke-filled room
red petals litter the floor
grey petals fall from the ceiling
ashes in graves and washed on shore
and what does it matter now
hope is a word said
       nevermore
hope is a word bathed in doubt
so trade for belief and see
wish for a deep faith to be
the peace already in you
the love already in me

I heard an opinion
like the white rose, inoffensive
neither right nor wrong
simply an idea
made tangible by
a horrific co-creation
of present reality
present time an
indian-given gift
an offensive slur
cancelled at the last
moment      – free speech no more.

Forgetting that     to offend
is a mind-made act
    a self-made attack
complete control given
to the red queen
whose only goal
is to hang the noose
about your neck
and wring the pennies
from your purse
yet it’s just      the dream
that is your curse.

Now prick your finger
on the white rose’s thorn
made empty in parts
by how you define
your relations with
the world you find
outside your front door
for all is your mind
      and          our history written
from one point of view
always makes ignorant
all but a few

Categories
Poetry

Levity

can I hold your interest?

                   captivate you?

a butterfly,          aimless in a breeze

          or a moth,  suicidal to a flame

I only live to entertain

            are you not entertained?

how we exist

               appears only in name

I only stay to go insane

             are you not the same?