not good enough?
you little moth
drawn to my flame
fearing I’ll burn your wings
but I am not fire (your past)
I am air (your future)
a Tara,
wind element
you choose disbelief
to break hearts, cause tears
& still, you deserve such clarity of mind,
divine,
you little moth
you’re enough
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
words on words
he flipped the bird
and entertained
absurdity
‘n’ torn
paper’s frayed
kaleidoscope image
he is his cage
his father’s father was delayed
in learning virtue
was the way
and still today
a family pays
absurd’s the word
you heard it
hear it first
from me
and then find a qualified source
for I have a message
that demand’s to be bottled and
caught and released
that beast, the words on words
you’d rather she’d heard
thather than the ones you …
wish!!!
you could amend
[Narrator: *coughs* I hate to bring that up again]
yet the part demands to be played
and so another family paid
karma sweet, then karma tart
karma baked in humble pie
ripens as happiness and
fortunes that fly
as the reins of wisdom
slap their steeds
we’ll leave samsara
and all its feasts
before the bottle rolls on shore
‘fore the greatest battle,
raw guts gore
‘fore Dharma is lost forevermore
for the 11th is so far away
seeming like an eternity –
too long to let my family pay
so nonsense verse I offer up
like empty teacup
stainless pot
water boils
yet is not hot
for all the teachings yet to come
may each have meaning, every one
and ‘fore this verse starts making sense
I’ll lose the train of th . . .
like I’ve lost cents
a lazy rhyme
an uneven rhythm
to trip the orator
a great let down
is samsara’s treasure 🤑
he is coming
he is coming
he has come
thank you
thank you
thank you
goodbye
Walk
It does not matter where your legs take you
Walk
Let the winds move through you
Roam
There are lands to explore even if they’ve been discovered
Rediscover
Move from the material to the imagination
Pace
The rooms in your house & see the cobwebs in the corners
Ignore
The spiders in such places, helpful & harmless
Dust
The webs from your head, because the arachnids that inhabit psychic spaces are venomous
Vomit
The excrement that has no benefit in the stomach of your mind
Stumble
Forward, as a traveler of future lives does not rest
Walk
It does not matter where your legs take you
Move
The inner winds to virtue
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
<1>
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
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
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
The Halfwit Writer