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
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
Everyone expects
A bang!
A surprise!
Shock and chaos
reflected in wide blue eyes
But falling in its own footprint
The detritus simply smokes
Blinding our eyes
little surprise
we can’t realize
The truth of the state
which we create
Too close we’ve come
too far we’ve been
we now seek something in between
In degenerate times
it is impossible to build purely
Follow the path out
and do not rejoice in death
make good use of this little time left
Do you know what it is
to be without
fear, sorrow,
deluded doubt?
Do you know what it is
to be truly free
from anger, hatred,
and misery?
Do you know what it is
to go within
where all is pure,
without sin?
Do you know what it is
to exist in peace
where all causes for unhappiness
have ceased?
Do you know what it is
to know your mind
limitless potential,
joyful, kind?
I have finally found
such instructions pure
as my name imputed,
an unmistaken cure
now to follow
this joyful path
it alone is happy,
clear, unmatched
who will join me?
may it be all
with equanimity, love,
we shall heed the call
and finally discover
Enlightenment unbound
dreamlike true existence,
once unknown, now found
there is a portal
escape route out
no need to scream
no need to shout
is it above us?
or is it below?
it cannot be without
it is within we go
and when we discover
the truth that lies therein
that all is mind, is empty
pure and free of sin
only happiness resides
in our pure, loving core
only a kind, peaceful
consciousness, forevermore
(the question is,
do you want it?)
I look up to see
the space between
the spring’s bright leaves,
framing failing light
the eve’s chill falls
as the day’s warmth lifts
dew dances on the lawn
while my brook babbles on
as of late, my words betray
what my mind creates –
for with incorrect name
my suffering’s made
beneath me now
the earth is cold,
this rock is hard,
I’m feeling old
so many lifetimes,
all the same
wasted, wasted
all in vain —
now depend on heart-filled meaning,
mindfulness, do practice, pray
the power of delusions, cease!
and all bad habits, slay!
anew my happiness is born
here and now today
and with constant prayer & blessing
will never pass away
how lucky are these eyes
to behold periwinkle skies
how lucky are these toes
that walk where wild grows
how lucky are these hands
that touch the living earth
how lucky is the mind
appearing Bodhichitta birth
how lucky to be giving
to create the cause of wealth
how lucky I may nurture
to create the cause of health
how lucky to be kind
that I may create the cause of peace
how lucky to hold compassion
so all hatred, anger cease
how lucky to be patient
and know beauty will ensue
how lucky to be loving
and again feel love so true
Everything is contaminated.
06.08.20
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
I am utterly transformed
I can never again see with false eyes
I have abandoned many fears
Never again can I commit tyranny
unable to slay a foe without mercy
still a warrior, dedicated practiced
Once, my armor gleamed in the sun
now, it is bloodstained, tarnished with use
a hero’s pay is his next adventure
As I sit atop the lower falls, and
waking dream what now I see
remembering how this came to be
Observe not one, but many parts
not one singularity exists,
trunks turn out branches bearing leaves
which nestle insects or yield to mites
though some call it chaos mistakenly
I now see the forest for the trees
fragmented phenomena, often
incorrectly imputed as one object
How can it exist but in name?
Dependent relationships
making us dependent people,
striving for independence from
everyone but our own false self
Not anymore
Now when I feel autumn stretch her
roots into August mornings, shrinking daylight
when I feel her come in on the breeze
I know the tears that fall are but
impressions of the misdeeds long past done
just re-emerging memories unsettled in
summer’s dry heat, like dust
Now, clarity.
The Halfwit Writer