Tag: writing

Categories
Dreams Poetry questions

How can I know?

I considered using a plant metaphor
           but I kill most plants

I don’t know anything about
growing leafy things
  only recent experience in
how to keep something alive

but I imagine a tiny sprout
protruding from the ground

I clearly see this sprout
I look around

                   – no one else notices –

I wonder what kind of plant it’s going to be
                              this little shoot

I start to wish it will become
              a wish-fulfilling tree

I know such trees exist, have existed
               in this world, in other worlds

and though rare, difficult to find,
               I know such saplings exist!

I cannot ask for anyone’s help,
  because even if this plantlet
is to become this rare tree,
no one will identify it correctly —
 it would be discarded! —
           and I just have this really strong
                                   feeling in my gut
that I have come across the growing sprout
                          of a wish-fulfilling tree!

I’m keen to protect it, and help it grow
       but I’m really really good
at killing all things green –

they don’t need help, it’s cyclical –

    and I really feel like I can’t talk
          about this rare treasure
with anyone I’ve met,
because, let’s be real,
people are, like, really good
at murdering dreams

so I just wish to myself,
              (pray)

         please, please may I have found
         a wish-fulfilling tree
         please, please, help me nurture it
         and please help me not kill it
         I know I’m so so so good at killing
         familiar with the action, as I’ve been
         please, don’t let me become
         attached to the idea of the tree
         that somehow wish-fulfilment will grant me
         happiness – I know it won’t!
         I know it is my virtue – but still!
         Think of all the good I could do,
         granting all those wishes,
         with wisdom of course

I would never abuse my power
          I act with self-lessness

and still, I confess
I do not have even the wisdom to know

what kind of sprout I have found
                            or if I have found
                                 anything at all

for I’m the only one who sees
this plant, so small

perhaps it is just a shadow
of desire that grows in the dirt

How can I know?

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
Dreams Poetry

On Being a Writer (this time)

I have entered the dream world
          it is dark
                  madness ensues
      I’ve come unglued
monsters lurk and
      a peculiar quirk
has taken hold of me
      reality      not what it seems

I have entered the dream state
           it passes over my waking eyes
a film, betraying a wild guise
      a darkness taking over me
absent     absent is the light
      in a nightmare world
full of haunting fright
         how could it feel so right!

I have entered the dream
  I see its walls surrounding me
seemingly limitless,
      yet I cannot run further
than my limitations
      in a meat puppet state
I cannot wait any longer
      to start becoming stronger
I must lucid make
            my dull dreaming mind
I cannot afford to become unkind
                             — not now! —
and forget …

I must remember the dream
             has taken hold of me
it’s pulled me in and under
and threatens to rip asunder
                        all that I’ve worked for
all that my continuum has worked for
                  to lose all I have and more
           futures of past work
            I cannot be the jerk
that throws it all away
and yet,
            I cannot be the one to stay

I must wake up!

Still, I have been pulled under
         I have metamorphosed as a cicada
to scratch my way to the surface,
      crawling above ground
            to birth such sound
and to shed such skin and skeleton
     like the selfless king
               abandons his crown!
while in samsara’s sea they drown
                                          no more

I must wake up!

In the dream world
     imagination is the creator
of all sights and sounds
   and smells and feels and fears
      and tastes and don’t forget
         the touches you don’t get
      — your mind creates those too
in the dream world
     the artist thrives or dies
depending on will and disposition
          — or is it now our despotism?
for it is time I must remind        
                                                   (who?)
      it’s  pure       imagination
         —    creepy factories aside    —

I have entered the dream world
     and so I say goodbye
to the ordinary people I once knew
   to the human race in which I grew
      to the good friends, in numbers few,
oh how when I write, I will miss you!
      but only a solo journey ensues
(the synonym is madness)
      for it’s certainly not entirely lonely
with all those characters arguing in there

          CAN YOU SHUT THE HELL UP
                   FOR JUST A SECOND
           SO I CAN PRETEND
                   TO BE NORMAL?

  Nope.

         Not fair.

This familiarity is based on
     past impressions
          with no guarantee of
     future impressions
           (& little return on investment)

            you think I’d shift gears

Alas! like so many lifetimes
       before me
                      I write
   I enter the dream state
                      I strive
   I will realize my mind
                      this time,
   with a qualified Spiritual Guide.

Categories
Poetry

Get on with it

(alternative title: How to not do you)

I’ve a laundry list of things to do
not one of them involving you
so, if you please, I’ll be
              getting on with my day

While I’d love to sit and stay
and chat until we’re old and gray
I know it just won’t be enough
              so I’ll get on without it

Under red oak and blue sky I sit
to meditate and improve my wit
still I know it won’t be enough
              so I get on with it

I guess I’ve gotten a bit more fit
and especially if by salt-lamp lit
I think I might be good enough
              but I must errands run

Now a silly story my mind has spun
transforming chores from bore to fun
I purify my karma now
              so I can move on too

And though there is so much to do
I just can’t stop thinking on you
so how am I supposed to act?
              I get on with it

Categories
Dreams Poetry

Giving Thanks to a Past-life Brother

Am I a menace?
A mara? A demon?
Will no one tell me?
Will they simply write a book about me
                 after I die?
Or will I be blasted into forgetful oblivion, purposefully?
What delight did I lack, will I lack,
                 force others to abandon
with my mara-induced delusions?
                  (autism, they call it now)
refusing responsibility – still!
     a demon to this day
     poor quality on display
Brother Fabjan, rescue me 🙏
please don’t make a mockery
     of my life’s work, of my plays
     of my dreadful mimicry,
the plagiarism of youth
in poor taste – ah! I know!
But despondency after death
     is a hell realm, and – alas! –
I was merely reborn human
again – ah! But not to torment you
still! A demon you say!
                  Oh brother Peter Fabjan!
                  You could not rescue me!
So this lifetime, I turn instead
to a Spiritual Guide,
Buddha Shakyamuni’s continuum,
and, in constant manifestation,
                  his teachers!
I am grateful, finally,
to shed this shadow of karma
which reeks of dreadful delusion,
     this familial mockery, betrayal
      – no doubt I returned or would return in kind –
finally, I get to cleanse such evil minds!
Alas! I am grateful!
Thank you, my brother

Categories
Buddhism Good Fortune Poetry

Reliance

I am happy
despite circumstances

I am strong
despite my gloom

I am calm
despite storm

I am fearless
despite impending doom

I am giving
despite my poverty

I am glad
despite my lack

I am friendly
despite loneliness

I progress
despite setback

I give with bodhichitta
I give fearlessness and love
I give Dharma and materials
I offer sun and moon above

I offer each and every moment
of pure practice, I transform
I abandon all delusions
and only virtue I perform

But how could I achieve this?
         certainly not alone
only through my Spiritual Guide,
and the Three Jewels upon his throne

Categories
Poetry

a part

I am not apart from my faith
but I am apart from people
       from my mountain cave
I compose poems and songs
       I meditate and I realize emptiness
and still the people come in throngs
       to accuse me of such silliness
feelings that have long since
                                    come and gone

for aeons, our own harm befalls us
but still we blame,
       in mistaken consciousness
still the same
       in all our actions ignorant
I am not apart from my faith
but I am apart from others
       in their silence and their pain
I am apart from you
       and here I fear I will remain  

Categories
Poetry

Irish Goodbye

       run with the wind
just like that
                               gone

       who will remember
I was here
                               none

Categories
Buddhism Philosophy Poetry

determination

I am only a witness,
        transparent eye
a non judgemental mirror —
          or at least a mirror who keeps
          her judgments to herself

I am the nursery rhyme before it’s written,
        the angel before the fall
        the dream before the nightmare
        the ring before the call

I hear the future coming,
          still feel the distant past,
  see outcomes from our actions
              that for years & years will last

I weep for sad beginnings
            I laugh at mad hellos
  see insanity all around us
        and suffering only grow

I am ready to escape this
        ready to depart
        ejecting all attachment
        burning all my art

I have not one creation
          of which I am proud
  except those that come from virtue,
              those soundless,
              those I’ve vowed

I sow these seeds in silence
          for my words have caused much pain
          all contaminated actions
               seemingly in vain
          (* focus on intention *)

I hear the whistle blow,
          a hundred miles from home
  smell the fields of mountain thyme
            growing round the purple heather
  and still cannot decide
                if to stay or go

                        until I walk the streets
                see the suffering
                hear the cries
                smell the stink
                feel the terror
                taste the drink

then it all comes rushing back,
          each and every pleasure,
                    that I’ve had it all before
      —     it’s time to think!
                   I cannot do this anymore!
I won’t!

So with reliance, offering, requesting,
            my life I do lay down
                  only for something better
            more meaningful, profound

      with diligent, stable practice
              (which, finally, I’ve found)
              and compassionate, loving heart
              I fall upon the Bodhisattva’s ground

I bow before the new moon,
          and rising with the sun
  try to take things lightly,
  because all is mind and none is one

Categories
Buddhism Philosophy Poetry

the space between

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