Aye! a pretty thing
whole universes within
Held in tension still
A patched robe
Piece of cloth, patched robe –
its history who can see
beginning and end?
Its fine fibre threads
spun and woven into cloth,
then broken again…
Autumn sunny pond
with Eucalyptus blossoms
made my mind-heart smile.
Jhana Wars
Tossed about, battered
In roiling seas of passion
On Occasions calm
Brief moments of ease
Sacrificed on ego’s altar
Just more fuel for storms
Tea Meditation
Sitting, drinking tea …
Thinking agitates the mind,
silence is blissful.
Sitting, drinking tea …
Passions are waves of the mind,
stilling is peaceful.
Fleeing home, possessed
Nice to be back, sipping tea
Feel oneself again
Plastic chandeliers
Also toss rainbows across
An empty sala
Buddha
Blessed with noble birth
in ancient Jambudipa,
awakened to Truth.
Such gave up craving,
walked at peace in Samsara
with a clear mind.
Without remainder
He passed away in Sal grove,
surrounded by friends.
Born again.
Lacking a monastery this time.
Monks still complain.
Fall down seven times
Get up eight, you never learn
So you fall down eighth
Each time you fall down
Grow in knowledge, little mind
Stay up on the ninth
Ten thousand mile road
Your Staff of faith well in hand
Walk the path dear mind
Cold.
The ice is hot, the snow is warm.
There she waits, with cold blankets.
Whistling.
Wake up cold, blue lotuses bloom.
Skin cracks and blisters.
Help me.
The monastery
The Ariya lived here once.
Noble meditators, find the footsteps on the lotus path.
Now only argument stays.
Dharma Fracking.
The men came in suits.
Crying Bhantes escorted out by smiling CEOS.
We were sold our dharma disfigured.
The Worthy Ones
Best friends to the World,
freed from conceit and contempt,
they helped people grow.
Not in the numbers,
or greed, hate and delusions,
but in true freedom.
After one long year
now Delta Covid lockdown…
wearisome bug.
I am that, maybe,
No self, no soul or not self,
Or nothing at all.
Those who speak don’t know,
Those who know can’t speak the Truth;
We wonder in search.
Three things are true:
Death, impermanence, taxes.
I don’t know the rest.
Under the willow
Tree I think. I am the one
Who doesn’t know.
Seeing mind thinking,
many thoughts come and go, but
who is one who knows?