Saturday, December 31, 2005

Last Call

Relative is this house of complaint.
Ripe and spoiled: How painful it is!

Cheers to the creator of the dream
Who is already DEAD!

May freedom conduct ..
the precious LIFE
outside of your head!

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Thursday, December 29, 2005

Out of the Fog

So a gentle fog idles pink before you~
Surrender to the Grace!
O mystic enchantress..

Starry night of priceless delight~
Awaken to the Divine!

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Tuesday, December 27, 2005


Heart of blazing fire wakes me this night,
back so tight.
Turning over again,
no longer captive of my bed.
Breath! Remedy of painful restlessness!

Hands doth carefully sweep..
The sacred night I did not sleep.


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Sunday, December 25, 2005

When those who give charity do so without any sense of
self-satisfaction and without any thought of reward,
even a small gift is great.
When those who aid others calculate their own
sacrifice and demand gratitude and recompense,
even a great gift is small.

~HD Posted by Picasa


Spike of air with golden dust;
Veil is thin.
So I Trust.
Lo! This is it!

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Saturday, December 24, 2005

Thursday, December 22, 2005

Chalk Full

Brambles before me, not of me.
Lost to definition, far from names;
Answers beg for a question,
pleading lines from the infinite.

~lil ol' karebear Posted by Picasa

Tuesday, December 20, 2005

In a Handful of God

Poetry reveals that there is no empty space.

When your truth forsakes its shyness,
When your fears surrender to your strengths,
You will begin to experience

That all existence
Is a teeming sea of infinite life.

In a handful of ocean water
You could not count all the finely tuned

Who are acting stoned
For very intelligent and sane reasons

And of course are becoming extremely sweet
And wild.

In a handful of the sky and earth,
In a handful of God,

We cannot count
All the ecstatic lovers who are dancing there
Behind the mysterious veil.

True art reveals there is no void
Or darkness.

There is no loneliness to the clear-eyed mystic
In this luminous, brimming
Playful world.

~Hafiz  Posted by Picasa

Sunday, December 18, 2005

Sleeping in the Forest

I thought the earth remembered me, she
took me back so tenderly, arranging
her dark skirts, her pockets
full of lichens and seeds. I slept
as never before, a stone
on the riverbed, nothing
between me and the white fire of the stars
but my thoughts, and they floated
light as moths among the branches
of the perfect trees. All night
I heard the small kingdoms breathing
around me, the insects, and the birds
who do their work in the darkness. All night
I rose and fell, as if in water, grappling
with a luminous doom. By morning
I had vanished at least a dozen times
into something better.
~ Mary Oliver
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Saturday, December 17, 2005

Caged Bird

A free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wing
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom

~Maya Angelou Posted by Picasa

Wednesday, December 14, 2005

O come!

I love Love--though he has wings,
And like light can flee,
But above all other things,
Spirit, I love thee--
Thou art love and life! O come!
Make once more my heart thy home!

~ Percy Bysshe Shelley Posted by Picasa

Saturday, December 10, 2005

Friday, December 09, 2005

Molten Gold

The root of both samsara and nirvana is the mind.
Apart from what is born of the mind, nothing else whatsoever exists.
The manifold dance of illusory form
Is overcome when its creator, mind the magician, is brought under control.
Not understanding this is the delusory mind of the six realms,
And if you do understand, that is primordial awareness.
That primordial awareness is, in itself, Buddhahood,
And, as the quintessential buddha-nature (sugata-garbha), resides in the heart.


Look this way. Look into your own mind.
Wide the eyes that look out at everything,
But, like a beloved child one has long known,
What is it really like, this thing we call my mind??
Today the time has come to look at it:
Turning ones eyes from the manifold phenomena (dharma) of the external world,
To look within is the one profound and supreme Dharma .
Though you may enter into the primordial wisdom
Where all things are wordlessly known to be illusory
And of one taste with pure awareness,
Simply looking into this mind, in a single instant and one fell swoop,
You can burst open the cavern of object-craving mind
And see directly into the quintessence of primordial awakenedness.
This is why it is known as the short-cut path.

There is no need to unite the skillful means and insight of the realm of reality and its intrinsic awareness;
The fact that reality and awareness cannot be added to or subtracted from each other
Is now nakedly set forth, O fortunate one. A HO

The objective realm is the creative play of mind:
Without mind, who would there be to know these objects?
What is known and mind itself are inseparable:
This coming into being of nothing as such is a magical self-manifestation.

There is nothing whereby one could lay hold of the reality of mind:
If there were, you could meditate on the presence of such a something.
Similarly, if there were a (tangible) absence, you could meditate on the absence?:
Do not split it into such opposites.

That which is not two dispels the idea of duality;
That which cannot be definitely established as one, appears as a duality.
This - which cannot be conceived of even as this? -
Is the self-presencing of the King, Mind As Such.

Even if you don't know what to meditate on,
Simply seeing it as something unattainable,
(Although not as if you'd thrown something away),
Is to see into the foundations of the mind.
When you allow this, too, to remain in the realm of the unattainable,
Although there is no longer the smallest atom of concrete reality,
You possess the creativity of all-illumining knowledge,
The non-duality of reality and its intrinsic awareness inseparable.

Nothing as such, yet it has no essence of nothingness.
Examined, there is nothing. Left to itself, it is clear and bright,
Though - like the moon's reflection in water - not to be caught at by grasping for it.
Void of all essence of cause, effect, stillness or movement,
The intrinsic nature of this Voidness being a self-existent radiance

Whose compassionate response is never-ending,
What arguments of being and non-being could comprehend it?
When investigating, mind is an analogy for primordial awakenedness;
In understanding, it is pure awareness - the self-arising of primordial awareness -
What a miracle, this radiance of Mind-as-such!

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Wednesday, December 07, 2005

On the seashore of endless worlds children meet.
Tempest roams in the pathless sky,
Ships are wrecked in the trackless water,
Death is abroad and children play.
On the seashore of endless worlds is the
Great meeting of children.

This song of mine will wind its music around you,
my child, like the fond arms of love.
The song of mine will touch your forehead
like a kiss of blessing.

When you are alone it will sit by your side and
whisper in your ear, when you are in the crowd
it will fence you about with aloofness.

My song will be like a pair of wings to your dreams,
it will transport your heart to the verge of the unknown.

It will be like the faithful star overhead
when dark night is over your road.

My song will sit in the pupils of your eyes,
and will carry your sight into the heart of things.

And when my voice is silenced in death,
my song will speak in your living heart.

- Rabindranath Tagore
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Tuesday, December 06, 2005

coach...i bow

Summit Headwall; O Lady of Volcanic Grace,
whose hair has once fallen from a fire red sky...
i lope among you
dancing among a vertical jumble of
your summit boulders...
like teased and tasseled braids of White Corn Girl...
i gaze into a thousand eye sockets looking into me;
searing thighs,
searing lungs
now i am the Volcano of Force
flinging my bright breath upon you...
a heart soaked emblem for your Beauty

~Steve Ilg
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Saturday, December 03, 2005

I Was Dead

i was dead
i came alive
i was tears
i became laughter

all because of love
when it arrived
my temporal life
from then on
changed to eternal

love said to me
you are not
crazy enough
you don't
fit this house

i went and
became crazy
crazy enough
to be in chains

love said
you are not
intoxicated enough
you don't
fit the group

i went and
got drunk
drunk enough
to overflow
with light-headedness

love said
you are still
too clever
filled with
imagination and skepticism

i went and
became gullible
and in fright
pulled away
from it all

love said
you are a candle
attracting everyone
gathering every one
around you

i am no more
a candle spreading light
i gather no more crowds
and like smoke
i am all scattered now

love said
you are a teacher
you are a head
and for everyone
you are a leader

i am no more
not a teacher
not a leader
just a servant
to your wishes

love said
you already have
your own wings
i will not give you
more feathers

and then my heart
pulled itself apart
and filled to the brim
with a new light
overflowed with fresh life

now even the heavens
are thankful that
because of love
i have become
the giver of light

~Rumi Posted by Picasa

Thursday, December 01, 2005


timid she crawls into the cave..
not sure where to undress;
dawn of the nakedness.

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Tuesday, November 29, 2005

farewell, Kantaka..

i give you this name, in hopes that as i let go of you, i let go of my autoself.. the witness behind the wheel. gone are the secrets that stained the shattered window, so we could learn to trust the simplicity of your gifts... oh Kantaka, you carried me so long and far.. so forgive me for taking your jewels in haste. Go now and serve.. i shall cherish our glory days. We will meet again! (she's the crimson babe nursing the love of upper bus village; the car in the middle;)) Posted by Picasa

Remember when...

Lo! the Dawn
Sprang with Buddh's Victory! lo! in the East
Flamed the first fires of beauteous day, poured forth
Through fleeting folds of Night's black drapery.
High in the widening blue the herald-star
Faded to paler silver as there shot
Brighter and brightest bars of rosy gleam
Across the grey. Far off the shadowy hills
Saw the great Sun, before the world was 'ware,
And donned their crowns of crimson; flower by flower
Felt the warm breath of Mom and 'gan unfold
Their tender lids. Over the spangled grass
Swept the swift footsteps of the lovely Light,
Turning the tears of Night to joyous gems,
Decking the earth with radiance 'broidering.
The sinking storm-clouds with a golden fringe,
Gilding the feathers of the palms, which waved
Glad salutation; darting beams of gold
Into the glades; touching with magic wand
The stream to rippled ruby; in the brake
Finding the mild eyes of the antelopes
And saying "it is day;" in nested sleep
Touching the small heads under many a wing
And whispering, "Children, praise the light of day!"
Whereat there piped anthems of all the birds,
The Koil's fluted song, the Bulbul's hymn,
The "morning, morning" of the painted thrush,
The twitter of the sunbirds starting forth
To find the honey ere the bees be out
The grey crow's caw, the parrot's scream, the strokes
Of the green hammersmith, the myna's chirp,
The never finished love-talk of the doves:
Yea! and so holy was the influence
Of that high Dawn which came with victory
That, far and near, in homes of men there spread
An unknown peace. The slayer hid his knife;
The robber laid his plunder back; the shroff
Counted full tale of coins; all evil hearts
Grew gentle, kind hearts gentler, as the balm
Of that divinest Daybreak lightened Earth.
Kings at fierce war called truce; the sick men leaped
Laughing from beds of pain; the dying smiled
As though they knew that happy Morn was sprung
From fountains farther than the utmost East;
And o'er the heart of sad Yasodhara,
Sitting forlorn at Prince Siddartha's bed,
Came sudden bliss, as if love should not fail
Nor such vast sorrow miss to end in joy.
So glad the World was -- though it wist not why
That over desolate wastes went swooning songs
Of mirth, the voice of bodiless Prets and Bhuts
Foreseeing Buddh; and Devas in the air
Cried "It is finished, finished!" and the priests
Stood with the wondering people in the streets
Watching those golden splendors flood the sky
And saying "There hath happed some mighty thing."
Also in Ran and Jungle grew that day
Friendship amongst the creatures; spotted deer
Browsed fearless where the tigress fed her cubs,
And cheetahs lapped the pool beside the bucks;
Under the eagle's rock the brown hares scoured
While his fierce beak but preened an idle wing;
The snake sunned all his jewels in the beam
With deadly fangs in sheath; the shrike let pass
The nestling-finch; the emerald halcyons
Sate dreaming while the fishes played beneath,
Nor hawked the merops, though the butterflies --
Crimson and blue and amber -- flitted thick
Around his perch; the Spirit of our Lord
Lay potent upon man and bird and beast,
Even while he mused under that Bodhi-tree,
Glorified with the Conquest gained for all
And lightened by a Light greater than Day's.

~from THE LIGHT OF ASIA by Edwin Arnold
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Wednesday, November 23, 2005

Between Going And Coming

Between going and staying the day wavers,
in love with its own transparency.
The circular afternoon is now a bay
where the world in stillness rocks.

All is visible and all elusive,
all is near and can't be touched.

Paper, book, pencil, glass,
rest in the shade of their names.

Time throbbing in my temples repeats
the same unchanging syllable of blood.

The light turns the indifferent wall
into a ghostly theater of reflections.

I find myself in the middle of an eye,
watching myself in its blank stare.

The moment scatters. Motionless,
I stay and go: I am a pause.

~ Octavio Paz
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Monday, November 21, 2005

Fortunate Birth

In the kingdom of children
Every one of you is this child,
An innocent being
Who jumped out of heaven
And landed in Shambhala.
Fortunate birth is who you are-
Everything is perfect in your world.

Your clothing is the mist of heaven,
Your feet covered by dragon's breath,
You are the most fortunate beings on earth.
You are the children of dharma.
Nothing can close your open heart.
Other children suffer, caught in perpetual dilemma-
Because Buddha has touched you,
You are fortunate.

Be dharmic now,
Be powerful now,
Be benevolent now-
Not for me, not for others-
But because that is your blood.
When you feel privileged, use it.
When you feel ashamed, pounce.
Consume that hesitation-
It's only a flicker of your imagination.

You are the blessed people on this earth.
Every atom of your being is Buddha-
What's left is joy.
You have no excuse;
Don't sulk.
You can be sad, for sadness is
the most genuine expression.
Expression of goodness is who you are.
Being a child of dharma is dilemma.
Being a child of dharma is freedom.

Consume this hesitation of not knowing.
Never doubt,
Only walk forward.
Love everything,
For that is why you are here.

The Sakyong, Jamgon Mipham Rinpoche
Halifax, July 2002, at a gathering of young people

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Great Harmony

The substance of mind is the substance of heaven. A joyful
thought is an auspicious star or a felicitous cloud. An angry
thought is a thunderstorm or a violent rain. A kind thought is a
gentle breeze or a sweet dew. A stern thought is a fierce sun or an
autumn frost. Which of these can be eliminated? Just let them pass
away as they arise, open and unresisting, and your mind merges with
the spacious sky.

~good ol' Doaren
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