Journey To Dzoku
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(Today a friend shared with me this new word - dzoku - discovered, apparently with great joy, in the index of a book of Tibetan Bon dzogchen. He thought it would make a great category label for our mutually shared 'madman happening poems' - "Dzoku Poetry - the seventh level of poetry". So I wrote him this poem in response. Then I went and did a search for this word, finding it's a hidden valley in India (Nagaland) which a trekking company offers tours to, and finding a poem published on Poetry Soup called "The Mystic Valley of Dzoku". Now I want to go trek in Dzoku and have joined Poetry Soup for life....)
Journey to Dzoku
The call of the cuckoo
rings out its simple reminder.
Clothed in its plain and ordinary form
it nonetheless with confidence proclaims;
“I am THAT!”
That which is no other than this
bliss of suchness…
In this state of perfect rapture
the cuckoo sings,
what no word can tell,
what no thought can hold,
and yet what everyone knows.
Wake up, wake up.
Rejoice, you have no choice, but to carry on.
(for Mu’ncle - 9/3/23)
Copyright © James Moore | Year Posted 2023
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