I saw a sight
Of holiness
Draped in crimson and saffron
Between the roller hot dogs
And the slushie machine
At the bottom of our garden
there's a wayward wandering Jew
but I have yet to spot
a crawling Christian or dot a hiking Hindu
I'm adding to the landscape
if it takes me all week
going in steadfast search of
a meandering Moslem or a sauntering Sikh
yet as no rockery looks good without
and planting both who could really resist
for the ladybirds bees and butterflies
a creeping Catholic and a bustling Buddhist
All roads lead to the same place
What’s different is the path they take
But no matter where you go
There is always at least a hint of perfection
A perfection that is great
Because it is always and already perfect
Even in the depths of Hell
The light of awareness casts its shadows
While at the peak of Heaven
That light is all there is
Between these two the scenes of Samsara
Churn in cycles of day and night
And yet always there is the light of awareness
Perfect, pristine, spontaneous and uncontrived
Whether we know it or not in our ignorance
Whether we see it or not in our blindness
A sphere of light that knows no dark
That we perceive in every thing we see.
(1/5/25)
A BUDDHIST CHRISTMAS
December date as now revised
There are lights hung on trees
Bodhi and Christmas Dharma
Jesus’ teachings are respected
Only messiah status is rejected
With a clear goodwill Karma
A difference only by degrees
Yet mutual courtesy is advised
In the middle of a hot summer morning
upon my return from the beach
throngs of people trudging through
on a busy Sunday, by the water quay
My heart so heavy laden that it doesn't speak
heart breaking beauty that I can only see
she walks by in a tilly hat and shiny eyes
the scent of incense clinging in mid air
I wanted to follow her down the paved path
but I had to go, and I couldn't follow
so I quietly came home to my quiet little house
with weeping walls and windows closed
It was a summer morning like many others
except for the Buddhist woman
her smile, her scent, gave me serenity
she stopped me on my tracks,....
Wanderer,
free spirit,
gets around the endless world,
he relentlessly seeks happiness.
Open your eyes
encounter an aurora borealis
simple to perfection,
like a lost Eskimo
or as a Buddhist monk
who attains Nirvana somewhere in distant Burma.
Or rather as an aborigine influenced by mysticism
or a lost Sufi
among the vapors of the hookah,
the scents of a forgotten time
that leave behind only the perfume of memories
abandoned in the wilderness of life.
Being a Berber in the desert
or Sahara Tuareg,
when the pleasure is enjoyed in a fleeting moment
while absorbed in timeless meditation,
enjoying life
in perpetuity carpe diem.
In Tibet, the night was cold and she said in Sanskrit:
Over years, in loneliness my heart bled in Sanskrit
All mantras of love have failed in winning her for me
Tell any Tantras to take me ahead in Sanskrit
Behind curtains of temple there was a paradise
Night was pleasant ride, though she spoke in bed in Sanskrit
The awesome civilization left us drowned in thoughts
In Hindu and Buddhist books, how we fled in Sanskrit!
In snowfall, my near death feelings craved for surpassing
How to ask fairies, "Is anyone red?", in Sanskrit?
Morning welcoming the Sun and evening fire blowings
I want to read my faith and others' dread in Sanskrit
November 06, 2022
beacon of hope
dalai lama in exile
his gift to the world
AP: Honorable Mention 2022
wherever
we go
there
will be
decay and
absence
for the
moment
we absorb
and learn
stillness
become
silent
listen
silently
silently
becoming
The Buddhist monk, with a clean bowl
Set out in search for food
He wished to relinquish control
Gourmet desires removed
Tread gently on the earth
Give desires a wide berth
Joyous in bubbling mirth
Erst cravings shrunk
The Buddhist monk
18-December-2021
Quietus
in gratitude
we went
our way
admiring
the wonder
of another
sunny day
thankful for
the happiness
in our life
humble
yet
so blessed
AP: 3rd place 2020
We have "civilized" ourselves in a hurry, so we hurry and feel busy, VIPs:
Life is like great music, magnificent dance. It doesn't rush to the END -
If the end, the goal, was ALL, the fastest dance, the quickest song, would win
The branches here leave
no shadows where doubt can creep
infiltrating your conciousness; reicinirating your grief
Here, your inner consiousness makes up its mind
Your soul less curious, your mind is at ease
Remember what you came here for
Beneath the Bodhi tree
The Buddha insists on the absence of ‘I'.
We banish the self if we ardently try.
I’ve done meditation
and hoped for salvation.
So who became Buddhist? The Buddha — not I.
I stare into the the mirror
My I stares back at me.
Its a relflection of what I see
and what others may percieve.
My I is so important
Im sure you disagree
as my I is not yours you see.
My I means the world to me
Its my beginning and my end.
but that which stares back at me
Is not my I it was just a reflection of me.
My I is elusive and so hard to find.
It shuns the light of day
it hides away inside me
and occupies my mind.
free me from its grasping
set me free from its tight hold
I want to let my I go .
or is that ego to you and I
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