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Here are some haikus that reflect the life-giving Zen philosophy.
.An autumn leaf here gets transformed to butterfly (life to the grounded),
.A pebble in river begins to sing spontaneously (voice to the silent),
.A dewdrop inspired by the sun imparts some light to twilight (tiny when turns enormous).
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If dead autumn leaf
Were to breathe a sudden life,
What a butterfly!
A stone in river
When unlocks long-muted heart,
Sings a fluent song.
A drop of dawn’s dew
Inspired by the rising sun,
Adds light to twilight.
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Musings | 26.08.2026 | autumn, dew, leaf, river, song, Haiku
The estranged mirror
is denied
The eye has no need
to watch itself
seeing
The hand feels
before
fingers probe
The sky
flies via the bird
The shore uncovers
the tide
The sea peers
through me
The leaf
borrows the breeze
The ring dispels
its bell
Time beats
hearts to
the throb
Stillness
simply is
Awareness
is within-ness
shared
spontaneously
Young women give me back my heart
We were both walking down the aisle
(In a supermarket not a church)
I caught a glimpse of that sweet smile
Those brown eyes and black hair
I didn’t mean to stare
(but it was a volatile heart moment)
With you and me there
Passion spreads like a Molotov cocktail
Fires spread across my heart
The face of Venus, the space between us
Closes as I get closer to your grocery cart
I drop a note and get your attention
And say “Excuse me is this yours Miss”
On down the aisle and looking back at each other
(We are in a moment like this)
The note reads:
I am so glad you took my note
I wasn’t sure how to get it through
I am glad (though spontaneously)
(As summer winds gust) to have met you
I try to avoid them in the crisp morning light,
but I hastily sink into their mud-caked bottoms.
I sink to my knees in their inevitable stratum.
One after another, beyond memory or thought,
swirling pools of consciousness unspoken.
Parallel immersive mythos together and unbroken.
Heavy here, my trudge from pond to pond,
egoless consciousness watches with detachment.
My fledgling demanding acts are persistent.
My emotions are unwitting and hand-crafted.
These ponds of my making create schemas
from hormones and perceptual appraisals.
I plod through stages of deepening awareness.
From weeping to laughter, I feel each nuanced valence.
Though I try to resist them again and again,
these are my schemas, my reckoned inventions.
Like a roaming wolf or a squirrel poised in a tree,
these emotional appraisals are my intentions.
These spontaneously self-organizing feelings
are my defenses, and my epiphanies of universal marvel
as egoless consciousness awaits, unspoken.
The grave of the unspoken
The evil spirit sat on its chair,
Spewing a venom that poisoned the air.
Ready to spontaneously combust at any time.
The folk walked in silence, faces turned low,
or it swallow their light and teach them to grow,
Into the hatred that hollowed their chest,
A soul that could never find beauty or rest.
It only crept out in the dead of the night,
Searching to feast on any flicker of light;
It lived to attack, to wound, and to maim,
Until it was consumed by its own bitter flame.
It died in the trap of the darkness it made,
Now a prisoner now of a self-dug glade.
It haunts the graveyard, hungry and cold,
Seeking a spirit to break and to hold.
But there is a shield for the innocent soul:
To keep your heart steady, to keep yourself whole.
You may know one the same.
Never visit its grave, never speak of its name,
Just huff, cross yourself quickly and extinguish its claim.
Continuity
is assumed~
before and after
framing stories
which appear to
rewrite what is
spontaneously
happening~~
When we as a bubble swallow the ocean,
enveloping so to say, the universe,
in staid silence, free from thought flow commotion,
we transcend space-time with no need to rehearse,
that here now sipping soma nectar potion,
our heart spontaneously conjures a verse,
employing the power of bilocation,
one with oneness and manifest creation.
Epilogue:
Ramana verses are here concluded ~
Those yet in mind will remain deluded
Nothing
is a cup of coffee
as is everything~~
The
fullness of
nothing
appears in
stories arising
spontaneously~
there may be
an appearance
of a writer
but that is
another story~~
Appearances
abound and
may present as
an oil rig or
a unicorn~~
The
fullness of
nothing
appears in
stories arising
spontaneously~
there may be
an appearance
of a writer
but that is
another story~~
“There exists neither complete void nor voidlessness, neither truth nor untruth. The avadhuta, having realized the truths of the scriptures, has uttered this spontaneously from his own nature.”
When our eye is single, form is full of light,
as God’s flame eternal, self-existent,
manifesting within, bliss beat delight,
if we be pure, still and unresistant.
Both beyond space-time as also within,
feeling in heart bliss ignition renew,
having long since silenced mind’s thought flow din,
with each rapture spasm we begin anew.
We do nothing yet all actions are done,
spontaneously without volition,
for our presence is with God’s heart-mind one,
lovers dancing without inhibition.
We are in no rush, so just let love gush,
oblivious to onlookers who blush.
“The avadhuta never knows any mantra in Vedic metre nor any tantra. This is the supreme utterance of the avadhuta, purified by meditation and merged in the sameness of infinite Being.”
As a separate self there is no one here
and therefore actions spontaneously occur,
without any agenda, desire or fear,
divine magnetism causing each cell to stir,
that as with throb of bliss beats we so concur,
we draw in by resonance, mantras from space,
as ever present outpourings of God’s grace.
visual
chords
crystallise
finish
&condense
exotic
experiences
excel
the
urbane
reproduce
spontaneously
scatter
their charms
clear
traces
of
the
contemporary
to
contemplate
in
continuity
Looking for Love
Walk alone, looking for love
Searching, spontaneously
Nothing planned, comes
It’s not called, not wished
Deleted. Forgotten love
Oh, love. Ugly poison
Hmm. You can’t be a winner
Love, you are an illusion
Choosen walk. Alone
Hmm. Walk, shadows, ghosts
Love, old monochrome
History, passed love
Love is outdated antiquity
Dead feeling, desire
Unmodern style
Calling
Calling
The new life
The impression
Blue life
Blue impressionism
Towards
The Love
Towards
The Light
This is
Love of Light
Thank You
My God
Reflect: animals live in surrender,
vibrant and carefree, at ease whilst alone,
each heartbeat celebrated in wonder,
having no possessions they claim to own,
no misdeeds for which they need to atone,
joyous whilst alive and graceful in death,
living spontaneously breath by breath.
they grew up spontaneously after the baby was buried
a clump of wild flowers in the middle of the wagon trail
not grieving the child, but celebrating her life
a vibrant hill of wild flowers, seemingly renegade
God’s hand would have been noted had they known
of the small baby who died during the trip to California
Consumption got her, and she was left, in this prairie
Not alone for long, for the flowers appeared every year
Queen Anne’s lace, iris, lilies, and daffodils
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