Passing the joint like a question,
No hurrying in the asking.
The Buddha giggles with no sound.
A coil of cloud curls on his lip.
Embers fall, like minutes
No one is really counting.
The joint is getting shorter and shorter,
Preaching impermanence like scripture.
Breathe.
Let the world unfasten.
Breathe again.
Even desire arches.
He tells me, nothing.
That is everything.
His silence thick like resin,
Rolls from our lungs.
The smoke ascends, not looking for anything.
It drifts.
It just is.
This is the ending without an end.
The flame goes out.
Enlightenment remains.
I followed him
with bowed head
and borrowed faith,
until my feet grew heavy
from walking
another man’s truth.
I walked away
not in pride,
but in sorrow.
For how can one become the light
by standing in its shadow?
I looked into the mirror of my soul
and saw his face
already there.
He whispered,
not with words,
but with silence.
Silence taught me
what sermons could not.
Listening became my prayer.
I lost myself
in desire,
in gold,
in longing.
Only then
did wisdom find me.
By the river
I learned time is a lie,
and pain is a teacher.
The water spoke gently:
You must break
to understand wholeness.
I walked away from purity,
and found truth in failure.
No path fits every soul.
I loved.
I suffered.
I let go.
And only then I knew—
love,
not intellect,
completes the soul.
A seed of light drifts into flesh,
Drawn by causes, spun by winds unseen.
Form is the vessel, frail yet vast,
A raft upon the endless stream.
Desire is the loom that weaves the veil,
Memory whispers of lives before.
The wheel turns, never resting,
Bearing me where I have been before.
Eyes open to the sorrow of birth,
Yet also to the fragrance of rain.
To breathe is to suffer,
But also to touch the morning sun.
Incarnation is not a prison,
It is the teaching written in flesh.
Each wound and wonder a sutra,
Each tear and smile a verse.
To awaken is to step beyond the wheel.
Buddha; the awakened one,
had everything he wanted.
Born in Lumbini,
to royal parents.
One day he left
his life as a wandering ascetic.
While one of his journeys
World, all in slumber
Buddha was sitting, in long meditation
Santa came knocking
With a hearty “Ho Ho Ho,”
Merry Christmas.
Buddha, what do you want for Christmas?
You’ve been good to all.
“I don't need too much of nothing.”
While seeking inner peace
the most-hallowed Buddha
heard a chorus of angels
sing Hallelujah.
They weren't singing for him;
t'was for the Child and Madonna,
so he continued on
in his quest for Nirvana.
He sits smiling
Almost smirking
Inaudibly chanting
OOOOOOOOOO…my
OOOOOOOOOO…my
A gathering
Of gatherers
Seizing moments of glee
Lost in animated wrapping paper
Children lost in a moment
Bathing in the innocence of now
Sharing their unfettered joy
The Buddha smiles
Knowing
They will spend a lifetime
In search of
such moments
Santa sailed upon his sleigh
and came upon Buddha one day,
greeting him with a cry.
Saying, I'm bringing toys
to good girls and boys,
as on this toboggan I fly.
Yep, I'm a plump, jolly fairy,
and will make children merry
with things here in my sack.
Oh, the joy they'll find
when they have what they pined,
and no longer lack.
Santa, I crave nothing in your sled.
My gift, you see, is wisdom instead,
as I remain mindful.
I don't seek Christmas merriment
from a drink or intoxicant,
however delightful.
And so, two men of worth
bore gifts for children here on earth.
You must believe it!
I only tell you this because
that's the way it really was.
How then, did they leave it?
God bless you Buddha!
I'll be on my merry way.
Peace be with you Santa,
Have a nice day!
Kill the Buddha
‘If you meet Buddha on the road, kill him’,
spake the sage Lin Chi, so let us discern
the import of these words, seemingly grim,
though simply saying, never stop to learn.
‘God moves in and out through doors of our face’,
stark truth this wise monk did boldly affirm,
pointing out that each breath is but God’s grace,
deep knowing our soul alone may confirm.
‘Eat when hungry, sleep when sleepy’ adage,
simple counsel we yet cannot follow
owing to mind battles we choose to wage,
instead of making head and heart mellow.
Oh hermit, the bliss we seek, lies within ~
Cave of heart is open, just go therein
23-August-2022
We were visited by a baby
yesterday.
It felt good to bow
into her glittery brown eye level,
To speak of whatever came to mind
which was mostly about her truth
and blossoming beauty
Knowing she would not judge
and would listen
patiently
as long as I might care
to continue our song
of aging story.
Her response,
to continue sleeping
or to smile
while feeling
feeding eye to eye
mutual warmth
This is what I remember
wanting most
to speak about,
To re-membrane
on this Memorial Day
Visited not yet by a victim
of war
but by a wise innocent
for peace.
the Buddha smiles
because he knows
that he doesn’t
John G. Lawless
©6/15/2019
The Buddha casts no shadow
smugly seated at high noon’s
forever present moment
a ripple-less façade placidly
ignoring its turmoil filled depth
masked in fates saturnine smile
a somber stoic’s silent grin
mocking the wind blown leaves
amused by time’s chaos
plumply sated in his idyll
disconnected from all things
the Buddha casts no shadow
John G. Lawless
©12//23/2018
This weather-worn stone statue of him:
Cross-legged under a tree, surrounded by
Flowers in the garden;
The expression on his face fixed inwardly, Knowing, placid,
Be it Spring, Summer, Fall or Winter.
In the verdant sarcophagus of night
his pale, lifeless eyes unfocused
in a clearing irradiated by a cold beam
---the sitting Buddha
where he sits the forest dies
the grass withers
His pale light blinds me
So I write in inky darkness
But i cannot fathom him
or embrace with my eyes
his silhouette
In the crucible of morning
the sun rises like a flock of golden doves
but i cannot embrace the racing arc of dawn
Though through the viridian canopy
---shimmering coins
A decade and a half year ago
Explored Earth to and fro
Begging help and guidance too
Seeking knowledge from without
But to no avail answers were still kept
Keep wandering until Buddha and I met
Uttered words never heard
Radiates wisdom upon my head
Overrated queries were answered.
The sleeping lambs nestled in the
Silver bullet,
Hot from the gun.
They slumber through the sketches
Of Spain until finally
The veil of moisture meets plum lipstick
And it’s time to depart;
Time for the slaughterhouse.
They scurry out from their earthy tomb
And venture to what’s beyond the gun’s chamber
And easy womb.
Beady eyes flinch-
I want to be part of the herd!
O
but that is only possible
In this foreign land
If your dust forms the bricks
Or your skull is being sold
For £16
And has its righteous place on the shelf.
Being used as an amusing bookend
Along with serene Buddha.
To accept this binding contract is to understand
That we must question our obsession
To look like children or a withered old hag.
Not many souls wander the labyrinth like mine,
I guess they cannot commit their essence
To the stables and chambers
Where one nibbles on the carcasses
Of forms and blinks
At the silent wide eyed lambs.
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