As First So Last Shall go by I Having realized the persistent illusion of choice How can I trust the reflected illusions of choices
Attainment
But means to such end, Having realized Help realize. What is it to be ”enlightened,” if not to light the way.
On The Path…
No matter how bight, No matter how dim, Light the path righteous. Lamrim.
Schrödinger’s cat
No more cause of karmic act, Remembered or not, Than consequence, dependently arisen. ... Self, empirical awareness Of cause And effect.
Cosmic Comic
Simultaneously,
Temporally Terrestrial,
Cosmic Constant.
Uposatha
On every seventh
take sabbatical of thy own.
Of every being
act as if guest in their home.
Dolores
Only fully realized
in final passing.
All sentient beings
have something to teach.
The longer a part of one’s life
the more revelatory the lesson,
if we but listen.
What Am I?
From svelte stream
To bubbling brook
Now raging river
Down mountainous scene
Not singular drop
Nor not.
words in the absurd
(a stream of consciousness poem)
123456789101112131415161718192021222324252627282930… Liver goes down to Texas and has tea with a maid. She says “Thanks. Let’s move on.” Meanwhile, angles dance on pigeon wings and lift spirits on high. Local teens run in streams of ever lasting byes. Sentences steam and puke up yesterdays bile and kings and queens on satin beds read newspapers from the Nile. Greeks midst pantheons, with noses turned up high. The Shah in Persia-Old buried beneath the tide. Plague creeps down city streets freeing up many beds. Blunt edged swords sever from the shoulders up, leave empty heads. Cinnamon, salt, pepper, thyme on bread sliced by time. Music plays unheard, books open unread. This year spring proceeds summer as fall’s a corpse in the gorge. “My name’s May” she says. The Oolong will do fine.
L’amour Vainqueur et la Vie Opportune
Melancholic melody Played in the key of flat D, Somber metered masquerade, Times the harlequin charade When the span of 'man is past, Promenade emptied of parade, And passed, the one that shall be last, When clock-springs at last unspool, And history long forgotten, By reckoning celestial, A drop unexceptional In infinity's pool For whom shall it then mournfully play? What doleful dancer shall its tune sway? When all built lies in desolate ruin, Who shall listen to “Clair de lune?