Category: buddhist

I could tell you what I’m not

a wizened tree at the edge of an untended field

branches extended like twisted arthritic fingers

just over the rusted barbed wire fence

that marks where someone tried to farm

a rotting boat half submerged in the swamp

planks slowly giving way to slimy years

on a bank sticky with gumbo clay

unnoticed by nutria on their nocturnal climb

I would be lying of course

I have been each of these in the past

even now they live in my bones my skin

if you were to close your eyes and remember

you would find they dwell in you

and when you stare unguarded into the mirror

gaze upwards into the clear night sky

look into the white of winter snow

you see my eyes the leaves the wooden mast

briefly all boundaries dissolve

into rainbow laughter that shimmers the all

too late to scatter sorrow

leaf fall is over and trees are bare

smoke drifts over the ridge

grief no more important than the clouds

rain hits the roof in the darkness

there the faint scent of tears

the moon a mirror in the night

the sun a heart become open

tight as a knot, hard as a fist

pay close attention to this

some attachment, a driving need

some aversion, an illusory deed

a swirling colorful tale, a looping noisy cinch

the trick to catch and relax the pinch

when last we talked, I must have my say

now being more attentive to listen in a deeper way

lest I find I cannot breathe, choked by overween

when the world seems too much with me

and concerns weigh heavier than the rain-dark clouds

so that I walk unaware with lowered heart

hostage to the wild maraud of desires and distractions

overwhelmed by the thunderous din of undisciplined mind

I know that I have forgotten the simple tools at hand

one being to stop where I am and open my eyes

do nothing but see what there is to see

today I stood in a rain of leaves blowing from nearby trees

color fell around me in bright yellow, red, and gold

the wonder of it all so much more than enough

I remembered then to breathe

another being to pause and listen without expectation

do nothing but hear what sounds occur

one evening at just the right moment (every moment)

I found myself surrounded by nightsong

the whirr and click of crickets and the throated croak of frogs

the immediacy of these calls such an anchor

I knew the present to be home

if I could tell you, would you wish to know

if I could ask, would you be wise to answer

there is space where we can sit

where a moment becomes infinite

each breath the only one we ever breathe

we release our demands that we define all

we relax into being alive

grounded like a mountain, spacious as open sky

here is what I know

why I will not turn away from you

however your regard

each encounter is a precious thing

I will never know my own countenance

but I can see your face and you mine

what a gift indeed

a short-eared owl lives nearby

augur of transition and wisdom

for my reflections on walks in the field

for itself just itself purely being an owl

watchful for prey and predators alike

at home for a while in these trees

may I be as aware of the present moment

and dwell as easily in the temporary abode

a vulture vigilant on the dead tree

a lone sentinel to silent decay

no need to call a wake upon this rotting

all are watchmen unwitting or not

moulder begets beauty and corpse bugs glitter

death another step on the path