Tuesday, May 7, 2019

bad year






Even in this bad year,
the apples grow heavy and round.
Three friends and I trade stories:
biopsy, miscarriage, solitude,
a parent's unravelling body or mind.
What is reliable? What do you hold?
I demand of the future, later.
The future - whose discretion is perfect -
says nothing, but rolls another
apple loose from its grip.
A hopeful yellow jacket comes to hunt
the crack, the point of easy entry.




~ Jane Hirshfield
from  After


darkmotherscream




Darkmotherscream is a Siberian dance,
cry from prison or a yell for help,
or, perhaps, God has another word for it -
ominous little grin – darkmotherscream.

Darkmotherscream is the ecstasy of the sexual gut;
We let the past sink into darkmotherscream also.
You, we – oooh with her eyes closed
woman moans in ecstasy – darkmother, darkmotherscream.

Darkmotherscream is the original mother of languages.
It is silly to trust mind, silly to argue against it.
Prognosticating by computers
We leave out darkmotherscream.

“How’s it going?” Darkmotherscream.
“Motherscream! Motherscream!”
“OK, we’ll do it, we’ll do it.”

The teachers can’t handle darkmotherscream.
That is why Lermontov is untranslatable.
When the storm sang in Yelabuga,
What did it say to her? Darkmotherscream.

Meanwhile go on dancing, drunker and drunker.
“Shagadam magadam – darkmotherscream.”
Don’t forget – Rome fell
not having grasped the phrase: darkmotherscream.



~ Andrei Voznesensky
translated by Robert Bly and Vera Dunham
art by Jackson Pollock


 


I was the forest




When I was the stream, when I was the
forest, when I was still the field,
when I was every hoof, foot,
fin and wing, when I
was the sky
itself,

no one ever asked me did I have a purpose, no one ever
wondered was there anything I might need,
for there was nothing
I could not
love.

It was when I left all we once were that
the agony began, the fear and questions came,
and I wept, I wept. And tears
I had never known
before.

So I returned to the river, I returned to
the mountains. I asked for their hand in marriage again,
I begged – I begged to wed every object
and creature,

and when they accepted,
God was ever present in my arms.
And He did not say,
“Where have you
been?”

For then I knew my soul – every soul -
has always held
Him.



~ Meister Eckhart
Daniel Ladinsky translation


Saturday, May 4, 2019

love after love





The time will come
when, with elation,
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror,
and each will smile at the other's welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.



Derek Walcott
from Collected Poems




Thursday, May 2, 2019

old joy






Come into animal presence
No man is so guileless as
the serpent. The lonely white
rabbit on the roof is a star
twitching its ears at the rain.
The llama intricately
folding its hind legs to be seated
not disdains but mildly
disregards human approval.
What joy when the insouciant
armadillo glances at us and doesn't
quicken his trotting
across the track and into the palm brush.
What is this joy? That no animal
falters, but knows what it must do?
That the snake has no blemish,
that the rabbit inspects his strange surroundings
in white star-silence? The llama
rests in dignity, the armadillo
has some intention to pursue in the palm-forest.
Those who were sacred have remained so,
holiness does not dissolve, it is a presence
of bronze, only the sight that saw it
faltered and turned from it.
An old joy returns in holy presence.




~ Denise Levertov
 from Poems: 1960-1967


She wrote: "I'm not very good at praying, but what I experience when I'm writing a poem is close to prayer. I feel it in different degrees and not with every poem. But in certain ways writing is a form of prayer."


still water






The non-action of the wise man is not inaction.
It is not studied.  It is not shaken by anything.
The sage is quiet because he is not moved,
Not because he wills to be quiet.
Still water is like glass.
You can look in it and see the bristles on your chin.
It is a perfect level;
A carpenter could use it.
If water is so clear, so level,
How much more the spirit of man?
The heart of the wise man is tranquil.
It is the mirror of heaven and earth
The glass of everything.
Emptiness, stillness, tranquility, tastelessness,
Silence, non-action: this is the level of heaven and earth.
This is perfect Tao. Wise men find here
Their resting place.
Resting, they are empty.

From emptiness comes the unconditioned.
From this, the conditioned, the individual things.
So from the sage's emptiness, stillness arises:
From stillness, action. From action, attainment.
From their stillness comes their non-action, which is also action
And is, therefore, their attainment.
For stillness is joy.  Joy is free from care.
Fruitful in long years.
Joy does all things without concern:
For emptiness, stillness, tranquility, tastelessness,
Silence, and non-action
Are the root of all things.




~ Chuang Tzu
translation by Thomas Merton



from joy







From joy all beings are born,
By joy they are all sustained,
And into joy they again return.



~ Taittiriya Upanishad

Wednesday, May 1, 2019

among the multitudes










I am who I am.
A coincidence no less unthinkable
than any other.
I could have different
ancestors, after all.
I could have fluttered
from another nest
or crawled bescaled
from another tree.

Nature's wardrobe
holds a fair
supply of costumes:
Spider, seagull, fieldmouse.
each fits perfectly right off
and is dutifully worn
into shreds.

I didn't get a choice either,
but I can't complain.
I could have been someone
much less separate.
someone from an anthill, shoal, or buzzing swarm,
an inch of landscape ruffled by the wind.

Someone much less fortunate,
bred for my fur
or Christmas dinner,
something swimming under a square of glass.

A tree rooted to the ground
as the fire draws near.

A grass blade trampled by a stampede
of incomprehensible events.

A shady type whose darkness
dazzled some.
What if I'd prompted only fear,
Loathing,
or pity?

If I'd been born
in the wrong tribe
with all roads closed before me?

Fate has been kind
to me thus far.

I might never have been given
the memory of happy moments

My yen for comparison
might have been taken away.

I might have been myself minus amazement,
that is, someone completely different.


~ Wislawa Szymborska
 from Poems, New and Collected

 

you are this ... you want to become that






The mind has an idea, perhaps pleasurable, and it wants to be like that idea, 
which is a projection of your desire. You are this, which you do not like, 
and you want to become that, which you like. The ideal is a self-projection; 
the opposite is an extension of what is; it is not the opposite at all, 
but a continuity of what is, perhaps somewhat modified. 

The projection is self-willed, and conflict is the struggle towards the projection. 
You are struggling to become something, and that something is part of yourself. 
The ideal is your own projection. See how the mind has played a trick upon itself.
You are struggling after words, pursuing your own projection, your own shadow. 

You are violent, and you are struggling to become nonviolent, 
the ideal;
 but the ideal is a projection of what is, 
only under a different name.

When you are aware of this trick that you have played upon yourself, 
then the false as the false is seen. 
The struggle towards an illusion is the disintegrating factor. 
All conflict, all becoming is disintegration. 

When there is an awareness of this trick that the mind has played upon itself, 
then there is only what is. 
When the mind is stripped of all becoming, 
of all ideals, of all comparison and condemnation, 
when its own structure has collapsed,
then the what is has undergone complete transformation. 

As long as there is the naming of what is, 
there is relationship between the mind and what is; 
but when this naming process - which is memory, the very structure of the mind 
-is not, then what is is not. 
In this transformation alone is there integration.





~ J. Krishnamurti
from The Book of Life

this moment






this moment
when compared to
remembered moments
is boring

but if I look closely
at all remembered moments
I find them just as boring
and for the same reason

the missing moment
the beautiful moment
the perfect moment
where all is fine
DOES NOT EXIST 
it must be created
by taking any boring moment
(like this current moment)
and realizing quite clearly
that the only thing preventing
this moment from being
that beautiful moment
(that special moment)
is the act of comparison

one must embrace this boring moment
and make it that special moment

otherwise it will never exist




~ Benjamin Dean





Tuesday, April 30, 2019

tired of judging






Written in my hut on a snowy evening


Reflecting over seventy years,
I am tired of judging right from wrong.
Faint traces of a path trodden in deep night snow.
A stick of incense under the rickety window.



~ Ryokan
from Sky Above, Great Wind: The life and Poetry of Zen Master Ryokan
by Kazuaki Tanahashi


  

being without there being a center






These days many people are finding their way into “selflessness” or “centerlessness”—
the state of being without there being a center or separate experiencer.
 People realize this state through self-inquiry, using questions like
 
 “Who or what is experiencing this moment?”
 
People may struggle for a few minutes thinking that the word “me” is the experiencer, 
but after a few affirmations, most people who engage in this type of inquiry
 can see that, yes, the idea of “me” or “I” is a particular idea that’s also being experienced. 
 Some people find it easy to discover selflessness using the perceptual doorways
 made famous by Douglas Harding’s “experiments.” We point one of our fingers
 at our face and see that we can never see, never find, what our finger is pointing at. 
 The finger points at a space, a clearing, that is the centerless universe
 that circumscribes our reality.


Moreover, if we try to find the “absence of a center,” or a “self,” or “me,” 
we can’t find what’snot there. So, contrary to what some people conclude,
 we can’t say that there is “no self,” or “no experiencer,” either. 
We are left speechless, seeing that we neither exist nor don’t exist.

Sometimes people get nervous when they first encounter the realization
 that there is no findable “me” that sits in our head, or stands behind everything out there.
 People fear that the bottom of their lives might fall out. 
 
But, if we look at what really happens, nothing changes at all.
 Our fear is baseless because, while we can’t find ourselves, 
equally we can’t conclude that we don’t exist. We have no basis at all for saying
 “Who we aren’t!” If we look at things, we are here—you and I—
and everyone else is exactly where they are.
 And yet we are all unfindable!

At this point you might be thinking, “I can’t think about ‘this’.” 
 And, yes, that’s precisely the case. We can’t think about “this.”
 We are beyond dualistic concepts. We can’t even say, “we are beyond.”
 Nothing whatsoever changes when we realize selflessness because a self
 was never there in the first place. We might think that something goes away
 (the self) but it doesn’t.
 There is nothing to disappear!


This realization is wonderful because it creates a sense of open, 
unbounded, freedom that’s completely fused with the infinitely complex 
mandala of our unique, empirical existence. This realization allows us to be totally
 free in the same moment that we are, effectively, trapped in the particulars
 of our moment-by-moment experience. Think about it, in this moment, 
nothing can be different. The thought we are thinking displaces every other thought,
 if we are inhaling we can’t be exhaling. The word you are reading right now 
can’t be another word, because this is the one that’s here. Your body can’t be
 in a different location in this very moment, because it is where it is.
 Every square centimeter of our life-world is filled to the limits 
with a panoramic display of colors, shapes, sensations and thought-forms. 
We are engulfed in a seamless and totalizing sea of sensations and cognition
 that has no ruptures or interruptions.

If you’re like me, your capacity for resting in the ground of being is highly conditioned.
 The external circumstances and state of my body-mind need to be “just right”
 if I’m to have any chance of resting in awareness. Even when things are just right, 
I can still be distracted by my “important” projects or necessary interests,
 like thinking that I really need to know the current updates in world news.
 It takes just a small discomfort to wish that “things were different.” 
 Frustrations, anxieties, fears, annoyances, boredoms, and vulnerabilities abound.

Gradual evolution

The path for many people is gradual. Moments of selfless awareness arise within the larger context of our life—all the events that happen from our birth, initial awakening, on into death and beyond. The first recognition of pure, primordial awareness may occur as a child, or the serene setting of a contemplative dialogue with a nondual master, after years of meditation practice, while taking in a sunset, or in dokusan with a Zen roshi. Or, perhaps we are introduced to the nature of mind by watching a YouTube video or informally in a café when a friend who knows this space shares the unfindable “this.” Sometimes the first recognition happens spontaneously without any obvious precondition. One day, everything drops away and we find ourselves in a space that’s like the open sky: beyond all concepts and feelings. Or, perhaps this realization creeps up on us, and we can’t say exactly when we first become aware of the fact that we can’t find ourselves.

Having tasted the goal, the path consists of incrementally expanding and deepening our capacity to abide more continuously and reliably in selfless awareness as we engage the full range of experiences that are delivered to us by our karmically conditioned body-mind. The scope for integrating what’s possible within the extremes of nirvana and samsara are enormous. Perhaps it has no limit.

Universal awakening: limitless integration

In Mahayana Buddhism the scope for our evolution is said to be inconceivably vast. Quantum physics leads to the conclusion: “If it can happen, it will.” Mahayana takes this further saying, “Everything can happen, and already is.”

The scope for deepening and expanding the embodied realization of selflessness is limitless. According to the Mahayana, there is no conceivable event or experience that can disturb the vast, open-minded equanimity of a buddha. For a buddha, violent emotional invasions are received as whispered teachings of “perfect wisdom.” Mental energies that would otherwise be experienced as psychological anguish and torment auto-liberate into a continuous stream of meditative quietude. Physical pain is instantly and continuously transmuted by buddhamind into super-sensory pleasure. For buddhas, energy in any form is the currency of bliss—exchangeable like dollars and euros for whatever we wish. They live continuously in a “heaven on earth.”

One of my teachers, Lama Thubten Yeshe, often used the example of atomic power. Awakened beings radiate a fusion-energy field. They live in a matrix, a holographic mandala, that penetrates other people’s psyche and transforms any environment they inhabit. The realization of buddhas is contagious, like a chain reaction. Lama Yeshe embodied this capacity himself. In the space of one or two minutes he would do a complete make-over of people’s limited conception of themselves. They would arrive at his doorstep feeling very miserable about themselves, and leave a few minutes later with a life-changing experience of their spiritual potential.

Even though we are just scratching the surface of these buddha-like capacities, it’s inspiring to see that we have everything that’s needed to follow the same path to universal awakening (mahabodhi). We are aware, and more over, we can see that we can be free in the moment without anything needing to change at all.

Pure perception

Within the vision of universal awakening, a gap between where we are now and the irreversible liberation of all mind-streams, is creatively and lovingly bridged by visioning the ideal spaces within which people can wake up and be constantly suffused and infused with the nectar of selfless awareness. This is called “pure perception.”

“Pure perception” arises naturally when we see that there is no end to the dimensions and realities that can be touched and transformed by the liberating field of selfless awareness. Ultimately, there is no other work to do. We learn to how to think, feel and live at the result-level. The type of visioning I’m talking about here comes to us effortlessly as we tune into precisely what people need in the moment in order to abide in the primordial state.

As the Buddha says in the Prajnaparamita Sutra:

Bodhisattvas are ceaselessly inspired by the conviction that the infinitely diverse structures of relativity, far from being some dangerous disease, are actually a healing medicine. Why? Because in their intrinsically selfless nature, interdependent structures perfectly express the mystery and transmit the spiritual energy of universal companionship. Not just awakened sages but all structures of relativity are dwellers in the boundlessness which constitutes all-embracing love, selfless compassion, sympathetic joy and blissful equanimity.

The wonderful thing about “pure perception” is that we can taste it now. By definition, this is the nature of pure perception. Pure perception is never something that happens in the future. The idea that “pure perception” can only happen in the future, degrades the very quality of this experience itself. In pure perception we bring an exalted appreciation to our experience of the world, including our own physical form. We see the intrinsic harmony within and between all phenomena. We experience the seamless, unimpeded flow of everything that arises and dissolves within the reality-sphere that is the mandala of our own existence. Nothing is out of place; everything gives unique expression to an infinite network of conditions that are implicated in every manifestation from the most minuscule to the most cosmic, from the most insignificant to the most magnificent. Everything is revealed as an expression of the unfindable vastness.




~ Peter Fenner



Monday, April 29, 2019

the heat of midnight tears





Listen, my friend, this road is the heart opening,
kissing his feet, resistance broken, tears all night.

If we could reach the Lord through immersion in water,
I would have asked to be born a fish in this life.
If we could reach Him through nothing but berries and wild nuts
then surely the saints would have been monkeys when they came
from the womb!

If we could reach him by munching lettuce and dry leaves
then goats would surely get to the Holy One before us!

If the worship of stone stature could bring us all the way,
I would have adored a granite mountain years ago.

Mirabai says, "The heat of midnight tears will bring you to God."




~ Mirabai
translation by Robert Bly





unite yourselves to the formless being






Whoever now wishes to see properly what is the excellence
 and the profit of perfect detachment, let him take good heed 
of Christ's words when he spoke about his human nature
 and said to his disciples:  

"It is expedient for you that I go from you, 
for if I do not go, the Holy Spirit cannot come to you."  
(John 16:7) 

 This is just as if he were to say: 

"You have taken too much delight in my present image, 
so that the perfect delight of the Holy Spirit cannot be yours.  
So detach yourselves from the image, 
and unite yourselves to the formless being, 
for God's spiritual consolation is delicate; 
therefore he will not offer it to anyone except to him
 who disdains bodily consolations."



~ Meister Eckhart
from Meister Eckhart - 
Selections from his Essential Writings



dance of the cells



.






My friend, this body is made of bone and excited protozoa 
and it is with my body that I love the fields. 
How do I know what I feel but what the body tells me?
 Erasmus thinking in the snow, translators of Virgil 
who burn up the whole room, the man in furs reading the Arabic
 astrologer falls off his three-legged stool in astonishment, 
this is the body, so beautifully carved inside, 
with the curves of the inner ear, 
and the husk so rough,
 knuckle-brown.

As we walk, we enter the fields of other bodies, 
and every smell we take in the communities of protozoa see,
 and a being inside leaps up toward it, as a horse rears at the starting gate. 
When we come near each other, we are drawn down into 
the sweetest pools of slowly circling smells . . . slowly circling energies . . . 
The protozoa know there are odors the shape of oranges,
 of tornadoes, of octopuses . . .

The sunlight lay itself down before every protozoa, 
the night opens itself out behind it, 
and inside its own energy it lives!

So the space between two people diminishes,
 it grows less and less, no one to weep, they merge at last. 
The sound that pours from the fingertips awakens 
clouds of cells far inside the body, and beings unknown to us
 start out in a pilgrimage to their Saviour, to their holy place.
 Their holy place is a small black stone, that they remember
 from Protozoic times, when it was rolled away from a door . . . 
and it was after that they found their friends, who helped them
 to digest the hard grains of this world . . . 

The cloud of cells awakens, intensifies, swarms . . .
 the beings dance inside beams of sunlight so thin we cannot see them . . . 
to them each ray is a vast palace, with thousands of rooms. 
From the dance of the cells praise sentences rise to the voice
 of the man praying and singing alone in his room. 
He lets his arms climb above his head, and says,
 “Now do you still say cannot choose the road?”







~ Robert Bly
(for Lewis Thomas, and his The Lives of the Cell)
taken here from The News of the Universe:
 Poems of Twofold Consciousness 
photo: red amoeba