Clouds covering the open sky,
blueness gone, gray holding the heavens
this first day, wobbling is like this.
Shades of sleepiness. . .
mind spinning,
holding court with memories,
body–resisting, creaking or was it just hollering
why did I come?

Some small gesture. . .
this sitting up straight,
remembering the sadness,
no one can be saved-
time takes its toll.
Heart sinks with truth.

How to begin again?
Knowing all about endings.
Could it be so simple?
Letting go of everything.
Starting to practice again, breath appears–
where no breath was noticed before
life is holding itself.

These magical displays. . .
breath enters– this subtle relationship.
Giving and taking.
A wilderness of unforeseen chaos,
reorganizing itself.
Inhale–exhale - in out. . .

Could there be a place to rest
in this ferocity of change?
These elements dancing
earth, air, fire , water.
Oh yes–this knowing
it has its place to rest–readily available
mind dancing in body.

Looking carefully–close in
body and mind befriended
a sense of ease.
I knew you came to awaken.
Relaxing in the center
of this pleasant, unpleasant dance.

Oh my! Bell rings
leaving the whole valley waiting.
All disappearing–reappearing
disappearing -reappearing.
Heart quivers.

John Travis May 16, 2011
Color bursting on retina,
grass and trees washed clean.
Entrancing eyes, ears, nose, mind. . .
California spring bursting toward summer;
this Valley vibrating towards its own creation.

This silence so keenly decreed-
Only this wind blowing...
can actually speak in this inhabited valley
speaking only the language of leaves/ branches rubbing.

We came to this enchanted Valley.
so this human silence
could tear bitterly at these closed places. . .
you know, the betrayals, pains, regrets
moments of all sorts; lost forever. . .
good and bad- drowned in all of time.

Slowly; to regain this fundamental clarity.
these afternoon winds blowing new thoughts down,
down to the great highway.
remembering–holding to anything–is not the point.

Could it be? like waking from a dream;
a clear buoyant mind.
wide like the sky;
has no need of an object.

Finding some balance
these factors- awakening themselves
this crucible of a teeter totter
balanced on the head of a pin.
Everything comes to this center point.
The known world vanishes;
Mind in its dualism,
has lost its home.

All seperateness
Untrue.

May 22, 2011

Poems from March, 2011 Month Long at Spirit Rock Meditation Center
In a world of shifting sands
One sees the Hawk
Perched in our Valley
Calm -devoted to all movement,
In the green sparkling grasses.

The crow dive bomb him
This is my roof, my territory, my meditation all,
My stories, my thoughts.
How dare you intrude.

Standing on this edge,
The merciless, sweet, sound of your own voice.
Never convincing you to jump.
The taste of salt and dry mouth
And the blood from your own bitten lip.

Who told you,? You could out-think this life.
Weighing all things with your golden intelligence.
That jumping into complete silence
the sheer darkness …
wouldn’t have consequences?
No matter how courageously you struggled.

Yet, your own redemption.
This simple gesture
A Buddha touching the earth.
Dissolving the madness of centuries.
A Hawk poised on the edge of roof
About to drop off into
Darkness of the unknown.

Only two possibilities
Finding something solid to stand on;
Or
You will be taught how to fly.

Faith comes in confirmation
Like electricity–unseen
Yet it lights your path. Returning from so many journeys.
Stories piled on top of stories.
Closing chapter after chapter.
In some small cave...
Hidden away, some text-
Forgotten for centuries.
Held tightly in the silence.
This river of our own mythology.

You! who have abandoning yourself, one too many times.
Having finally sat down -
knowing nothing is forgotten in this place,
only amplified.
This meditation hall filled to the brim.

Stepping back–moving out of this house of dreams.
Into your own center.
Holding this lacquered begging bowl.
holding last year’s dreams over it,
knowing this simple gesture;
hands open…
dropping it leaf by leaf,
into this bottomless bowl.

I was here to celebrate-
After all this living, ---bargaining over.
A place where the hummingbirds come:
To taste the sweetness of your own openness.
The insecurity slips at last-
The rains washes it down
the green hillside
Into the creek, undistinguished
From tears or just the toxins of growing up .

Sitting, like a stone Buddha
Unmoved by the longings and the dislikes .
Now, no need to move away from the Great Suffering,
Or even be enchanted by the Great Joy.
One sits– in even mindedness; with a boundless heart.
Earth, water, fire, air- find no footing here.

One rests, the exile is over.
To praise- form and the formless
A world were Emptiness, just the word.
Brings your hands together.
Gives way to a bow –
In the great understanding.

You know now when they use the words,
Luminous or boundless
It is no stranger,
You know you can sit in the Unknowing.
Blessed by a taste of grace.
Rain cascading down, the heavens have opened.
Bundled up inside my own memories.
Water rushing, moving through me swiftly.
Tip towing across the surface of breathing.
Pointing towards our own hospitality.

Destined to reach my own underground.
A place where I could let the rain
Soak through my clothes;
Skin; flesh, to these very bones.

Dharma not different than the rain.
Truth soaking through the layers of my own being.
Celebrating its silence and strength
Reaching the marrow of our bones.
All judgments left on the surface.
The outward bathed in calmness.
Inward resting in original nature
The eyes smiling at all things.

The no name teacher comes,
Teaching us to hold nothing.
“Flow is possible” finally in gentle voice.
Yet–resistance, uncertainty – maybe the old small panic.
“I can’t swim, can’t breathe”
Abandoning the possibilities of freedom.
Totally forgetting that the river can’t be stopped.
Just molecules dancing towards infinity.

Deep down, being earnest and loyal,
Opening to this cascade of remembering.
Dharma has touched these bones. . .
Knowing separateness to be untrue.
The gift from these practices; simple trust.
This surrendering and stillness.
Determining its possible to just float;
In the aloneness of one’s own River.

Having been touched by all the small loves.
Knowing you belong to this place.
You open both arms.
Knowing; the smallest entry;
Could give rise to this Great Love,
You know the one that holds everything
And no-thing. . .


Poems from March, 2010 Month Long at Spirit Rock Meditation Center
the white heron
standing so still, dignity of posture-
so like the yogis in our hall
knowing somehow
To draw ourselves back-back into a center of safety-
consumed solely by the center of our own flames.

Burning of the old -- the old stories
wishes, fears, desires;
your own voice calling to yourself,
only heard by yourself
back, back from the brink of the remembering
to this place where the white heron stands.
Breath- breathing you.

Untouched, by a shredded past,
an uncomprehensible future;
resting like the white heron
only the dignity of the posture remains
blessed by the faculties of our senses
knowing somehow there is no other world,
than this, simply this.

There is this small point, infinite point
where the world divides.

one road --
leading back, back into the flames of becoming
this voice speaking too quickly --
desperately searching through the crowded years
where life's hopes - fears;
can be played
in this game of winning and probably losing
grasping tightly , capturing, imprisoning,
keeping it for all of... time.

And then there's this other path---old path
caught in the miracle of ordinariness,
bewilderment ---
the price of the sand slipping through our fingers..
knowing somehow that you have to surrender-
leaving behind the hopes and fears in the grasping,
resting nowhere -- falling on your knees;
knowing somehow that the heart knows its way from here- on.
The gurgling of the creek
asking only one thing.
"Can you move with me"
teaching -- never the same twice -- just moving.
Asking to trust the impossible of this waiting

How to breath this aloneness
poised on a ledge of spring.
everything waiting
bees, flies, you, me,
trembling from the earth's power of renewal.

You came to this place
knowing only faith could carry you across the threshold
some fierce love so deeply buried
some moments so long forgotten
rising out of the clear mind/heart,
that keenly feels its lightness, brightness
wanting to be found, to come alive -
to its own delight, joy, steadiness
letting the darkness recede.

This great posture, unmoved by the small discomforts
sitting -- an ancient Buddha
revealing an upward spiral moving towards a moment-
a moment of disappearing
following up all the way up to nowhere.
Step-by-step

Moving back into the known, this becoming
grabbing the smallest sound in time.
Bang!!
Your sensitivity yelling -- ouch!
Caught, trapped, struggle
had enough of this dying?
Please- please let go.

No wish -no need-only to journey down with gravity
revelations occur
we were never not whole.
Blessed and blessed again
by the emptiness, the nakedness of it all.
We have to give up everything to sit here;
the eyes of a wise-one and the heart of a child. Before freedom speaks
you must know?
Know you lost something
someone somewhere somehow.
When a small shiver -- vibration
some tingling that causes your fingertips to stretch out;
out beyond time
someplace where that budding awareness
Leaves the foul taste and smell behind.

So a lucid calmness
like stepping through the clouds
being held in all directions
your own strong arms
embracing that seer/ that seeker
the one who promised freedom.
Your own body covered in rags
A patchwork of so many dreams;
caught in the destiny of becoming.

Today you looked under the covers
far beneath the aluring senses
somewhere where a warm heart and fierce eyes;
feet free to walk-
among the high mountains again....
unmoved but the chill of last year's dying.

Needing only a moment of full attention
the whole world disappears
all the grasping to belong -- gone
all the constructions- useless
this body-mind; interconditionality - known
wisdom well earned sees the natural state of things
Oops ! the heart breaks open. So why would I want to climb this mountain?
Maybe it was yesterday, last week, last month, last year, sometime long ago,
long before now.

A lightning bolt cut through the darkness of minds eternal chatter.
Revealing a majestic snow -- covered peak.
Somehow not knowing if it was real or a dream?
Some impulse deep down,
knowing no time to waste...

The heart frozen
the mind emeshed in fog
body not found.

Knowing the harsh need to changes us, was at hand.
Sitting down in remedial silence
watching everything like the sages, seers, seekers,
listening, listening breathing, fidgeting,
thoughts like streams of every color
darting off, landing nowhere.

Was it five days; nine days,
waiting for that inner compass
that trusted voiceless instinct
like a sleepwalker
surrendering the mind to the heart.

Humbly walking without seeing
zero visibility
heart knowing its way;
nervously letting ourselves down
on this old path
trodden by so many courageous;
seekers -- wanderers -- pilgrims.

letting go of the ground we stand on
nervously clinging to every day,
so for one moment --
the breath -- breathe all beings.
Yes! You were always whole...
The mountain was you. standing so still, dignity of posture-
so like the yogis in our hall
knowing somehow
To draw ourselves back-back into a center of safety-
consumed solely by the center of our own flames.

Burning of the old -- the old stories
wishes, fears, desires;
your own voice calling to yourself,
only heard by yourself
back, back from the brink of the remembering
to this place where the white heron stands.
Breath- breathing you.

Untouched, by a shredded past,
an uncomprehensible future;
resting like the white heron
only the dignity of the posture remains
blessed by the faculties of our senses
knowing somehow there is no other world,
than this, simply this.

There is this small point, infinite point
where the world divides.

one road --
leading back, back into the flames of becoming
this voice speaking too quickly --
desperately searching through the crowded years
where life's hopes - fears;
can be played
in this game of winning and probably losing
grasping tightly , capturing, imprisoning,
keeping it for all of... time.

And then there's this other path---old path
caught in the miracle of ordinariness,
bewilderment ---
the price of the sand slipping through our fingers..
knowing somehow that you have to surrender-
leaving behind the hopes and fears in the grasping,
resting nowhere -- falling on your knees;
knowing somehow that the heart knows its way from here- on. Did you say it was over.
You mean I'm kicked out
back to the world I so carefully crafted?

How could this be?
I just got here.
You must have a plan.
all this work
just to get so sensitive?

It was raining and dark
both inside and outside.
When I arrived.
Sitting quietly,
again and again
and so
the clouds on the inside
began to thin-
day by day.

You knew you came
to give up some of the old,
and frightened parts.

Remembering some faith---
the Sun having been there all along.
waiting,
waiting patiently.,
day after day....
For you to breathe into your heart once again
standing firm
-- knowing for sure that the winds of change;
demanding everything.
only to pull you back into the complex- of your life.
maybe this time.
Pausing a little longer.
Listening
listening to something below the chatter.
Heart little more at ease.
One sings one song.
Mercy Mercy --

Poems from March, 2009 Month Long at Spirit Rock Meditation Center
Oh you thought I could talk about the heart
the subtle way the armor shifts.
The many layers that hold it in place
and cover it with trance.
Or the ice that chills the fear
and freezes the heart.

At night, even the light through the window shades,
asked the moon to come
and press its face against mine.

Yes, breathing into me,
closing the dream world,
eyes open, 3 AM
shutting off the world of words.
A soundless shadow of the heart
knowing; like a bird nesting,
would gather all our flaws in celebration.

Could it be, uncovering another layer --
breath -- wedded to both body -- mind
seemingly uncomplicated and unfabricated
that this small movement,
the smallest shifts,
allows -- heart freed from its trance
to shine like the moon,
undiluted by the window shades of our stories.

To merge with it perfectly, impossibly
it opens and closes
"the sure hearts release"
a promise given by the awakened one
thousands of years ago.

I know, you know, we know
I remember, you remember, we remember
that's enough, you're enough, this is enough.

the eye drops off to sleep. Sitting on the bench,
the brazen Turkey with the club foot.
Knowing the human predator
suspended in these wandering yogis.

Knowing somehow they are taken by something greater
knowing their first utterances,
overheard only by themselves
dropping them only deeper;
the silence of this impossible place.

The white tailed kite, sitting so still
suspended above our valley
both wings in unison
hovering at the edge of its own
insubstantialness;
body still, eyes everywhere.

Here the visible and invisible
show us how our ego -- mad mind
dreams on and on. Questioning what's real, who's real,
heralding the ancient panic.

Here on this ground, the wave breaks
leaving you only sky
vast empty sky
a groundlessness
that sparks the panic
which lights the flame again.

One wing which holds one above the valley
empty-- maybe just emptyness.
in the other some old flame with its warmth
and uncompromising light;
one holding the void the other to touch our world.

You knew you came to die.
Seeing through all the fabricated selves,

the warmth and light only things left .
please take my hand
the world knows you
they have been waiting.
-- sanity and compassion.

yesterday this was me, today not sure From this silence so well constructed
I wonder off, into tomorrow.
bending like a willow
trying to touch a world unhatched,
this impossible, of my imagination.

i am the intimacy of faith
I am the grandeur of loneliness.
I am the worthiness;
-that which is kept buried beneath the wounds of my stories.

Sometimes everything has to be studied
knowing somehow this sitting here
not enough.

this knowing the fierce walking
like pilgrims through the darkness.
Knowing we've traveled inside everyone.

Feeling the grief; the joys.
I want to know
no more traveling on the wings of fear and hope.
but sit by the fire of living
no longer dying to what could have been
or even what will be.

But finding my place in the things that are;
some mystery presented
some grace
some bit of mercy
miraculously lived.

So let this listening
Somewhere beneath the granite shelves of the earth
where the sweet waters, lie in wait.
To be tapped to give life back to itself.

This basic goodness
this first step home
gives you back to yourself
the heart flowing with each encounter
a mind pliable; moving like the sweet stream
from that deep down listening .

I am awake
as the world calls in its pungent need to change me.
I move into it -- with it.
Poetry from 2010
We came to the waters for some reason?
Possibly some childhood connection!
Some ancient pathway-
To be touched, to be moved, yes! possibly forever.

Allowing some mysterious place-this unknown .
Water pouring into water. . .
A cave in the dark clouds;
Where the crutches of centuries are laid to rest.

Could it be hunger for ordinary bread.
Something so plain and simple ?
Yet the complexity of our thinking-
Addicted to the old ways of darkness and never enough-ness ?

Simply sitting- Seen from some new place,
Hands placed so neatly in one’s lap;
Enraptured - wholly amazed. . .
Intimately washed by the waters of the heavens.

Knowing; no one could be prepared for this re-told story.
And somewhere above the clouds of our thinking-we can remain open like the vast sky.
The steadiness-the brightness –the lucid.
I know this is in you–as I know it is in me.

We came to let go of this darkness;
That gnarly scaling snakeskin of the past.
Hopefully--renewed by the waters, softening the old leathery hardness.
Giving us back this miraculous - pliable, flexible, adaptable, shining heart.

Winter solstice / full moon / moon eclipses / new beginnings
December 22, 2010

Poetry from 2009
Today was a good day.
Listening to the whispering,
the hum below the mind chatter
of so many stories told and retold.

So many talks' of mountains,
pilgrimages, lakes, caves, foreign lands,
Demons and Angels.
Saints, sinners, and clowns
stumbling always stumbling
some human frailty exposed.

Trying not to rush to some conclusion.
but to dangle on the ledge
of not knowing'
entangled in the ferocity of
waiting.

Why not?
Relaxing in some small place where the grief
and the dark waters of life's truths;
ease ....some breath between breaths that
releases the burned past.
Leaving some expansion, a luminosity,
some awareness of the infinite -- close at hand.
When every strategy has failed
standing on the precipice
shouting....
"I can't take any more."
So everything falls away.
"Plop"

John Travis - 08/17/09 Sitting on the bench,
meditation hall held in fog.
The path winding down,
down past the dining hall
stretching out towards the world.

Sitting in remedial fear of the world
kicked out of solitude,
the madness of my own life.

How can the sensitivity to be translated?
How do these sweaty palms
find a home?

Breathing; touching my own hand,
knowing somewhere deep down
touch is always available.

Not out there, in here,
stepping out into a world;
so consumed by itself.

standing ;feeling body;
small shiver
as the becoming and
the fear rises together.

Can you ever be ready?
Stepping back into the
like you have so carefully
crafted out of all
the old wounds and successes.

Is it possible to stand
in the center.
Unmoved by the tides of change.
awake, collected,
heart listening to all the subtle
clues?

Why not today?
Awake, at ease
remembering,
remembering the monastery bell

How it rang, yet left
no trace.

Ready?

Yes, ready

John Travis - 01/02/09
Poetry from 2005
Like a great blazing fire
Body came to rest on the cushion
Fired up to stay awake and present
Only to find bittersweet drifting off,
Old stories holding court
While body cried out
"Pay attention to me, I'm the most important. "
Everything demanding attention
Nobody's getting first choice today.
Maybe enlightenment can wait

Where are my car keys???
John Travis 3-30-05 As I was pushing on,
The Wall appeared,
Falling to my knees,
I cursed it.
One time
Closing down,
Silent,
Withdrawn,
Letting go of the longing (wanting) to arrive.
Out of some deep passage-way
My hands begin to move across the cold smooth stones.
Fingers already knowing where to go,
Finally coming around the corner
Opening not only the eyes but everything.
Slowly getting up walking on,
No questions, no hesitation,
Opened to a breath,
A step,
A breath,
A step,
A Breath,
A step.

John Travis 2005 Clouds covering the smallest
Wedge of light.
Standing in the puddles looking
For the moon.
Gone from this world.

Nowhere to be found—looking up
And down, in front, behind,
To each side: lost!

Seeking it—longing for it
Bending in every direction
Falling to my knees

Moon comes up to greet me.

John Travis 2005 Deep below the ledge
Another mask is revealed
Is that you original face, heart leaping?
But who is that child in the corner
Eyes sparkling, who knows love so well!

John Travis 3-30-05 Sitting hour after hour
No end in sight
River of time rushing down stream
Holding on for dear life
This innertube of self
Slowly losing air
Current pulling one out into the unknown
Struggling for shore once again
One lets go of innertube—no struggle—
In pure amazement floating
"Look Mom no hands—
No feet—no body—oops; no me?"

When clarity finally comes
The Buddha crashes on his bottom
Cracking the center
Revealing golden light.

John Travis 1-4-05 (wings of awakening)

Now having found the mountain
Looking up, covered in mist.
Heart sinks
Inner teacher says
"Stop; feel your feet
Look only at your next step."
Two legs
Pointed up the Mountain
Listening to the many voices
Waiting for that one word
That points the compass to that original face,
Pentacle within your own mind.
This leg of wisdom

That other leg,
Stiff, held by the old pains, memories, protections
Only moved when the heart softens.
Giving it that gentle touch.
"I have been with you, all of these years.
We will climb together."
Knowing all those that we have touched
Climb with us.

Dalai Lama's refrain calls us over and over again
"Don't give up"

John Travis 3-30-05 I went looking for a better me today,
One that sparkled in the sun.
Inviting resistance and impatience to accompany me.
We again took the wrong fork in the road.
Bowing deeply: I went my own way
Leaving all the many voices behind.
The bushes inflamed by the spring sun
Gave completely to the bees
I knew right then!
"Surrendering to the bee, taking whatever it wants."
Nectar moved by invisible wings.
Calling my friends resistance and impatience back, holding myself, we were all together again, but nobody spoke this time,
The sky held us without questions.

John Travis 3-15-05 The mirror unstained
Reflecting a spring day
Frogs entering with great songs
Thoughts thinking
Crows cawing
Old wounds calling
wonder of wonders
Ah! But the lunch line remembers,
the septic pump soaking up the darkness,
remembering to invite that part that limps
staggering under the weight
determined to allow the movie star
to embrace the cripple.
Bringing the luminous mind to bear
witness to the fire of the heart.

John Travis 3-8-05 Hesitantly, standing between worlds.
The gate is open, Dear heart.
What kind of medicine are you caring in your pouch, Pilgrim?
Turkey feathers, lizard's tails, a worm's body,
a small brush of deer hair,
a ray from the full Moon
a tattered picture of Shangri-La.
Is it enough these few things,
To stand by the high tide
Without being swept by the tsunami of your life?
Buddha whispered from that deep place within.
"Medicine pouch full,
You're enough;
These few things enough."
Opening your whole body/heart to the deep water
Pulling you out into the world
Everything held in the original ordinaryness,
A picture frame bigger than the cosmos.

John Travis 3-24-05 Sitting on the rim of time
Waiting for the breath
Some foothold on the mountainside
Some place to take a stand
Over and over again disappointed
Until that "that grasps"
Floats on the eddy of time,
Saying, this is body found,
A river carrying everything and nothing.

John Travis 2-29-05