A New Life

A majestic Buddha sitting in the center of our hall.
Resting so silent in the midst of our world.
While we on the other hand
Squirm, fidget, imaginings—everyone’s still but me.

Chasing our smallest of thoughts,
Quelling our desire—over and over again
Living in a world; just missed—
Another mind wave drawing us out, again.

Somewhere—in the Cloud
All our old lives are stored—images,
Plans, memories, dreams, thoughts, emotions.
Pulling us towards what end?

How to wake up in the midst of all this?
Making friends with all these complex monologues.
Could it be as simple as bowing to each new arrival?
Befriending even the difficult and frightened parts?

Firmly establishing yourself—
Once again finding no place better,
Than this flimsy breathe, a grounded body
And a wayward mind—With everything settled…

The heart like a shy puppy
Begins to crawl out of its hiding place.
Excited to be in the wonder of a new life.


where was I?
Dancing on some distant past,
hoping- believing-this reminiscing could ultimately
change the past and empower the future - magically.

Oh no, there I am messing with my life again.
Giving myself a headache.
Believing in this ultimate solution.
What kind of balderdash is this?

Knowing somehow this is not the practice.
Tiger chasing its tail.
Going in mental circles—endlessly.
Trying to out think my own thinking.

How much simpler could it be?
Letting go of ones thought constructions.
Mind – full of this holy presence.
Weaving forgetfulness with this remembering.

Suddenly the little baby turkey chicks,
weaving themselves through the windy tall grass.
illuminating the joy of the one who is fully present.
Having known what to do all along.

Yielding everything to the present—

Clear Path

Knowing this is a desperate journey.
Untangling our projections and stories.
Sitting on the edge of our history.
Knowing that refusing entry would only
Pull us farther and farther out to sea.
Resolving not to leave this fire for another day.
But to sit in the center attending to breath after breath.
With this simple refrain. "I am here. I am here."

Aware--deep down knowing breath could be shallow or deep,
Sometimes Long or short,
Always attempting to catch it.
Releasing ---softening---breathing.
Supported by this eternal presence.
Life breathing itself.

How great to know it has worked for eons.
Slowly dissolving the old darkness.
Tentacles from the past ---dissolving.
The power of the breath releasing multiple contractions,
Giving way to the certainty.
"This breath is enough."

Awakening assured by our lineage.
So clearly spelled out.


Listening to the drone of the Dalai Lama,
thousands of monks,
perched above in retreat hut.
The sounds
stirring this heart
in this natural amphitheater.

There is a way of being still-
silencing of the sound outside and inside.
Knowing even the stones speak,
robbing my words and thoughts,
while the great silence has stolen me.


The wind whistling through this valley.
Maybe it could blow the many thoughts,
Stories and feelings out through the hills.
Scattering them for miles and miles.

Yet today setting on this sore bum.
Knees a little creaky.
Not sure why I would want to inhabit
This ignored body.

Difficulty pulling buoyant mind down,
Down into this skittish body.
Staying only a moment then off again.
Prancing around – hoping to think myself-
Out of all these discomforts.

Yet remembering this sacred and enchanted place.
Asking only to surrender to a body;
Steeped in its own natural liveliness.
Body inhabiting body.

Awareness- has this home.
Destined to feel itself one breath at a time.
Making -nothing- out of all of this.
Resting in its totality.
Body in body.
Heart--- Full…

The Scent of Freedom

One turns away from this cycle of becoming.
Shaken by the force of habit and longing.
Knowingly- dragging the bones of the 10,000 sufferings.
Why is it that when you get it?
The grasping, clinging, attachment seems so apparent.
Dragon spewing rocks and fire--beginning this courageous battle of the "self" unburdening.

Heroes; generously giving themselves to a journey plagued by doubt.
Knowingly they had to mix the fear with the faith.
Blind once more; resting in the faith of the Pilgrim who broke free 25 centuries ago.
Befriending the sworn enemy of clarity and heart.
No possibility of turning around when the scent of freedom,
Registering the truth of such a fleeting world ,close at hand.

One sits so quietly listening to the flow of sensations and thoughts.
No longer disturbed by doubts or the need to know.
Everything is like water flowing through your palms and fingers.
This deep sense that you have left behind the ferocity of a painful world.
This immunity of the great silence, giving birth to this confidence and delight.

You have made it past the dark shores and the burning buildings.
To a place on that first hill- seeing the fog in the distance and the body of the great mountain.
This simple longing to reach the thin and glorified heights of a promised freedom.

One gently descends into this foggy valley consumed by its own beauty.
Trees with delicate moss, perfect flowers with enchanted bees.
Streams with perfect clarity- nothing out of place.
Recognizing the growing joy, tranquility and happiness.
Completely enthralled by the lightness of being and virtues of concentration.

Suddenly recognizing that one still had a ways to go before reaching the great mountain.
Oh my! Shades of impermanence, twinges of suffering and personality still linger.
Climbing slowly out of the fog of delight.
Coming to a vista- sinking deeply into the knowledge and body of truth.
Kneeling down to drink the tears of last year's realizations.

 Looking up from this pristine Hill, the great mountain is that much closer.
A steep path leading down through rocks and bramble bushes.
Stumbling down through heavy fog ,temporarily hiding the great mountain.
The clear austerity and strenght of one who knows there is no turning around.

One weaves one's way down, down to the bottom of the ravine.
Disenchanted by the sense doors or even the conjured stories and beliefs.
Everything steady-a deep equanimity allows one to climb up through the steepness.
Leaving behind the sleeping world, non-attached in dispassionate steps -one climbs.

 Freeing oneself from the fog -the moon shines on the great mountain.
Lighting up all the corners of one's own mind and heart.
Now your bag is empty; no need for words or even inspiration.
Arriving at the gateless gate.

The Small Crack

Before the flame ignites the world.

Sitting close to the breath.
A voice hesitant and trembling a little.
Is there a choice here or is it just habit?
Bamboozled, by a world turning too fast.

It's such a small movement, how life’s
marvels lead to this moment's hesitations.
How easily our wings could catch fire
Or help us soar above this meditation hall.

Oh yes! A small crack revealed, rising and floating
In the mist of my own mind.
Can't you tell the difference –Sir- between?
Being pulled into or being pushed away?

Oh my! This slight stumble – caught again,
Entranced, by this cycle of becoming.
Weeds floating on the surface.
Knowing somehow the weeds keep reproducing themselves.

This is about insight.
Courageously- studying the laws of grasping.
Befriending the truth of dependent origination.
Knowing some days I wish I didn't or couldn’t know.

Yet readiness for quiet brings me down to my knees.
A moment where I don't choose liking or disliking
But sit in the center of longing without movement.
The sky slowly begins to open.

Recognizing that resting in that crack between worlds.
Brings the blessings of an adult mind
And the heart of the child, held with ease.

Freeing oneself; this bright mind illuminates this impermanent world.

Caught Between Two Worlds

The marvels of the Bougainvillea and the hibiscus.
Colors that hold one in softness and beauty.
Delighted by the visible world.
The sea in its blue and turquoise – so inviting.

Butterflies dancing in warm Thai breezes.
The jungle and perfect temperature of water and air.
With the outer world so enchanted.
Why -see, feel the transparency of such an ideal world?

Easy to want to keep this physical world in such perfect order.
Yet a mind trained to disassemble, deconstruct the visible.
Releasing the entire known world into its truth of
Its dependently ,co-arising.
The sheer emptiness of it all turns one to the unconstructed.

One could call this the invisible world.
Someplace where consciousness releases the seen world.
Dancing on the edge of the known parameters of the senses.
Resting between the edge of sea and land.

The marvels of living in a fleeting world.
Sometimes engrossed – absorbed in little moments of the senses.
Other times, feeling the sadness of your irreversible time.
The world, our bodies fading from youth, midlife, now old age.

Such a small crack- needing trained attention.
Releasing all fabrications, infedecimal moment after infedecimal moment.
Softening the heart so beauty and sadness hold together.
Truth giving answer; how can I help? knowing all this.

The Crashing Waves

Day and night the relentless fury,
Waves pounding out every thought, every emotion.
Sometimes believing one is stranded on the edge;
The edge of time – the silence between the waves.
How can the fury and the silence coexist?

Sometimes drifting towards a past,
Where the magic and the bitters,
Fall short of anything as real –
As the sea mimics the breath.
Or is it breath that mimics the sea?

 Feeling the old tugs.
The mind tracking itself.
Looking for its own source.
Bedazzled by its own constructions.

Gently; giving over to the waves,
A mind twisting to find meaning.
Turning itself- inside out.
Only to find this body, sensing itself.

Oh yes! It was all about surrender.
The mind was at home to begin with.
Being lived through a body-
A heart washed in gratitude.

Rising, falling, rising, falling