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.
Spring Equinox - A Lesson - Month Long at Spirit Rock Meditation Center
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.
First Talk after Illness
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.
The World Calling (from a well gone dry)
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.
Spring Solstice
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
Full Moon Metta Talks
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.
Ready or Not
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
Awareness Takes Care of Itself (Pilgrimage to India)
The mind like a great tiger
Waits for a thought to pounce on.
Once identified it makes its move
Making it more real than the world around it,
Creating worlds of succulent identification.
Homecoming
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.
Moon Lost
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.