Just Another Pilgrim

Looking out with longing eyes.
Recognizing that in youth there was some solis.
Adventuring always to another trail,
leading you to some fork in the road.
The thrill of the new places never seen before.
Somewhere inside-
longing for a higher road,
destined like any traveler to be subject to the unpredictable.

Yet today sitting quietly realizing,
even the trials of midlife;
tore at the souls of the old pilgrim.
bruised and scarred old feet.
Leaving his armor broken and bent.
Knowing the learning is all about the sunset now.

The bravado of yesterdays sunrises… touching deeply.
As the aware mind , surrenders to its likes and dislikes.
Not buying anything anymore.
Just the senses and thoughts experiencing themselves.
Control was a fantasy, the freeing of… was everything.

 The wings even broken in places...
now knowing -even the slightest breezes;
allow one to glide through a contracted world.
Freedom was in everything, sliding softly into ease.
The small tears of grace being so grateful for living.

All this just to find faith even so very small.
Heart feeling its own wonder.
No longer needing the footpath of the Pilgrim.
But the wonder of still being alive.

Every place, giving everything – hallelujah.

The Tattered Self

Sometimes walking along the path ,
the traveler encounters his own needy shadow.
Perplexed by the question"that can't be me?"
The mirror must be confused.
It's just a visitation from a ghost,
some proximity of the real me.

Deep down knowing that the confrontation
was again pulling one toward ones own beckoning.
Where the revelation of the path through the mountains. Could be a way to silence the one in the mirror.
Oh my! How many me's have I created.
Every fear and hope creating a newer version.

Finally having to stop.
Not turning around or looking ahead.
But standing; face in hands.
Shedding tears for all the lost selfs.
Meticulously crafted ,so I wouldn't have to know
it would end as a dead end . Everything redistributed.

Speaking in a low voice, hoping the others parts won't hear.
This hidden silence, slowly deconstructing
the tortured and unassuming faces, or should I say "masks".
A moment again where the mountain path –
so obscured by the many stories painted so colorfully
across masks- distorting both eyes and ears.
Comes back into focus.

Winding its way towards the heavens.
Revealing snow and wind, to a high and rocky loneliness .
A place where we can take back
the image and break the mirror of " this and that".
At last letting the body carry this heart and mind.
Slowly letting the self recede in the amazement.
Being blessed by the relative and absolute.

Solstice - A Bodhisattva's Renewal

When will we ever wake up?
Destined to sit in our own
Darkness –
Clamoring for our own redemption.

Such an apocalyptic culture;
Caught in the vortex of absolute endings.
Innocence gifted back to us only when
We’ve given ourselves over to our fears-anxieties

Clouds down around our ankles.
Damp and gray wrapped in our own bodies and raingear.
The long calendar of the Mayans,
Destined to start another
Solar cycle. Hooray, another chance.

Sitting still, somehow trusting the current,
Open to an unmoored boat floating downstream –
Deadlines, schedules, appointments,
A world with constant demand.

Breaks my heart, over and over.
The faces of small children lost to a future.
Seeing the open innocence of my three grandchildren.
Wondering what pain those Connecticut families must feel.

This sitting here; heroically –
Loving the small voice underneath.
Deep below the obvious.
Some sanity reconnected – wisdom found.

Dissecting the personal over and over, to nausea.
Slowly stepping back- separating -content from the
Vast space. Relaxing in all the small spaces.
The sky has no limits.

Somehow knowing the heart understands.
All separateness was untrue.
Welcoming us to the new paradigm.
Wisdom with compassion flying off into the future.
The joy can be catching… …Blessings

Sitting Up Straight

Sitting up straight
Correcting ourselves over and over
Dedicating ourselves to the good.
Beyond ambition – beyond attainment –
Yet some deep down longing
Correcting posture over and over.

Knowingly--- developing this fearless openness.
Reestablishing; maintaining; flexibility and resilience.
Knowing no place better to cultivate this sanity,
Determined to stay in the center of our pillow.

The posture can be lost so easily.
Darkness creep under my wandering thoughts.
Coveting the smallest little sparkles,
Dragging me 100 miles from here.

How to avoid these seductive cries?
Stories seeming more real than this place I sit.
How to overcome the sharp edge of a dead past.
Or conjure up a perfect future.

Sometimes simplicity and strength,
Coming into the sheer foundation of your own loveliness.
Living so close to this gut feeling of peace and ease.
The fire of your own voice singing praise to all awakening.

Curled up in front of the fire at home at last.
Knowingly--- bowing to the darkness.
Old friend; coming in the back door;
Ushering itself out the front door.

Straightening up again -mind at rest in soft heart . . .

Frog Clarity

Was it the concert given by the frogs?
the Dharma talk that was louder,
than the chatter of my own mind.
Until the wild roar stopped.

A silence descended through the hall.
Stillness untroubled by breath of that forgotten place.
Your own voice refused to move your delinquent thought words.
Adjusting without movement the quiet fury of the stillness, almost forgotten.

Like the great Hunter you track that breath, enlivened and focused.
Respectfully balancing a bedazzled heart and this well-crafted discernment.
You who came to this place longing for child's eyes that had grown accustomed to loss.
This river of aliveness floating on the minds inward attention.

Frogs came alive again but this time breathing life.
Some great stillness untouched by the sounds.
Breath, body, mind/heart placed on the pin point in time.
Everything lined up for a fraction of a moment.

Your mind knowing this emptiness;
Heart knowing this fullness.
All bargaining over; you have arrived.

All Day, Is Still All Day

There is this leaning forward ;checking it, again and again.
Could we be near a new beginning or a dreaded ending?
I was thinking–oops that could be the problem.
Always this imagining– having learned how to keep it simple.

Sitting on a bench near the hall; tree miraculously budding.
Loosening my grip on these sense doors and fickle thoughts.
Sitting in the tranquil presence of my own body.
Breath - breathing itself; remembering this leaning into time only a habit.

We sat together–awareness--- these sense doors--- in this grand and marvelous world.
Studying this inner/outer landscape, hoping to find something.
But then there was just -fooie and wow--- couldn't find a thing.
Some grand awakening will have to wait till next retreat. Fooie!

I knew this was all so very simple–
Clear mind---seeing for miles and miles.
A mysterious heart holding everything in this open spaciousness.
Anchoring awareness in the body knowing the ease as the destination.

So I practice, not moving into tomorrows.
No leaning into time, planning some pleasure or impossible escape.
But resting in the natural peace and ease.
That is the natural peace and ease. Confident in how it goes.

Longing for Stillness

The clouds move through our Valley
drizzle then perfect sunshine.
Balancing the elements.
The sky too big for our own smallness.

Coming to this place with these simple instructions.
The vulnerability of this human intimacy challenged.
This breathing into our own darkness.
Somehow being alone in our own arrogant selfishness.

This sitting, allows the chaos of our world to gently yield.
Reaching out through the years.
Finding some grace; some medicine.
That shakes the heart; and loosens our grasp.

Stepping out of a life so long ignored.
Dipping back into one's uncertainty,
forgetting the strength in our own bones.
magnifying the prayer of this mysterious groudlessness.
Softening, for some final blow.

Having beaten the judger in ourselves 1000 times.
Only to crack the old” selfishness” .
What seemed like a battle becomes a symphony.
Holding this simple, wild, unfettered heart.

Our world open to the great stillness.

Sitting on the Edge of the World

Dropping in–smack–into the middle of your world.
The silence crackling through my bloodstream.
Oh I can guess–you came to set something free.
But once again nothing but change; new teachers, new faces.
The boat you so carefully steadied.  Rocked -
Knowing this feeling of empty seats with familiar socks and shawls.
Vanishing into the rain and fog.

You know, the one who pretended to have it all together.
Feeling again the loneliness of those who bowed and walked away.
Openly aware of those still here.  All who hold you now….
How still can I be in this stilled world?
How still can I be in this still world?

Is it holding the old stories, being battered and beaten?
Or is it the lightness of being, which radiates in the 10,000 directions.
We who have arrived can only bow down to your truth.
But the height of the mountain that calls us all
Stretches out before us as our common destination.

February 28, 2012 Two Month-ers

Crow Speaks

May the sanctuary of this practice.
Held so keenly by the two winged crow.
Bursting with its chatter.
Sending its message from retreatants to the heavens.

Perched on the pinnacle of our hall.
Viewing our own longing for freedom.
Covered over by the dark door of our own hope and fear.
We sat quietly - unruffled by the unseen.

The weight of our own shadows.
Slowly dissolving under the intense light of our own awareness.
The great light of our own goodness shining from behind.
Believing that we will be blinded - slowly we turn away, directly into the sun.

Words, ideas, and images dissolving in the light of this truth.
Finally exhausted–we stop struggling.
A free being can only praise what cannot be described.
Every bit of the known--- relaxes in this wonderment of peace.

Hallelujah

The Great Rain - Full Moon/March Retreat

The grande Oaks - blades of grass - soil shriveled and empty of moisture.
Waiting patiently without emotion, a day when the sky opened.
Teardrops from the heavens quenching the earth’s thirst.
Everything opening - so it can fully be its aliveness.

One moment longing, another moment filled to the brim.
Soil, trees, beyond enough so it races downhill.
Pulling all loose things down towards the mouth of the universal ocean.
Low spots filled - the veins of the earth rushing down toward its own merging.

A good day to see that nothing holds on; not for the minutest of time.
Awake, to every sense door–finding no home in them.
Heart sinks, as all contaminated states shake us.
Our core finds no rest in this transient world flowing by.

This attempt at finding ground; a solid me to hang my hat on.
Was this just a trick–finding this inflated or maybe deflated Mirage?
Again, floating downstream–no winning or losing here.
Just a heart bent towards ease; freedom close at hand.