Going Through the Motions and Resting in Potions

Going Through the Motions, and Resting in Potions

We are all so fallible, and some so blatantly gullible

  that it is hard to bear, hard not to tear them out of their dumbshitness
We are all so hopelessly conditioned, and some so clearly deficient
  that it is hard to care, hard not to scare them out of their numb-fitness.

I wonder and I wonder again why I am so invisible, so miserable, to other humans

Brahmamayabrahmamayabrahmamaya

Machine-gunfire peppers the cool autumn air

A bit of anxiety grips me but time rolls in and out of this and that

Optimism and security are illusory yet compelling

Searching for applied kindness opportunity and the building of community

Or so it seems as the one and the many tango in the big illusion of separateness
The lost finesse of bridging the gaps but the artist now naps with money
And the hive lacks honey.

We do what we do according to the cultural formulae

I wish I wish that depths could be plumbed and pains could numbed a bit
Just sit. Just so. That is All.

Easy and Difficult mingle in strange ways that baffle the sleepy aging mind

For better or worse we grow old and die
In sickness and in health we wander on as far as we can.
Why fret? why worry? Why regret? Why be sorry?
Just do as well as you can now.

Passing Through the Gate of Darkness

Passing Through the Gate of Darkness

Dark of Moon, Dark of Moon

Listless and barren gray, as the dusk paints over the day
And I wander around this lonely border land

I keep thinking I see sparkling gems but when I get closer I see

   that they are just tricks of the light
I remember longing for belonging and being led on by appearance
It’s a tyranny of experience this fake show of shells
Style o’er substance in a stuck dance of bimbo gods
And this is just the odds of clanning where this he dwells

Not waning nor waxing this limbo is taxing

Lest we summon the talents to rest in this balance
   of neither here nor there, betwixt the moving and the fixed
Where the crooked and the fair dare to compare the sublime and subliminal
As I rhyme like a criminal condemned by rage and old age
Or so I fear yet Now is still Here and the mage in the cage is a sage I wage
But not so says tomorrow as we go down the roads and put on the loads
Our minds change and change and wax and wane and wander and wither

Work and work and yoga and food and in this timing and rhyming

   there is nausea and unease
An anima enema to subdue the animal enemy
What fate would intimidate?
What intimate sentiment would dominate the gate to knowing?
Swim well ye in the afterlife dance, oh fish woman of going.

Corn mother Cow mother

Norn mother Sow mother
Smother me in your bosom for I have fallen, er leaped, into the sky of hell
Anger bodes not well
Speech is demonic when the toxic eclipses the tonic
Oh how I wish I could flow with the mad rush of fierce companions
Perhaps a tiny sliver of crescent light will heal this deluded fool.

 

 

Reckless Random Wishes and Longing for Flow

Reckless Random Wishes and Longing for Flow

I wish there was more to see

I wish these tribes did not falter into bullshit minds
I wish there was a composite with flow and intricacy
But most off all – a heap without murderous hearts and ego greed

I aspire that it would be so

That someday a clan-mind will come about without such flaws
I see fools honoring fools
I wonder what the wise ones do
They keep to themselves I suppose

People all push one another’s buttons

I have a button that rarely gets pushed
That is the – This is Truly Fucking Awesome – button
Is there nothing that is truly fucking awesome?
Oh occasionally there is but nobody else seems to notice it –
   they are too busy oohing and awing over petty shit

I guess I’m just sifting through the dukha looking for sukha

It is a pointless task but I can’t help but wonder

It is important the things one says, writes, and posts to others

Formalities and conventionalities aside, she is right – it is all just
   regurgitated slop. All the fanfare of cutesy jokey posturing courtesy is there to protect
   us from the intimacy that we fear. We show no fucking skin. We are hooded and 
   armoured machine-things. We hide things. We hide among those things.

We flip flop and see what we want to see. We choose plastic over gold thinking we 

   got the best deal but we fail to see beyond Us.

We look for Love in rules and dogma and flee the intuitive heart
We fear Compassion as weak and foolish and call this fear wisdom
We are too lazy to look deeper
We do not see the need for training

I feel powerless to affect humans and their world

I lock horns with companions over style but this passes
It all seems to wear me down though as I long for flow
They – they disappoint me with their smug cheap show minds
And the way they wear the colors of heroes but go act as thoughtless beasts

But patient indeed seem the forces that ne’er seem to cede

Guess I should be patient as well but sometimes I fall into madness.

 

 

Circle of Life and Death

Circle of Life and Death

Time devours us and the Great Mother devours Time

It is the goal of our journey
Every day we decay

This life is just a stopover, a quick go-through of a life

If we could but see with our mind the timelessness behind the moving reality

Function and Structure play in love and wisdom
In words the nouns and verbs dance in a synergistic resonance of rhythm
We are and we do

The body falls. Strength abandons us. Our hold on living weakens. We die.
Our material goals immediately disappear to nothing
Memories remain and people cry
Then time slowly erases us except perhaps as examples of some principles or deeds

Lifespan is built in to our genetic programming for the most part

Longevity is a luck factor influenced by lifestyle
But time will win and the monster will eat us
What should we do in the meantime?

The sages say we should let go of the foolishness of grasping

To worry and fret is to steal from ourselves
To strive for false ideals and worldy dharmas is short-sighted
Our interaction with this world is limited
This node of us and the world of here and now is a blip in time

We can contemplate with our mental concept-words

We can watch with our openness of technique
We can do while constantly remembering the here and now that envelops us
We can watch and listen and give aid when it is possible
That is about all.   

Just Seva

Just Seva

Day to day is just task to task, duty to duty

Nothing left to do but enjoy

Ah – the goals of aspirers and the wishes of desirers are mere distractions

I sleep I, wake, I do what needs to be done, I play if I can
Then I do the same again

Events appear, some I endear, some so so, some just blow

As I live till I die I vow and aspire to relax and do the duties needed
It is easy to feed the hungry, to offer a bit of comfort
It is easy to maintain the body and the home and the earth
This is true if one sees this as inevitably ordinary and not extraordinary

Sometimes the tasks are difficult

Sometimes the bodhi path is precarious and lonely
Yet with a bit of mind there is only the simple joy of simplicity

Desire rises and falls
Stupidity appears and disappears
Aversion comes and passes like a storm
If only we could see them as such we would not be carried away

Seva is simple happy action

To seek more is to seek that which is illusory
If one sees this as a temporary dance move, then fine
If one becomes a habitual seeker of the illusory, then duties go neglected
If mouths go hungry, then life falls away
What is the use of this?

My life is perfect yet I seek

I am a fool
Indeed I can only hope that I will not neglect my charges

 

 

Yes Tea Time is Near

Yes Tea Time is Near

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder

Possessive Repulsive Distorter

Tall tales, a tell tale sign of truth’s toll

Small fails, a yell wail find of fool’s gold

Aestre comes from the beginning realm

Best is that which is now
Incest of the gods where none are modest
Estimated are the impacts of our lives
We infest the planet like a virus
Yet we are a guest who ingests at the behest of fate
I establish my legacy through action and influence
Or is it all in jest?
We makest the gods and death lest we comest away from god-making
Into our reality nest we goest
But like a pest we resume our hazardous quest with ne’re a rest
And our hero shell is esteemed as we seem to pass the tests
So the guest now dons the vest of the brave one of the west
Flowing river sex estuary dumps into the sea
We payest our fees with zest.

Still Waiting

Still Waiting

I look out and what do I see???

The lynching of reason

The praising of mistreaters
The ignoring of sanity
The ridiculing of compassion
The flexing of bigotry

We are all stars, fuck rock star elitism

Fuck personality privilege
Fuck name veneration
Fuck credential waving
Fuck the stage, fuck the money tables

Bring back the circle and the council

I watch and scan and look for opportunities on the horizon

Yet – there is only more the same, the shitty same

I am lucky, I have resources

But what use are they if there is no one who can employ and enjoy them?
Shit Man – Wake Up!
I can’t be that ahead of the game
I’m too deluded and like everyone, dying more every day

I wish that heartful and mindful folk would appear and dance without feigning

All I see are heartless ego dances – all contrived to appear as something else

It is not easy to be authentic
It’s nice to inspire and yet keep to self-honesty

As for the players and fakers

Well Fuck You

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Craving and Grasping for Autumn Moon Splendour

Craving and Grasping for Autumn Moon Splendour

Questing beyond the craving-quest the questioner becomes the misbehaving guest

Liberation is ne’re a thought until the bonds materialize
Choice is not choice but habit

Desire, that unruly bully carries us away like a leaf in the wind

Stupidity, that fooly coolie carries our knowledge off in the night
Aversion, that cruelly ghoulie carries us under to dank and dreary shield shells
We chase and cower and bask in our bewilderment

Our pencil necks betray our protruding ponches

The she of the heart repels the assaults he launches
Catch and release and catch and release
The cycle of adoption and rejection is ever our infection

Well I eat now when I’m hungry but hunger is a memory and a time

Chemicals within cue me and woo me to consume and digest
But after the pageant of taste there is the relief of expelling waste
All this waxing and waning and insatiability confound the body-mind
We are victims of our actions, purveyors of our fates
We are trapped in a maze of our own projections
And now for some music

For the light of the moon I croon

Strange glow in treetops grow
I trace the rays to her crescent phase
Now open unimpeded
The light gate flow monthly meted

A wave is a circle sliced, stretched, and flipped

A circle is a wave clipped, flipped, and squeezed
This yet that

Mother of tides, within and without

Queen of moonblood, oceans, and sap
She lives in the water mirror and yet in the sky
Her nights go shimmering by
I know you are but what am I?

 

 

We and the Worlds

We and the Worlds

The sun seems to say – Go make hay!

These moments are all we have
Sweet ones and sour ones
Weak ones and power ones
Moments in the light and moments hidden in the darkness unseen unaware
Always racing the moments as they fall away into the past
But in the dead morning of sleep there is no racing
The deep night morning seems to scoff – Blow it off!

Things are always rising and falling, without and within

Turning in and out by day and night, by summer and winter, by youth and old age

The sweet sun’s power makes strong focus in its hour
The heart of the day seems to wail – I cannot fail!

The darkness leaves a hint of the restful, yet foreboding

   that sleep will rise soon and take thee from this realm
This time seems a question show – Should I stay or should I go?

We travel nightly. We rest. We dream. We scan. We recharge. We learn.

We traverse from here to gone to here to gone
We take off one time and put on another
Are we then continuous or broken into fragments?

Perhaps we are the Source Code, a flower emanating from the center of the Universe –

each of the infinite petals a possibility, a parallel universe,
each a child of the Mother-Universe that is impossible yet just is
Wisdom Play of infinite sphere and infinitesimal point
Speck-Father and Space-Mother
Innies and Outties