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Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

Friend, hope for the guest while you are alive.
Jump into experience while you are alive!
Think… and think… while you are alive.
What you call ‘salvation’ belongs to the time before death.

If you don’t break your ropes while you’re alive,
do you think
ghosts will do it after?

The idea that the soul will join with the ecstatic
Just because the body is rotten –
that is all fantasy.
What is found now is found then.
If you find nothing now,
you will simply end up with an apartment in the City of Death.
If you make love with the divine now, in the next life you will have the face of satisfied desire.

So plunge into the truth, find out who the Teacher is,
Believe in the Great Sound!

Kabir says this: When the guest is being searched for, it is the intensity of the longing for the Guest that does all the work.
Look at me, and you will see a slave of that intensity.

By: Kabir

Translated: Robert Bly

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What we look for beyond seeing
And call the unseen,
Listen for beyond hearing
And call the unheard,
Grasp for beyond reaching
And call the withheld,
Merge beyond understanding
In a oneness
Which does not merely give rise and give light,
Does not merely set and leave darkness,
But forever sends forth a succession of living things as mysterious
As the unbegotten existence to which they return.

       ~Lao Tzu

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You are beautiful, youthful, radiant. Each time we meet, my wide smile is a testament to your effect on me.

There is an intensity in your eyes, in your words and in your life. A touch, a whisper or a small glance sends shivers up my spine.

A seemingly unending reservoir of power, your myriad emanations continually grace me.

Your insatiable sexual desire is quenched only through our union; seeking the ineffable, the elevated, the eternal through the merging of our interlaced bodies, hearts and minds. Dancing in the sublime, we discover endless, transcendent time.

You have contemplated your mortality, you have gazed at your shadows, you seek to discover your unknown potentiality.

In this empowering presence you invite me to meet you from my own masculine centeredness. My heart exposed, my vulnerabilities laid bare, you invite my trust, if I so dare.

You see relationship as a deep dialogue, not a lifeless contract easily abdicated. Monogamy and polyamory are just words to you – you flow easily where you need to.

Blonde or brunette, tall or short, herbivore or carnivore – just minor details in a love that is based on so much more.

If this is you, please swipe right.

Tinder

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Kalisada, a place promoting a peaceful life. Timeless rhythms of nature, an abundance of vividness.

Practicing alone together. Sangha is a precious gift. The mutual body, studying the mystery with many different eyes.

I feel a link to the past. Not surprisingly to the other places and times of immersion in meditation and nature. A recollection of certainty. No place to go, nothing to do, no one to become.

This little vow reaches so far.

Maybe when I retire I will create a lifestyle like this. Wait, aren’t I already retired?  The French origin of the word means to draw back  ( re – tirer).

Must communion with Self and nature wait until later?

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I must leave today – the time is near.  The scenery will change, the rhythm uprooted.

A sense of sadness, like that one as you awake from a beautiful dream as it fades from awareness.

It’s difficult to express this recollection in words. Yet it is deeply embedded in my cells, in my bones. Like a lotus bud waiting to bloom.

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The best neighborhood to live in. The top career. The perfect partner. The most excellent time to visit a place, the finest month to begin a project. The preeminent spiritual practice, the greatest teacher.

In a time of fluctuation, I observe thoughts like these- comparative thoughts. They all revolve around a common theme- control. Or the illusion of it. A belief that if I make first class decisions, I will have a most excellent life. As I wrote about recently, the freedom of individualism has come at a cost. The cost is that we are fed an illusion that we are in complete control over our lives.

As I sit quietly in the jungle, I am reminded that it is simply not the case that we really have control. A strange sounds arises from beyond the pond. I am told- “that’s the sound of a snake eating a frog. The snake isn’t poisonous, so it will take a while”. Life and death. Always present.

Relishing in this jungle hermitage retreat, I am reminded of importance of simple, attentional awareness to our moment-to-moment activities. The divine interplay of breath, body, phenomena and the realization that if any effort is expended, it is best directed to accepting this interplay rather than trying to control it.

I leave you with one of my favorite poems from Hafiz, who beautifully expresses this dilemma:

What is the difference
Between your experience of Existence
And that of a saint?

The saint knows
That the spiritual path
Is a sublime chess game with God

And that the Beloved
Has just made such a Fantastic Move

That the saint is now continually
Tripping over Joy
And bursting out in Laughter
And saying, “I Surrender!”

Whereas, my dear,
I am afraid you still think
You have a thousand serious moves.

~ Hafiz, I Heard God Laughing: Poems of Hope and Joy

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5am

religious chanting echoes in the distance

early morning light nudges away the darkness

walking the stone path towards the little wooden zendo

a glance upward and I meet the volcano, serenely present

3 bells

the scent of sandalwood

black cushion supporting my spine

in breath, out breath

stillness

not yet – this isn’t the zendo I’m familiar with

one bird, two bird, many birds

geckos skip across the roof

two frogs communicate their love across a pond

all of this is happening, just outside

outside what I wonder?

this jungle is inside, how can it be otherwise

zazen expands

fully alive

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You expressed I love you in a poem. Six months later you took it back. Accused of manipulation, I respond in kind. The lack of eye contact should have been a warning sign. Pouring my insecurities and shadows into your lap, little did I know they were being weaponized. Saved for an opportune moment, to unleash the rage of all times. Attacking a fly with a grenade, clearly there was something amiss in your promise. Maybe it had to do with the omission of the word if.

I love you if you do not confront my insecurities; I love you if you do not challenge my ego; I love you if you constantly show me the reflection of my own masks in your eyes. Is that what you meant to write?

Blame me, blame a community, blame the style of relationship. Blame anything except your own wounded pride.

For the sake of the next one, please don’t forget the if.

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