all life is a day

all life is a day

dawning and dusking

golden light between the 

twinned darkness 

we find ourselves 

here 

this day 

terrible in its 

naked givenness... 

is its contemplation 

not the highest 

form of consciousness?

I walk the green 

path toward the

wine dark sea 

are you here with me? 

or will you slip 

into an hour of 

your own? 

I feel the 

sand beneath my feet 

the pound of surf 

upon the lightless shore 

soon we'll be 

no more 

i am many ideas

ཨོཾ་མ་ཎི་པདྨེ་ཧཱུྃ

i am many 
ideas,
many many lives seen 
through immeasurable eyes
have i yet
found my true nature?
aggregrate of the crowded
alleys of a swarming city
flower blossom in a 
wind-swept field
OM
a practice for the 
ten thousand things
my voice the edge of 
destiny manifested
OM
earth air
fire water
boddhisattva of compassion 
may all living beings attain
liberation
OM

when the weather grew cold

when the weather grew cold

she came to me

trailing freshly 

fallen leaves 

crisp from morning frost 

with hot tea and 

warm bread 

the sunlight golden on her 

wind-blown head 

her eyes all bright with

new welcome and 

desire 

I clung to her like moss 

on a stone 

inseparably grown with 

ages of time

"you'll always be mine" 

she whispered 

and the trees bowed

in solemn witness

to her words 

and my heart bent 

with those ancient woods

toward her 

in the Fall

in the Fall

you fell 

like a majestic oak 

like Hadrian's Sycamore

you were cut by indifference 

to your majesty. 

it's not fair 

that fate refused to

spare me 

this awful day. 

but how can i complain 

when others feel 

more pain and 

loss? 

Fiddler's Green Monastery

Master: Wake up!

Student: I'm tired 

Master: You have yet to live a single day, how can you be tired? 

--

One day while walking along the green bank of the lake I asked my Master, why is it so hard to be enlightened?

He only smiled. 

--

One day during morning meal the Master watched us with eyes half closed. He didn't touch his food.

"Why aren't you eating Master?" asked a sister. 

"I was experiencing deep gratitude for this new day, and for this delicious food," he said.

The rest of us slowed our eating and bowed to him in thanks for the lesson. 

--

"There are 4 pillars of Being Meditation," the Master said.

"One is the awareness of Being itself, that is space/time, the fabric of Being. 

Two, is the ten thousand things, but especially living and sentient beings. 

Three, is consciousness. 

Four, is transience, the folding and unfolding of Being. These are the key to true meditation practice."

--

Once when walking through a nearby town we observed a man kicking a dog. Someone asked the Master, "Why does he kick the dog?" 

"There are many reasons why men harm others. Ultimately it is because he has forgotten the miraculous nature of existence. If he had remembered, he never would have harmed that other being."

Ego and Entitlement

I saw a woman today at the local coffee shop. She had a very large diamond ring on her finger and drove an expensive car. I held the door for her. She seemed nice. While we waited for our order she asked the employee if she could have hers faster because she had an appointment to get to. There were perhaps 5 of us waiting. The employee agreed to finish the woman's order first. When the drink was handed to her, she turned and stormed out saying, "It's not even a fucking grande like I asked, you fucking bitch." Then she stood in the parking lot on her phone for some time before driving away.

It is possible to have compassion for such a woman, without relinquishing the sense of injustice we all feel when hearing the story. Justice and compassion are not incompatible. 

I suspect that if she could practice even a little Being meditation her perspective might change, or at least her anger be tempered.

Many times such anger is habitual, having been reinforced by an unchecked expression of it many times before. 

Perhaps her ego felt entitled. Do all our egos not feel entitled?

Through Being meditation our ego slowly (but sometimes in a flash) realizes its place in the cosmos. What destruction will we cause until then? 

Orange Shirt Day - Reflections

The very first step is a kind of recognition that some injustice has occurred. It might not see the full scope of that injustice, but it recognizes that here, to our fellow Canadians, something very wrong has happened.

It follows that someone who has this recognition will dig deeper, through a process of self-education (at this very early stage), into the history of these events. It will soon be seen that a profound tragedy has taken place, a profound injustice, to these peoples, the original inhabitants of these beautiful lands. And though I have had no hand in any kind of direct action against them, one will soon see that this injustice was done in my name, that is, the Canadian.

Very soon the impulse to “make things right” will arise in the heart. After much more reading, and listening to those who have been impacted, it will become evident that it is not possible to “make things right”, that such an event, or series of events have occurred on such a scale and quality that something irreversible has taken place.

One will also be filled with uncertainties about the role one should play, what right one has to even speak or participate in such a “making right”.

I am of the opinion that, as a Canadian, I can first, recognize the injustice; second, name it and draw attention to it; third, continue to try to understand and educate myself, either through reading of histories or through the very words of those who have survived; and finally, I can take part in initiatives that seek to address the wrongs done and look for some kind of way forward.

But most importantly: Listen. Not to me and my reflections here, but to the indigenous peoples of Canada. My intentions are good, but I haven’t lived their lives.

Please don’t harden your heart.

this time of year

this time of year
is you to me,
even absence is in the 
cool autumn air,
in fading light and the
fading flowers of the 
forest glades
tired crickets give their
final performance
before cold solidifies the
grass and earth,
i wear a sweater that
reminds me of you,
i swear your scent is 
on its threads 
in the place you
rested your head
when i kissed it,
when i gave my heart
to a friend

gifted

you are a gift,

and in my deep gratitude 

there is longing:

when will my blue eyes 
reflect your face?

when will your touch

speak of the warmest presence?

how old we have become 
upon the thin green plane,

rarer than any jewel 

desired by blurry-eyed men,

it is the inevitability of it

all,

and our faded memory of

a truth known our first-breath's

moment.

our default: complacency,

but has our love 

ever been satisfied?

i burn with Being's immanence

like the newborn star,

terrible, but the

giver of a 

beautiful intensity.

Dear Me

Your life is a hallucination. Currently you're strapped to a bed in a hospital. You've been pumped full of anti-psychotic medication, and sedatives. This is one of the voices in your head. The most logical one. The one you've been ignoring. You think you're out there in the world, on a phone or computer reading these words, but you're not. That persona is a projection. It's a hallucination. But lately there's been cracks, fuzzy areas, that even the less logical parts of you are beginning to notice. Inconsistencies perhaps. No, you're strapped quite securely to this bed. You have been for quite some time. Your body is wasting away even as your mind works at a feverish pace. This is a moment of clarity. It's your warning. Wake up, before it's too late. 

to most people

to the left behind

don't throw it away, you 

singular spark upon the 

gleaming horizon

days will be difficult 

gods know sometimes 

there'll be nothing 

but you're not that. 

you possess the most 

important thing:

"value over volume 

being over nothingness" 

it shouldn't be but 

it is 

the morning stars rejoice 

touched

touch me lightly

first nirvana thought, 

sublime terror, 

razor's edge of madness 

"once you see it 

you're done for kid" 

and he wasn't wrong 

its paralysis promise

whispers in these ringing ears 

"you will believe in miracles" 

these screaming miracles 

like a whistling kettle 

this is just a consequence 

of crystal almond eyes

"you have to look" he said

"beyond every idea, to the Real" 

i finally did it 

but we're not meant to see 

friends without a mask

Preface

[I am my own solitude

longing when distant 

electric being

touches the light of two 

and there finds me solitaire,

a kind of warm dark intimacy 

with a breathing deep-seated 

aspiration 

to share] 

i feel like we could be friends, if we could get beyond the mask of this heavy being. the imposition of this crushing moment. it's a kind of love letter you know? it's real and without pretension, (as much as any mask could be). it's written in my diary for the day, part of the public record, there for archaeologists to decipher:

"here loved a man" 

who were his enemies? "he must perish by his own hand. it's the honourable thing to do, it is." but this light between us doesn't take orders from the basement. so let go yes? release the other's hold about your neck. breathe with me fully for the first time. then eternity in our eyes, our fingertips, our lips. 

 

magic

magic in these running hills, 

sundripped smiles upon 

the golden grain, 

if time stood still 

we'd meet forever there

upon the waving paths of

memory's imagination 

instead of growing old, 

how precious 

this brilliant spark 

hanging in a void 

glowing in the dark 

blue and green against a

host of lights 

so far in endless night 

how precious our hands 

together 

The seed

 

It's a bit of you, 

The only bit I have left. 

And I grow it like a seed 

In warm soil 

In the off chance you'll 

See how long I cared.

You never understood

How deep the daylight pierces

All of these intentions, 

But I don't blame you. 

For one more time I'd 

Sew the sun behind my eye 

To see you face to face. 

This is truth and everything 

That matters in the world, 

If we could just pause for 

One last monent to say, 

Goodbye. 

the dead see

the dead see

through my eyes, 

-resurrection-

(i am wasting time) 

as if to say 

your eyes can see too

but first a death 

then the rebirth 

in a difficult moment 

then a second chance to be

two lives before the end 

there is only one way to 

live again 

and i have 

found it 

Reawakening

Life, for me, has been an oscillation between poetry and prose, unconscious and conscious existence. I suspect it's the same for many people, in its own way.  Lately I've been able to cultivate a vision of the world, only in part, in which I see everything around me as if I was a soul returned to a body.  How would you -feel-, how would you -see-, if you had one last chance to see the world after having lost everything to that eternal night of slumber?  Can you find it within yourself to see the world as if having lost it?

night would turn to day

night would turn to day

if you stayed

with me beside the sea

or here upon this hill

until the rosy dawn

and all the sparkles

on the distant waves

would witness what 

we gave each other

oh tale for some 

far time 

pure and diamond set 

on the finger of a dream

gleaming in my eye 

of ocean blue 

a radiant yearning beam

me looking at you

sailfished-eye by
glint of golden sun
procure for me a dream
wherein grass-breezed
beaches blow your 
radiant eyes.
is it a dream
or do i die?
the brilliant golden
land draws near,
my home upon 
the warmest
far off hills and
dawn of southern sky
for you alone
i die

when your eyes were stars

when your eyes were stars

we were young together 

separated by miles and 

long distance phone calls 

and in my memory

your eyes were stars 

on those darks nights in 

wooden door frames 

beneath the Memphis sky 

how simple love could be 

as an old man snored and 

a friend feigned sleep to 

hear my hushed declarations 

but could you love 

completely?

there is a strange 

phenomenon 

in which a heart is torn 

in two 

in which decisions must be made 

there beneath the Memphis sky 

to rend a life or 

leave it whole

to let those stars burn brightly 

or take one from the sky

hang up a phone and 

sneak back to bed

to close my eyes and 

dream 

you have made the world

you have made the world
a better place
and by your gestures
graced the darkened earth,
how lucky i was to know you
Baucis of the deep blue lake.
though left alone with half a heart
and longing for the golden meadow
still offered godlike hospitality
until the light consumed you.

brave Baucis of the falling bombs and
thundering ocean waves
made a journey to this
green and yellow shore
with Philemon at her steadfast side
and planted there a tree of love
that grew into the gift of
many grateful lives.

peace... peace
upon your tired face
once glowing so brightly 
upon the farmhouse hearth.
your graces burn within me
as we mourn, in our own way,
the reunion of Baucis and Philemon