Corner: Coming Around Again

Deep dejection set in,
After a fitful sleep
Full of troublesome dreams
And unpleasant sensations;

Fears, rages and shingles came a stalking,
Shaking me awake with their needles,
And itching and prickling assaulted
My senses, stirring my ill will;

As the humidity lifted,
Fatigue settled in
From the disturbing night,
Challenging my resolve;

The day seemed
Like an eternity
Through which I crawled
From one hell realm to another;

Only when, I dragged myself
Into the kitchen finally
To prepare supper,
Did the rally begin,

Slowly, only slowly;
Later exercising and thinking,
‘It doesn’t matter
How many times I start over,

There are no rules on that
Except the ones I draft,
No law that places a limit
On how many starts or stops I have,

It therefore doesn’t matter
How many times I falter,
Or how many times
I rise again.’

Core: Relishing the Ordinary

Continuing on
With caught-uncaught,
Drifting up and down
Throughout the day,

Thinking of being everything,
Observing the routine
And wondering
Why it’s necessary,

As it all seems the same
From a certain point of view;
Maybe it’s worthwhile,
Either way, it’s all I know right now:

Doing laundry,
Meal preparation,
Eating
And washing dishes,

It all appears more so,
More enjoyable,
More meaningful,
When looked at from here;

I find it interesting
That this mundane activity
Should make so much sense
To me, when it’s so simple;

Complexity is suspended,
Pricey diversions are unavailable
To me currently,
But I don’t care today,

Contentment with the ordinary,
What’s present is enough:
To move, perform essential tasks and breathe,
At the moment these are all I need,
Even though, no satisfaction is guaranteed.

Cordon: Stuck in the Mundane

In recovery
From yesterday,
Accomplished little
But paper pushing,

Sorted through old letters
From a long absent friend,
Forgotten how much
She cared then,

But then she disappeared
The connection broken,
And I don’t suppose,
I’ll ever learn what happened;

Nevertheless,
The letters were filed
Lovingly away, with others
In a cherished spot;

Then came across
Some less welcome correspondence,
From those I have
Less liking of,

But still,
I kept it
For memory’s sake,
As I’m not ready to forget just yet;

Saved by my schedule,
Luckily,
As I had to prepare
For other work once again;

This was no relief,
However, not really,
Only another page
In a very dull book;
I guess now I’m really caught.

Corded: Circling

Another day,
Another disturbance,
Woken up early
To renovation noise,
Outside the legal limit;

Rushed up
To confirm the source,
And telephoned,
But no answer;

Left a note
For security instead,
By which time,
The noise was almost legal,

And the clamour
Continued,
Until I gave up
And got up;

This is what
I’m stuck on,
As this sleep deprivation
Weighs me down heavily,

Stirring up frustration,
And other unpleasant emotions
And sensations,
The limit of my practice resolve breached.

But then, during the quiet interlude
I thought I saw forever again,
Stood in the light of
Cause and effect,

Feeling both free and bound,
Trapped and in motion;
Reality unfolding,
Replacing discouragement and gloominess with equanimity.

Copying: Mundane Motion

Don’t think,
Just do;
That seems to be
The only motto
That’s working
Right now;

Write a poem,
Sort through some papers,
Shred and dispose of
The leftovers,

Shower and laundry,
Calamine on
And cook supper,
Go to work and focus on that;

That’s what’s happening,
Incredibly mundane
And uninteresting,
But so it goes.

One foot,
And then another,
One day,
And then the next,

Proceeding on,
Not stopping to look
As I don’t want to,

Waiting for this
Dreadful mood
To pass through,

To be replaced by another,
Preferably less blue;
I’m really tired of this,
And I bet you are too!

Copious: Shingles, Difficulty and Doubt

Strangely,
It’s not the pain
That’s most irksome
But the low moods
That keep persisting;

Pain I know
All too well,
Though perhaps
They are related,
I don’t know;

Anyway,
The predominant colour
Is not pink calamine,
But blue,

Fatigue is also
A prominent feature
Of this discomfort stew,
Which contributes to the other two;

But what’s this got to do
With meditation?
Nothing maybe,
As I’m full of doubt too;

I am questioning
How this is worthwhile,
Whether it really helps
In the absence of other resources;

Alternatively,
It’s mostly common sense,
Which reduces the quality
Of the ambiance;
How silly to hang on that,
But so many do,
And so, I guess I’m no different.

Coping: Not in the Pink

Still spreading
The calamine pink,
Quite tedious
I think,

And amazing that
Such a simple task
Taxes my mindfulness
To the limit;

How to stay with
An uninteresting situation,
A reminder of the slowness
With which healing takes place;

Meanwhile,
Other obstacles
And irritations
Continue to arise

At the same time
As I’m recovering
From this current
Time consuming annoyance;

It all adds up to
Difficulty staying here,
Preferring elsewhere
Or just not knowing at all,

And how to negotiate that
Remains a task I dislike
That I don’t feel
I do well;

But then, who does
All the time?
No one,
Or so I think.

Conviction: Breath Day

Retreating into
Smiling indifference,
Then returning to
In, out, in, out,
Centering on the breath,
Throughout the day;

Making way,
Creating space,
Spaciousness instead of
Closed-mindedness
And judging;

Loosening the bonds
Between breathing
And all other
Aspects of life,

Which fade
Into the background,
Seeming less real, less relevant,
Comparatively unimportant,

Resting in this place,
Looking around,
Enjoying the inner view,
Peaceful feelings arise anew,

Fresh as meadow-rain-scented air,
Cool and gentle as a spring day,
No disturbances near,
Other than the mild breath-breezes here;

The breath whispers through,
Massaging the body
And soothing the mind,
Steadying, anchoring,
Settling the other
More turbulent winds,
Smoothing out extremes.

Conveyance: Breathing Forward

Awakened by
Construction,
Unable to
Get back to sleep;
Grasping at answers.

Anger, frustration,
Punctuated by fantasies
Of other times spent
In silence with companions,
Just sitting together:

Sitting at the movies,
On the front steps
Of a dining hall
At summer camp,
Glumly missing some hero
Of ours, sharing the misery;

Sitting at breakfast
With a housemate
At university,
One who listened
One who took the time,
Punctuated with black tea
And sherry wine;

Finally,
I settled into
Breathing,
Setting my intention, as:

Breathing is
My world today,
Inside and outside,
Letting go inside
Letting go outside,
This will be my goal.

Tomorrow: the results of this experiment.

Convert: Forgetting about Me

Ah, fire alarms,
Just what I need
To add to the noisy cacophony,

Frustration peaked today,
Rage raged fully,
Irritation leaked
All over the floor,

Almost as bad
As the plumbing
In this place,
Which is ailing too,

What’s up with reality?
Is it on the blink again?
Or, is it always thus,
And so, and everything;

Perhaps I’ll find out later,
But for now
It’s mighty slow,
This long journey,

And I rarely know
Where I go,
Or where I’ve been
For that matter;

It’s all natter, natter,
Chatter and blather,
More words to spill
Along with the water,

Enough to sail a boat,
Down the river to
The sea of forgetfulness,
Drop me and mine onshore,
Set them aside
And in peace abide.

Conversion: Oh Well

I’ve grown weary
Of listening
To Dharma talks,
Weary of talking.

Experiencing,
Being,
This is where
It’s at today.

Developing confidence
Based on experience,
But this confidence
Is not about accomplishment,

Not even about practice,
Nor methods,
Nor doing,
Nor security.

It’s not about
Inhabiting this moment
Or being present
Or similar terminology,

This confidence
Is about peace,
Cessation of worry,
Dropping the discriminating,

Being neither concerned
Nor unconcerned with
Up or down,
Progress or setback;

But just then the nerve jarring grinding
Of a neighbour’s table saw split the air.
Time to cease the rhetoric
And make some noise,
To counterbalance this unearthly clamour!

Conversation: Doubt Busting

Yesterday, I felt I’d reached an impasse in my practice. Seeing was too painful but going blind impossible. I stared into space but I could not just stare into space; I had no choice but to be present for that. I felt stuck in between, unable to come out or go in. I couldn’t look but I couldn’t forget what was there. I wondered if it was better before I began, when I did not know what it was that I was experiencing; it was safer, easier. Now it felt like the burden of seeing was weighting me down, and I wanted it to go away, shut up, to turn it off.

The voice of doubt spoke loudly of the futility of everything, to every effort. But then, there was another voice, saying, ‘Don’t listen to that! That’s Mara! These are just intensely dark and painful doubts, and you are getting lost in them. But you will find your way out again. Don’t identify with this, it’s just an attitude, a frame of mind, a bunch of ideas. This is just a really unpleasant, nihilistic, depressed state, profoundly unpleasant, frightening, uncomfortable, hateful, but it’s empty like all the rest. What else is here? The sky is still blue and the grass is still green.’

But for a while, I could not believe this latter voice; it was so hard to believe this, to see this; I was so caught that I didn’t believe I was caught; I was deluded; this felt totally real to me. Sadness, such sadness, intense grief, loss, pain, disappointment, disillusionment, with no one to turn to, no one to understand, no one to offer comfort. Alone, empty, so abandoned, and maybe as I was alone then, I was feeling it, which was perhaps the reason why I felt I could never share it, because if someone had been present it wouldn’t have been that way. But even then there was still this sense of strength in the background. And then, I was in it, out of it, in it, out of it, alternating upbeat and downbeat thoughts, flitting from one to the other.

Next, today, at first things seemed to be worsening, as I fell to considering what it would be like after death, freed of all worries and burdens. Then, a profound peace arose, but of course this wasn’t death; I therefore surmised this was simply the relief of letting go. I could see that I can let go, that worrying is optional; feeling burdened by decisions and responsibilities is optional. All I need do is shed these extras. And so, after resting in peace briefly, I proceeded with my tasks without further concern.

Then I reflected, ‘Wow! How amazing is mind! --Wonderful, ingenious, unsinkable. Struggling up and down the waves like an old, beat up waterlogged but sturdily constructed schooner.’

Convergence: Reflection on the Floor

Steeped in
The deepest sorrow,
And mind-pummeling anguish,
As far from the sun
As I could imagine;

But then, unexpectedly,
As I looked down
Through my despondency
At the blond laminate flooring,
Where a beam of light crossed
The smooth bland surface,

A ray of joy leapt up
Into my heart,
As I saw
How the beauty
Of the thin outer layer
Of maple wood
Was highlighted by the light.

The anguish
Had not departed,
Oh no, but
I now saw its transparency,
Along with that of
The light
And the joy;

I could see
All of these
Simultaneously,
From inside and outside:
The form in the emptiness
And the emptiness in the form
Revealed.

Convenient: No Origination

Was there a time
When language was new?
In my humble opinion, NO!
There was no such era,

For, even the clouds express
More eloquently than
The greatest poets;
The very stars speak
Straight from the heart!

Spider’s webs expound on
The universal ingenuity,
Which, without training
Or mathematical know-how
Produces organic architecture
Exceeding the abilities
Of any human designer,
Outstripping anything
The best engineers
Of our time can construct.

Yes, language was always here,
Speaking loudly to all
Who have the ability to hear;

For, although the communication
May appear mindless,
Be difficult to perceive
And even harder to comprehend,

Nevertheless,
Its articulation is endless,
Permeating everything
And inspiring all of us
To even greater efforts
To express in and through
Whatever medium we know or possess,
The wondrous reality we are part of
And in which we exist.

Contumacious: Stickiness

Rage continued unabated,
Thus I determined to
Remain aware of it,
Even concentrate on it;

This experiment led to
Great amazement,
As I then found it difficult
To stay with it;

One distraction
After another
Came between attention and
My object:

First, a woman in the street
Down on her luck
Stretched out her hand
Asking for money,

‘Are you mad!’ I thought,
‘Can’t you see I’m enraged?’
What surprised me even more
Was how politely I refused!

Then a sparrow bathing
In the dust, (the avian answer
To calamine lotion, I guessed),
And I forgot my ire once more,

‘Excuse me, little fella/gal
But can’t you tell
I’m trying to focus on
A temper tantrum, now?’

What a slippery customer
And how odd
That rage only sticks
When I forget it!

Contrived: All Over the Place

In the throes
Of the age-old,
“Why me?”
How this affliction
Shifts feelings
Up and down!

One day it’s peace,
Then it’s depression and rage;
What’s on the next page?
Curiosity keeps me going;

But, is this a good time
For curiosity?
Or, should I
Be worried?

But even if worry
Were indicated,
What use
Would that do?

I’m so tired,
I must be making
No sense at all;
Perhaps I’ll see it tomorrow,

Or, maybe something
Will be resolved
And I’ll revise
My assessment of

This latest
Attempt
To summarize
Where my practice
Has been
Or where it’s going,
If it’s going,
Wherever it’s going.

Contribution: Pink Blessings

Deeply concentrated
On spreading pink,
Covering every inch
Of blistered and reddened skin
On this painful but shrinking rash.

Blisters soaking up
The pink balm soon cool;
Message transmitted from skin,
“Ah! That feels so good!”

Then sitting to wait
For the Calamine lotion to dry,
I count breaths
To concentrate the mind.

Peace to the skin,
Peace to the virus;
May both be satisfied
And harmonize,

May they realize:
All desires fulfilled,
All craving extinguished
For all time for all beings.

May all beings find the same,
May the pink balm flow
Liquid comfort to all,
Even the sparrows I see,

As they flit about the balcony,
Searching for food:
May they too find peace,
May they too be free.

May all beings be at peace,
May they be free
May it be so.

Contrast: Ease within the Difficulty

Beautiful evening
Wonderful feeling,
Recovery is not assured
But ease is also here,

Having much peace
In spite of the shingles,
The accompanying pain
And trace of worry:

Will this heal
And when?
What scars will remain
If any?

But always
I come back to
The tranquil present
To rest:

No construction noises,
Cool air inside,
Glorious colours
In the sunset outside;

Comfortable surroundings
And time to recover,
Simple food
But within my reach;

This moment has all I need,
All I need to handle;
It’s such a rare circumstance
To be unburdened by duties.

Illness may bring discomfort,
Unpleasant sensations and limitations,
But can also occasion a break
From other preoccupations.

Continuation: Shingles, Day Seven

Another day,
With a new challenge,
But grocery shopping
In the sticky heat
With shingles,

Was not so bad
As I expected,
But exhausting
Nevertheless,

And it stretched
My capacity
To stay present
For unpleasant circumstances.

With success
Came pleasant results,
Then off I went to
Renew my calamine supply,

Which had dwindled
Significantly
From major use
Throughout the week.

Still a long way to go,
Before the end of
This episode,
As the pain continues,

With a little worry flavour,
As the inflammation
And the redness
Does not seem to wane.

Surprisingly, however,
A warm shower tonight
Brought temporarily relief
With little discomfort.

Contemplative: Calamine Lotion and Meaning

And so, the heat returns,
And I hunker down,
Waiting for my shingles
To heal;

Meanwhile, my adeptness at
Spreading calamine lotion
In the middle of my back
Improves daily,

I’m sure that
Will come in handy,
Along with my
Developing meditation skills,

Which I’ve had
Extra time to cultivate,
During this latest
Challenge to my physical health.

I never intended to become
A pain management pro,
Not that I had a plan
When I began, or perhaps I did,

For once I asked the question:
Where was I before?
And the answer:
“I was at peace,”

Which prompted:
“Why come here then?”
Which produced the reply:
“Because I wanted to share it.”

‘What foolishness!’ I concluded,
And after recalling this,
Went back to slathering on
The soothing lotion.

Contemplation: Nature

Tough day,
But the shingles
Are slowly healing.

Today’s method
Was concentration
On the breathing;

In addition to this,
Loving-kindness
Towards the virus,

Continuing to offer
Peace to this
Wayward creature,

That like every being
Merely seeks to exist
For as long as it can,
And to replicate itself
Like all life does.

But there is a balance
In this human being,
Between the human cells
And the countless others
All living together;

When this equilibrium
Is disturbed
Then a new harmony
Must be found,
A fresh homeostasis;

And so I wait
For the dust to settle,
Meanwhile patiently
Continuing to practice
For as often and as long
As I am able.

Contain: Easing

The shingles pain
Awakened me,
Early in the morning,
Burning and aching fiercely;

And so, I turned my gaze
Gently towards
The aversion triggered
By this scourge;

As I looked
At this resistance,
I inclined my mind
Towards relaxation;

Having loosened
The mind’s clinging,
I then turned
To the body’s state,

And finding tension,
Directed the body
To release the holding
In relation to the discomfort;

I then aimed kindness
At both body and mind,
Still having a rough time
Disentangling from the blaze,

But gradually
By softening mind and body
Against the unpleasant sensations,
Peace and ease replaced the distress.

Then finally I arose to
Take my medications,
Before settling down to rest
Once again for a time.

Construe: Mind Reading

In my previous entry
I seem to have anticipated the future,
For, speaking of interruptions,
Today I got a diagnosis:
Shingles
Is what I have;

I decided
To feed this daemon,
And so I asked it
What it wanted.

It said, “I want compassion,
I need respect;
Then, I will be at peace,
Then, I will go back to sleep.”

And so I fed this creature,
A large red pepper shaped being,
With blood shot eyes at its apex,
Until it was satisfied.

Where it disappeared,
Horse appeared,
To carry me, defend me,
And abide with me.

And so, I will continue to
Feed the virus to satisfaction,
Giving it all the peace
I can until it rests.

Peace
To this being,
Peace
To all beings,
May all beings
Find peace.

Constructively: Making Room

More sorting,
More discarding;
Lately, this is how
I spend my time off,

Measured in
File cabinets cleaned out,
Papers disposed of,
Shelves and floor de-cluttered.

It’s like a major operation,
A mission,
To get this place
In shape;

But, for what?
Moving perhaps?
Or my next
Great adventure?

That will have to wait
Until it comes;
For like all my decisions
I never really know the consequences,

This de-possessioning venture
Being only the latest
In a series of results;
Or maybe,

Something will interrupt me,
Some new crisis perhaps?
And so, I still need my practice
To help prepare for that too,

But until then,
This is it,
Unless I find something
More productive to do;
Meanwhile, the sifting continues.

Constructive: Pain Remedy

Low back pain
Has returned,
Distressing and unpleasant,
What a nasty sting!

The weather
Is the culprit
Once again,
As the humidity rises;

Breathing in
Breathing out
On the count of ten
Is my reply,

As being with breathing
Is less difficult
Than inhabiting
This acute pain in my side;

In the moment I abide,
Breath in the foreground,
All else in the background,
Yet my attention includes everything,

Broadly viewed
The entirety is here,
Reducing fear
And producing concentration,

The minutes passing by
In relative ease,
Though the pain increases
The suffering diminishes.

The world seen as a whole
Brings stability,
Like a rock I sit,
Holding my position,
Facing each passing second.

Constantly: Disconnection

Today I uncovered
Artifacts of my past,
By cleaning out
A box in the closet;

Friends I once had,
But where are they?
Only familiar and unfamiliar names
And addresses now;

This is what I found,
Underneath a box
Of maps and posters,
Memories recovered;

But where are these people?
All has collapsed
And cannot return,
Nothing left but a list,

The contrast between
That and this,
Then and now,
The depth of the difference;

The life I have now
Is unrecognizable by comparison.
I can’t go back,
Not that I’d really want to;

It’s so long ago,
I wouldn’t even know
Where to begin,
Here is where?

It’s difficult to believe
Mind-stretching to conceive,
Thus there’s naught to grieve,
As it was just as much a dream;
The connection has been cut.

Constant: Meandering

Nothing original today,
Merely more sewing
And more living,
Continuously doing.

The sauna-like heat
Of this summer’s day
Makes me sleepy,
And it’s only Monday.

I’d rather be
In someplace cool,
Lakeside or seaside
Or even by a pool.

It’s a good day for sitting,
And drinking cool beverages,
For stopping and resting,
Not for beating averages;

I feel rather stuck,
Not in a productive mood,
There are many tasks to complete
But instead I mainly brood.

Naught seems right,
But I’ve seen this previously,
You’d think I could pass by it
Rather than grumbling aversively;

How long, I wonder,
When will it make sense?
Sometimes it feels
Everything is at my expense,

But of course, that’s nonsense,
This foolishness must end,
A little effort is all that’s needed,
To rouse myself and attend
To what’s here for a time.

Consonant: Keeping On

Continuing to seek
Before mind,
And ending up
Patching clothing,

But it’s the same thing
Mundanely performed,
Peering between
The threads;

There is before mind
Here too, as everywhere else
Within the practical
Everyday tasks;

Herein lies the core,
All the answers
I am looking for,
Within these spaces too;

The texture
Of the cloth
Reveals
The fabric of reality.

Sitting and breathing afterwards,
Observing the present feeling,
Relief and release
From the need to do,

Which I would not feel
If I had not done
All the work
That came before,

All that hand sewing,
Which so wonderfully
Concentrated my attention,
Replacing a collar and mending,
And watching for before mind.

Consolidation: Before Mind

The place before mind
Is what I am seeking;
Not staying with words,
But abiding in between,

Not hanging out
With objects
But in the spaces;
This is my quest,

This is the reason
I keep starting over,
Striving to get back
To the beginning,

Looking for the time
Before mind,
The darkness
Before existence.

Once I tried to look beneath
My darkness,
And there I found light,
There I found bliss,

But where I need to go
Is beneath even that,
Back to the darkness
Back to before mind.

This is not denial of now,
But recognition;
That’s when I began
To clean this place:

Only after seeing
That before mind
Is the only location
From which
The fullness of life can be realized.

Consolation: Getting Things Done

No time for sadness,
It’s a luxury I can ill afford,
As I continue sifting
Through my possessions,

Not knowing where to begin,
I randomly moved about,
Vacuuming here,
Sorting and tossing there,

Washing and drying,
Clearing up and
Packing in
Wherever there was space,

No room for sorrow though;
I haven’t the time,
I have to keep going
No matter what the feeling.

This was my activity
For today,
Letting emotions float by
Without grabbing them,

Neither feeding them
Nor holding them,
Only beholding them,
As I moved from task to task;

But when I got tired
I did sit for a while,
Doing nothing in particular
Just being with everything.

As it came up,
I noticed sounds and sensations,
Eyes closed and then open,
Resting in the present moment
For a short time.

Consistent: Sweeping Away

Another day
Of cleaning up,
Sorting through
The collection of
A lifetime,

No sorrow today,
Just progress,
Making way
For living;

Nothing to give away,
Only discarding,
Increasing the
Outer spaciousness;

Imposing order outside,
From inside;
Setting aside
And letting go;

Cultivating
A pleasant space,
Where I can sit
In peace,

In clean and open
Surroundings,
With a pleasing view,
Of all around.

Now to sitting
In a different way,
Surveying the change
Before settling down,

Then meditating,
Breathing steadily
And enjoying the legroom,
After the broom.