Crest: Up the Mountain

After hours of tumult
Peace finding mind
Returns with metta,
And good wishes flow

Smoothing the disturbance,
Easing the distraught,
Bringing comfort
To the troubled,

Giving instead of taking,
Receiving instead of pushing away,
Filling up the empty space
With warmth and compassion;

The dark season is
On it’s way,
But the light
Is shining anyway,

Summer’s fading into autumn,
But in the coolness
Is tranquility,
In the darkness, serenity;

Soon twill be time
To light the bonfires,
Reap the harvest
And wrap the gifts,

Kindness rekindled
Once more
In its natural home,
The mind;

Wisdom is sure to follow
Even if only
For a short time,
Until the tempest
Re-forms.

Creditable: Not a Mug’s Game

As the black coffee mug
Has broken up,
Demonstrating its impermanence,
I’ve switched to another,

But I’ve always
Used this one for tea,
And so I keep thinking
It contains tea.

How odd to keep expecting tea
And tasting coffee;
From whence did this idea arise,
And why can’t I abandon it?

Perhaps this is merely
A form of grasping;
I certainly feel
Some irritation or aversion here.

It seems
Somewhat ridiculous,
For isn’t a mug
Just a mug?

And the alternate one’s better too,
As it more easily holds
The desired volume of water,
Thus reducing the risk of spills;

But still,
I miss the old one,
And surely this is
A kind of stickiness,

Only a little suffering,
But it all adds up,
Yet also a good opportunity
To apply a kindly nonjudgmental attitude
To the study of clinging.

Credible: A Simple Matter

I poured hot water
Into the coffee mug,
And it cracked in two!

The first I knew
Was coffee leaking
All over the countertop,
And my fingers flew
To move the cup into the sink.

Oh, my beautiful cup,
The one I received
For some work well done,
Shall I save it?

I threw it out at once
Then decided to retrieve it,
And in the process
Slashed my thumb
On the sharp edges;

Now it lies
Atop the toaster oven
In two pieces,
And I cannot decide what to do with it.

This gift of accomplishment
Is related to
A current goal,
And so I asked,
‘What does this mean?’

Is it a bad sign,
A good omen,
A simple case of
Poor quality and frequent use,
Or even merely a matter of,
Sometimes a broken cup
Is just a broken cup?

Crease: Bloodstream in the Word Stream

There’s always
So much to say,
But how foolish to try
With one’s mouth full
Of toasted cheese, tomato,
Cucumber, and sweet red pepper
Sandwich!

Better to pay attention,
For if I had been,
I probably would not
Have stabbed the left knuckle
Of my middle finger with the knife
When I was cutting
The plastic off the English cucumber.

I never expected
Such a continuous stream of blood;
Luckily, the fruit flies
That have been
So busily invading
My building lately
Aren’t bloodsuckers.

Once again, it’s time for bed,
The knife is washed and stowed,
The bread and vegetables refrigerated;
All is quiet on the kitchen front,
Except for the compressor
Kicking over now and then,
On this very humid night.

Mindfully, I notice what’s about,
In between seeing and hearing
The tapping of the keys
Beneath my fingers,
Occasionally checking on
The bloody knuckle,
To ensure it’s going to settle,
But then, ‘oh wait, I forgot to eat some fruit!’

Creamy: Stream of Mind

How changeable
This weather is,
Outside
And inside,

As awakened by restlessness,
Steeped in fatigue,
Pedaling on the exercise bike
Brought some relief,

But followed soon
By sadness and grief
For so many losses,
And micro-catastrophes,

Then the tasks
Of the day,
Drew me out
Of this self-centeredness,

Peppers for sale,
Fresh tomatoes,
Fresh cider,
And broccoli,

What a beautiful day,
The warm sun,
The people,
The sights and sounds,

Back to the kitchen
To stow my groceries,
And then more reflection
More sorrow,

But this time
Tinged with peace
And understanding
Of life as it is.

Crashing: Stuck on the Wheel

So full of ill will
And aversion,
But I feel
I’m repeating myself here,

Rolling over and over
Like an alligator
Grasping and throttling
Its prey,

Or thrashing about
Like a bull
Caught in the
Gator’s grip,

Irrevocably locked together
In a desperate struggle
To eat or
To avoid being eaten;

And so, I too
Pursue the water wheel around,
Up and down,
Foaming up the waters,

I can’t seem to stop,
But keep coming back
To this,
Over and over again;

What restlessness
Is driving me
So insistently, persistently
And to what end?

Where will it take me?
Or, is it to be merely
An incessant repetition,
For as long as
This being is?

Covering: Another Step

Interesting developments,
Or not,
Can’t tell which way
The wind is blowing,

Efforts to stay present
Not very successful,
But trying to learn
From this experience;

Looking ahead,
Is way too tiring,
Hence my attempt
Is to let go,

To relax into
Familiar activities,
Resting in each task,
Staying with it:

This task
Is the only task,
This goal
The only goal,

And then
Onto
The next one,
And on,

Steady on
For as long
As I can
Maintain the pace,

But no race,
No rush,
Just one step
Followed by another.

Coverage: On Going

Second thoughts
Plague me,
Logic sways me,
Intuition weighs on me;

Oh, what a lot
Of “me”ing;
Time to remind:
It’s not me, not mine.

Then interest and curiosity
Moderate aversion,
Practicality reduces
The urge to flee into the unknown,

Or is the unknown
Still here,
In front of me?
Most likely.

Steeped in delusion
Too, I’d guess,
Will the fog
Ever clear?

And when it does
What will be there?
How’s that
For suspense?

So intense,
So full of energy,
Considering
How exhausted.

Enough speculation!
Time to do laundry,
And prepare for bed,
Goodnight,
And metta to all.

Courageous: Truth or Dare

Woke up
Way too early,
But what a beautiful
Morning,

Not much pain,
Feels good to move,
Determined to
Enjoy it.

Cotton batten clouds
Marching steadily
Above tall towers,
And wind-stirred tree-leaves,

A fabulous scene;
I witness it
And am an
Integral participant;

The winds of change
May blow today too,
As I consider
My future,

Looking ahead
The waters are muddy,
So hard to decide
Where to go next,

A rest is in order
But how to get it?
Is it even possible
From where I’m at?

I wonder and deliberate;
Perhaps it’s a jump
Or a flying great leap,
But I won’t know for sure
Unless I take it.

Courage: Steady On

A day of surprises
And unexpected turns
In the road,
Heavy and light is the load,

Present moments
Punctuated by punctures,
From sharp objects
Hidden amongst the clutter,

Pitfalls and potholes
On the trail
Producing mayhem,
Leading to

Loss and gain,
Elation and despondency,
Fruitful reflection
And pointless rumination;

Feeling oppressed
And wondering
How not to be,
How can such freedom be?

How can I find that
Within this predicament?
Back to practice, is it?
But I don’t feel like it!

I’d rather rage, or run away
Or forget about it,
But I can’t forget,
And I can’t get out.

To examine the details
Would be too tedious,
So I just gaze ahead
Negotiating the trail mindfully,
Struggling to steady my rickety vehicle as it goes.

Countless: Wordplay

The rain
Keeps falling
Inside and outside,
Business as usual;

No new words,
And yet
More words
Keep coming anyway,

Continuously they flow
Every day,
But what can words do
Against such obstacles?

Perhaps
If I knew
It would make
All the difference,

Or perhaps
Even now,
Somehow
It does,

Otherwise why pursue this?
Especially as
My spelling seems to
Worsen daily;

Could it be
Just force of habit,
The reassurance
Of one’s own voice,

A familiar voice,
But whose?
There is sound
And then it goes,
Resolving into silence.

Counterparts: Teachers and Students

Reflecting upon
The relationship
Between Dharma teachers
And their students,

I considered
How to describe
What I have so far
Observed and experienced,

Thinking,
Just as the proximity
Of flowers to each other
Affects how they grow,

So to, when one engages
In an interaction,
And a dialogue
About the Dharma,

The pattern of unfolding
Of teacher and student
Is altered, in accordance with
Their natures;

Each attempt to communicate,
The exchange of views
Influences the outcome
For each participant;

The results of
This interchange
Lead to more discussion
And so, both flowers grow,

Sometimes battered
By wind and rain,
But nevertheless, still standing
At the end of the storm.

Counterfeit: Mistaken Identity

Busyness
In the mind,
Idleness
In the fingers,

Until one
External pinprick
Triggered
A flood of reactions,

Overwhelmed and restless,
Waking early into aversion,
Only to find potential good news,
For which, naturally I was unprepared;

Stumbling and fumbling,
And probably making mistakes
That I don’t see;
How typical,

How monotonous
Is the progression of
The conditioned pattern,
The standard reactions;

And yet,
Through these moments,
The unconditioned
Is said to be found,

Coexisting, they reside together
Inseparably intermingled,
What a shame I failed to notice,
Became lost and behaved unskillfully;

But at least, I later
Recalled my absorption,
Realized my distraction,
Saw how my aversion
Blinded me.

Counterbalance: Changing Sides

Finally,
Another rushing day,
After so long
Waiting for cool weather;

Heat slows me down,
But coolness
Sends me racing
And accomplishing;

Fall’s approaching,
Soon will be time again
For autumn tasks;
Nothing lasts,

Yet seasons somehow
Come round again,
Though never
Quite the same;

Not much sitting today,
And rather disorientating
After so many days
Of being enclosed,

More inner oriented,
Self-contained
Behind closed walls,
Yet, looking outwards too,

Investigating the scene,
Not sure where
I’m going now
Or where I’ve been,

Or whether I’m
Even moving at all,
Or just
Imagining
The whole thing.

Counteraction: Impermanence

My entry for today is based on a brief reflection upon the following:

"Among humans, these things, namely,
Gain, loss, status, disrepute, blame, praise, pleasure, and pain
Naturally are impermanent, uncertain, and liable to change.
The wise, ever mindful, understand these things
And contemplate them as always shifting and changing.
Thus, delightful things cannot oppress their minds,
They have no reaction to disagreeable things,
They have abandoned all liking and disliking (for worldly
concerns).
Further, they know the path of nirvana, dust-free and without
sorrow,
They have reached the other shore of existence and know this
correctly."*


Recently, I found this very helpful, when I was experiencing a great sense of loss. In particular, I considered the question, how could a loss be impermanent? What I found when I looked deeply into this question and deeply into my sense of loss amazed me, and enabled me, first to soften towards it and then to let go of it, at which point it dissolved. For anyone who would like to know what I found, I invite you to try it out for yourselves and see what happens.











*Anguttara Nikaya, Pathamalokadhamma Sutta (Sutta5), Metta Vagga (ch. 1), Atthakanipaata, Cited in Chödrön, Thubten, Chapter 5, Marketing the Dharma, In Hooked! Buddhist Writings on Greed, Desire, and the Urge to Consume, Edited by Stephanie Kaza, Boston & London: Shambhala 2005, p. 74.

Countenance: Playing

Ah, the marvelous monotony
Of daily life;
Drinking coffee,
I examine the liquid,

And the reflection
In the liquid
Fills me
With wonder;

I fill a Styrofoam cup
With water and place it
In the microwave
To heat it for tea,

And from somewhere unknown,
Happiness overflows
Into this seemingly
Ordinary task;

Then I realize,
I forgot to mix up
Some milk
From the powder,

But in place of
My usual irritation
Experience joyous amazement,
At how this could be so;

What is happening?
Where did this come from?
How long will it last?
I do not know.

But after a while
I forget about that,
And simply notice,
Study
And appreciate thoroughly.

Coterminous: Against the Wall

No matter
How many times
I see clearly,
I go blind again.

Even though
I’ve seen repeatedly how
Facing pain
Leads to bliss,

How confronting disgust
Proceeds through
To neutrality,
And release,

Over-confidence
Leads to despondency
And depression,
And back out once more,

Into happiness,
Even euphoria,
And deep
Contentment;

I keep forgetting,
And stumbling around
In the dark,
Yet again,

Until I find my balance,
Only to lose it,
Or forget about it
Until the next misstep.

But perhaps this is merely
What is meant by continually
Discovering and rediscovering
One’s beginner’s mind,
Or at least, my particular version.

Costumed: Reality in Disguise

Through this moment
Everything is found;
Looking in the mirror
Or a still pool of water,

We may forget the glass
And the water,
But they are
Part of the scene,

Their essence
Is integral
To the view
We see,

And the apparatus
Of our eyes
Is a major ingredient,
As well as the brain;

None is independent
Of the other;
All are indispensable
For creating the picture;

And, through this image,
The other sensations
And impressions,
We find happiness and freedom,

For they dwell
Right before us
In each moment
We experience,

And although we may need to go
Many places in our busy day,
There’s really
No place else to go
To find our heart’s desire.

Corroboration: Meeting the Breath

Migraine brings
Too many images,
Too much going on,
All at once;
Can’t focus,

Resorted to
Settling into
One object:
Sensations
Of the breathing,

From top to bottom;
Completely in,
And all the way out,
Centred in the whole abdomen,

Attention anchored,
Letting all other
Sensations go,
Was the only method
That stabilized this mind;

Resting on a single
Set of processes,
Feeling the pleasant
Of the rippling muscles,

Pulling in the air
And releasing it;
Such joy in this simple motion;
How incredible!

Can’t imagine
Anyplace else
I’d rather be
Than with this,
As it is,
Right here
Right now.

Corridor: What’s Happening

There’s been a lot happening:
Grief mixed with comforting,
Insight infused with equanimity;
Like watching a movie,
The images flow so fast,
Time is meaningless;

Equanimity brings joy,
Leading to amazement at
The intensity of emotions,
Which nevertheless
Change so swiftly,
Seeming hard as concrete,
But disappearing abruptly,
And just as quickly replaced.

‘Where do they come from?’
I asked,
And I had no idea;
How is it that these
Seemingly solid feelings
Vanish so fast?

How incredible
That the processes
Of this body
Give rise to such intense
Sensations.

How is it that
This is so?
From whence does
This experience originate?

I know something of the physiology,
But this doesn’t mitigate
The wonder
Of the texture, the depth
Or the richness of this moment;
And, that each moment is equally infinite.

Correspondence: Fascinating

Examining the cage again,
Looking around,
Amazed by every detail,
Fascinated by all
I see.

It’s hard to describe,
But how extraordinary,
Thunder and lightening,
Wow! What a show.

Pouring rain,
Thick cloud
Like a fog,
An awesome storm barrels through;

Meanwhile,
The mundane activity
Carries on indoors,
As I continue with my chores;

It’s business as usual
And yet unusual,
All the same
And everything new;

Each day a new thing,
Each day the same old;
How wondrous,
How ordinary;

How repetitive
I’m getting;
How do I do that
Time and time again?

What fun!
And how is it that
My life can be so interesting,
And so boring?

Correlation: Reframing

Moving around
And sitting,
Exercising
And bathing the itchy skin,

Feels like a cage
I’m examining,
The repetitive routines,
I seem to be stuck in;

Nevertheless, I see no alternative
But to keep looking
And keep going
On my weary way,

Through whatever it is
I’m going through,
Enjoying the scenery
Whenever there’s an opportunity;

At least that leisure
Is an option
From time to time,
In between exertions,

Regularly, throughout the day
I get to look out
From this vantage point
And notice what’s here,

And how it feels
To be here,
Which is difficult to describe
And even harder to explain;

It hurts my brain
To try to elaborate,
But I will try:
I feel closer to everything
And yet further away.

Correctly: Coming and Going

On the way home
From the market,
I saw a single Monarch butterfly,
Which can mean only one thing:

Autumn is not far away,
For tis the season of
The great Monarch migration,
To the south;

What a wonderful sight!
Especially as I can’t recall
When last I saw
Such a patterned black/orange beauty,

A fleeting flash of colour,
Fluttering up and down
On the air currents
Of a warm August afternoon;

Fly little winged one,
Fly strongly, fly well,
Carrying my best wishes
On your delicate wings:

One for compassion,
The other for wisdom,
Not one, not two,
Or so I’ve heard;

They come and go
So swiftly
These precious moments,
When I feel so alive,

So connected,
It’s hard to believe
That “I” too
Is so short-lived,
But there it is—impermanence.

Correction: Whirlwind

Zest for life
Exploded abruptly in me tonight;
Not sure of the cause,
But whoa, what a force!

It might have been the weather,
Or the shingles healing progress;
Don’t know how long this will last
Could be gone fast;

Nevertheless, it’s interesting to see
How I get so grabbed
By whatever mood or emotion
That barrels through,

One after the other,
And I’m getting caught
On them all;
But at least I can see,

Although I can’t
Seem to do anything about it,
Only watch and learn
What odd twists and turns,

How blinded,
How stuck in it,
How curious,
How disconcerting!

The effect is so strong,
It alters all aspects,
Leads me to doubt,
To ask, 'who is this?

What is this happening now
That seems so real,
So concrete and sure
But breaks up so easily
Whenever the conditions change?'

Corralled: Shut Out, Shut In

Caught up in thinking
And talking
And then just plain lost,
Shaky and fatigued,

The one constant
Being the renovations
That keep coming and coming,
And no end in sight;

Just when I think
It’s finally over
A new round starts up,
Doesn’t this guy ever get fed up?

I bet he does,
But we all
Have to earn
A living somehow;

Nevertheless, how frustrating that just when
The hot weather eased
And I could finally
Go outside,

He’s moved his machine
To the balcony,
So I have to choose
Between relative quiet and fresh air.

I chose the former
And got on with
Some noisy work
I had to do,
In self-defense
Against his insistent brouhaha.

Corpus: On My Mind

I was ready
To give up on mindfulness,
Until I remembered
Tara,

In the form of
A voice in my head
Calling my name,
As if she needed me;

How clever,
For how could one
Who’s occupation involves helping others
Ignore such a request?

I sat and visualized
Her across from me
In the usual place,
Inviting her to sit with me,

My resolve strengthened
And I was able to meditate,
Steadied by the perception of
Tara’s presence and her image;

Something worthwhile to investigate
Had indeed arisen,
And I set about
Noting all

Of what was present,
Whether pleasant
Or unpleasant,
Without judging or rejecting it.

Upon consideration of these events,
I take this as
A demonstration of
The mind’s power
To lead the body back home.

Corpulence: In the Way

Steeped in sadness
At the close of the day;
Waiting for answers?
Or maybe just waiting;

Wading though
A flock of dreams
And pushing them aside,
Making room for what?

What’s in between?
I can’t quite see,
Practical considerations
Crowd them out.

Once I thought
I saw something valuable,
But now
I’m not so sure;

Where does one go
When all is so obscured,
Or could the darkness itself
Be my object?

Once I thought it was
But I can’t see it now,
And I’m not certain
There’s anything there;

It’s just life
You see;
That’s all
That’s happening,

And with
Such a life as this,
Is there anything
Worth examining?
Perhaps that comes later.

Corpse: Ashes to Ashes

Day of doubt,
Roaming in the forest
Totally lost
But found,

Veering in
A new direction,
One followed before,
But see no other option

Than looking back towards
The old ways,
As the new path
Appears faulty or blocked,

Or maybe
It never was,
Except in my delirious
Imaginings,

Desperately concocted
In the depths
Of a frantically
Seeking mind;

No regrets, however,
Except for
Could have been,
Should have been
But was withheld;

For what reason?
I see none
That makes any sense,
But perhaps that’s just
The nature of doubt.

Corporeal: Body of Suffering

Itching kept me up
For parts of the night;
Blast the wretched shingles!
And a pox on this humid air!

Steeped in negativity:
Is it the situation,
Or the medication?
I don’t even care!

Then up came an email
Advising me of another
Mediation course,
‘Should I sign up?

Why not!’ I decided,
And felt better immediately,
How silly,
But I’ll take what I can get.

And then I got up,
And got some work done,
Cooked supper
And enjoyed it.

What to conclude?
I’m not sure,
Something to
Look forward to perhaps?

Meanwhile,
This itching and burning
Is still driving me nuts;
I may try a bath,

To see if I can
Drown this hellish plague;
Possibly I’ll take a book
And stay there,
Until it freezes over.

Corollary: A Little Break

Fifteen minutes to go
For the calamine lotion
To dry, solidify
Then this body goes to bed,

Ah, another opportunity
To meditate,
Instead of doing
Any other action or inaction,

But really
I only sat silently
And closed my eyes
And enjoyed the relative quiet;

Then I opened my eyes
Looking at nothing
In particular,
Just appreciating the experience,

Nothing fancy,
No intentional mindfulness
Of breathing
Or anything else;

Simply sitting,
Not thinking of anything
Nor trying not to think,
Neither attempting to achieve,

No expectations
Were attached
To this temporary reprieve
From life’s fast-pace race;

Going no place
I merely gently face
Whatever is here,
Without judgment or regret,
Being in the chair and not there.

Corny: Something Like That

Oh, what a day it’s been!
From raging to exercising,
From cooking to writing,
It’s been a blur.

The mind seems on fire
And the furniture
Is making a lovely flame,
Hot blue, red and yellow;

It crackles furiously,
While the weather outside
Heats up anew,
We’re in for another bout;

Humidity arises,
And coolness wanes,
Thinking, thinking
Speeds up too;

I expect a migraine’s
Headed my way
And it may be
A big one, ew!

That’s all
I have to say,
As I’ve a lot more work
To do before the end of day.