Earnest: Keeper

Soft evening;
Rain-freshened air,
Cooling and pleasant,
Time to be present,

Sitting with the body
With all its discomforts;
Sinking into the cushion.
Harkening to a robin’s twittering,

Coming back in
To sensations arising,
Drifting dreamily
And returning, eyes opening;

Examining the gray carpet
Of the group sitting room,
Letting go of seeing,
Feeling nothing in particular.

Footsteps far away,
Reminder of a busy day;
Reflections on what’s past;
Floating off and re-engaging,

Attention seeking;
Finding it again
And losing it;
With it and without it;

Finally standing up
In search of a more stable view,
Swaying gently,
Left-right-left, back-forward-back;

Resorting to slow walking
Before settling back into the cushion,
Ringing the bell
Because it’s time
And tonight I’m the keeper.

Eagerness: Making Connections

From the trackless void
Spring overflows,
Green explosion,
Magnificent abundance;

Squirrels dance and forage,
Pigeons peck at tidbits,
The dog walkers
Are out in force,

Picking up after
Their pooches
And generally enjoying
The warm fresh air;

Meanwhile, I simply sit
Above the city streets,
Part of all of it
And observing quietly;

Calmly drinking in
The busy scene
And the tranquil bits
In between;

Breathing in
And feeling the pain
Of the aching muscles
All over the body,

And yet,
The ease continues unabated
Amidst the discomfort
Of the Fibromyalgia;

Aching in the spine and toes,
Where the arthritis lives and grows,
Provoked by another weather front coming in,
Reminding me of the interconnectedness of everything.

Eagerly: Ordinary Enthusiasm

Gentle pen
Slides over the paper,
Barely touching,
Fingers adjusting,

A micro-world
Unto itself,
Hand, plastic and metal
Function as one,

And yet my fibro-fumble
Slows the pace
And distorts the letters
On the page,

Difficult to read
And low on speed
But feels right
In the dim light;

Scratching away,
Life at play,
Leaning into the game,
The eternal lane,

Slipping across
The wood fiber highway,
Whose substance once
Grew from a planted tree.

Remarkable combinations
Arise spontaneously,
Just like the words,
Flying up freely.

Not sure where this is leading,
Or where it originated
But great fun
And better than ever.

Duly: Mindful Outing

So good to be out
On a warm spring evening,
Strolling along
For no particular reason;

Observing life on the street:
Pigeons cooing and flapping,
Squirrels scampering and chirping,
Tails flailing in the trees;

Then up comes a breeze,
Stirring up the dirt,
People and cars are passing,
Clouds are massing.

Dropped by a dollar store
To purchase light bulbs, oatmeal and lemon juice,
But the line was so long
I gave up and left.

And so, as the night sets in,
I head for home,
Stowing my empty backpack
In the usual corner;

Removing my jacket
And throwing it over
The bundle buggy
That sits by the door,

Kicked off my joggers,
Changed into my lounging clothes,
Removed some leftovers
From the fridge,

Put the stew on to reheat
And enjoyed a mindful moment,
Breathing in and out,
Watching and learning from everything;
The microwave beeps, signaling supper is done.

Drumming: Keeping Pace

Working by flashlight
Because my head aches
Too much for the overhead lamps,
As the weather sea-saws
In a spring/summer dance;

My eyes are swollen
And my sinuses stuffed
And I’m so dizzy
I can barely stand up!

But lying down
Just dampens my mood further,
So it’s better to work
On something diverting;

This storm will pass,
Whether I attend or not;
This problem has no solution,
So I endeavour to ignore it.

Calmly I await
While plodding steadily,
Wading through each chore,
One at a time,

Thoroughly absorbed,
Forgetting the background,
Concentrated
On every job done;

Pausing only to consider
What comes next,
Before plunging into action,
Embracing the distraction.

How wondrous to move,
How blessed to feel;
Mesmerizing motion,
Magical sensation.

Drops: Water Wisdom

Finally settled
For a cold glass of water,
Slakes the thirst
Without disturbing the temper,

Crystal display,
Free flowing portrait,
Daughter of the stream
Of life’s mighty ocean;

Essential to existence
As we know it;
Keeper of the dream,
Portal to the illusion;

Rushing down my throat
To join the inner flow,
Dropping on through
And back to the lake

And so, it escapes,
To be scooped up once more,
By pipes or air
Or from clouds to pour;

So full of power
And totally free,
It has no need of me
And no pursuers to flee;

Always at home,
Whether steam, liquid or ice,
Relaxed and at ease,
Yet knowing nothing of these,

Flexible enough
To take on the form
Of a cup
And fill it up,
Without thought or hesitation.

Drooping: Losing Steam

Silver flashes
Across the mind,
Followed by
Some quiet time,

Energy dropping
Below the horizon,
Tired of flying
Above the cloudbank;

Drifting downward
Towards the earth,
Like a spent bird
Seeking a safe perch,

Sitting softly
Feather’s preening,
Watching as
The sun sits gleaming,

Wrapped in clouds,
The golden ball sinks,
Off to shine
Upon unknown precincts;

I could look them up
On a map
But would really prefer
To take a nap!

But instead of that
I have to get to work,
So no more daydreaming
Or metaphors streaming;

If I could
Stay at home, however,
It would not likely
Make things any better,
So I’d best get up and get there.

Drinking: Absorption

The “true” mind
(Whatever that means!),
The default option,
Makes no distinctions:

It knows nothing
Of problems,
Is completely ignorant of solutions,
Has no notion of failure or success.

This is its natural state,
The awakened state
Of pure, something-or-other-ness,
That which is indescribable,

From here
It sees
But does not know;
It only looks,

It is this mind
Which sees no problems
And no solutions
But is also shy and elusive,

Nobody knows its name
And so, they just label it
“Mind”
And get back to work,

Weeding the garden
Or food shopping,
Walking the dog
Or washing the car,

Nothing to bother about,
No worries,
Business as usual,
Getting on with things.

Drilling: Seeking Further

So, once satisfaction
Is obtained
What then?
What’s all the fuss?

Compassion arises
Towards all the world,
For which
There is no solution

But one
Has to try,
For that’s
How it goes,

We still
Need a problem
To solve,
No matter how impossible;

Tis our nature,
It seems,
To always be seeking
Solutions and applying these;

This futility
Knows no bounds
But it’s okay,
Just what we do;

It feels so good
To make the effort;
And without stress
We’d all be droopy noodles!

It’s the way of all beings
To pursue,
Even when
Nothing will do.

Drill: Penetrating Sense or Nonsense?

On one sunny Saturday
These words came to me,
Which may well be baloney
Or could be true—you decide:

That as there is
No solution to
All the suffering
There is no problem.

But how can this be?
The argument goes
That problems imply
Solutions,

And furthermore,
Solutions suggest problems
But if there is no solution
Then there can be no problem.

The Four Noble Truths
Is a paradox
That cannot be solved
And hence points to a non-solution;

It is as if
We are solutions
Seeking problems,
But these are not separate things,

Thus to see the complete
Is all that’s needed,
And then
Craving can be conquered.

“Huh?” You ask, “But how?”
By satisfaction, naturally,
Which only requires
The decision to be satisfied,
Abandoning this futile non-problem-solving drive.

Driftwood: Work Music

Did I dream it?
Or, did we
Just have a debate
About

Who is responsible
For putting the
Telephone equipment away
At the end of the shift?

And on my way home,
It came to me, a vision of the future:
I’m the last one out
And I hear the phone ringing,

I pick up the receiver, and “Hey you!
This is the phone speaking,
I’m certifiable,
Put me away!”

“Are you talking to me?
I gasp, goggle-eyed.
“Do you see any other
‘Hey yous,’ around here?”

I glance about suspiciously
Looking for ‘me impersonators,’
“Nope,”
“Well then?” squawks the handset accusingly,

And so, I disconnect,
Replace the receiver on the cradle,
Gingerly grasp the now disarmed demon,
Stow it and double check the cabinet is locked,

I then attempt to simultaneously
Walk out nonchalantly but as fast as possible,
Without looking back,
Glad of the narrow escape!

Drifting: Observing the Flow

Street noises
Break the silence,
Accentuating the stillness
Within the busyness,

Soft sounds
Penetrate the hard ones,
Showing off the connectivity
Underlying the opposites,

Beeping and squeaking,
Droning and clanking;
Cars and bikes,
Planes and copters;

The low hum
Of computers and compressors
Against the roar
Of motorcycles and trucks;

Water dripping slowly from
An ailing faucet
Against horns honking
And the swish of vehicles passing by.

A voice on the phone
Asking for information,
Tinnitus in the ears,
In between words

All of this interleaved
Coming and going
In a continuous flow,
From and to where I don’t know

Past and present,
Merging into one moment,
Air expanding and contracting
And interacting.

Drift: Pondering a Paradox

After that desert fun,
Avoiding the sun,
Crouching in the dark,
Blinds drawn against the glare;

Feeling safe unknown,
Letting an unbidden rage fly
Until it runs dry
But continues simmering quietly.

Carpet beetle on the floor,
With gentle hands
Delicately scooped it up
And deposited it outside;

But then came the thought
Of how amidst the vile mood
Compassed ruled action anyway,
Such a contradiction!

What does it mean
That kindness
Cohabits with hostility?
Or so it seems,

One discovered
Hiding amidst the other maybe,
Triggered by
A tiny insect,

As if it crossed my path
To remind me
Of the other half
Of reality’s game;

Nastiness and compassion,
Living alongside
Without clashing,
How this can be
Remains to me a mystery.

Dregs: River Rascals

Wild ride
Down the Nile,
Making like
A crocodile,

Grinning wickedly
While hunting
For prey
And swimming powerfully;

Disguised as a log,
Breathing imperceptibly
Nostrils only slightly
Above the flood,

A meditation posture
With a bite,
On shore creatures
Spooked in flight,

The smart ones
Staying away,
The foolhardy becoming
The dish of the day;

Clever and wise,
Mara and Buddha at once,
Menacing mentor,
Treacherous teacher,

Makes one prefer
One’s own devices,
Sticking with
The do-it-yourself perils,

Shunning the swirling waters,
Hiding unknown hazards,
Dragons of the deep
That from the river creep
To bask in the sun’s heat.

Dredged: Rocking the Boat

Wild commotion
Nerve jarring air motion
Free flowing chaos
Stirs my molecules into a mess.

How to go with it?
No, it’s too difficult
But setting limits
Takes quite a few attempts,

Spontaneous action
More arduous than necessary
Needing no accessory
The aftermath steams.

Putting on the kettle
To get some mellow;
Hot cools
Reclining smoothly,

Requiring a rest
From all this fuss;
Too much energy
Engulfs and overwhelms us,

The ocean swells
Knocking over the teapot
Spilling black liquid
Which dribbles onto the deck

But no shipwreck
As the boat is sturdy
Even when the planks are dirty
And the sky is murky.

Mind in a muddle
Examining the tea puddle,
Returning to breath
To seal the breach;
What a relief!

Dreamy: Metta Weather

Sweet afternoon
Not a care in the world
Drifting in solitude
Drinking in the sun,

Airplanes overhead
Making wispy trails
Scooting somewhere
Melodiously droning,

Birds sail past
Resting on the wind
Some carrying twigs
With which to build their nests,

While I sit
Counting breaths
Inhaling happiness
Exhaling loving kindness,

Sending metta wishes
To all places
Whatever their season
Monsoons or blizzards even,

May all beings
Be safe and well
At ease
And at peace,

Let no danger find them
Nor chains bind them
May they all be free
And clearly see,

May their paths lead straight
To Nirvana’s gate
Or if not
Be pleasant and scenic.

Dreamlike: All Sewn Up

Mind on
Fabric and thread,
Sewing patches on
In my head;

From trying to
Make my clothes last,
Force of habit
From being low on cash;

How would I know
How to shop now?
It’s been so long
Since I bought anyhow!

I guess there’s
A first time for everything,
Beginner’s mind,
That’s the thing!

Then there’s the time
And there never
Seems to be enough,
That too makes it tough.

To have a tailor,
Now, that would be fine!
Made to order clothes,
Best fit would be mine!

Better than wearing bed sheets,
To be sure,
Although,
Perhaps not so pure;

But makes
Less of stir,
Walking down the street
And provides more even coverage.

Dreaming: What’s Void?

Quiet time,
Waiting for
Some new work
To come in,

Gentle breeze flows
Through the window,
Somebody whistling nearby,
High pitch colours the night;

Easy to think,
‘Everything is void,’
When it’s
Like this

But what’s thinking?
And who?
Can’t get that
Figured out.

Then irritation rises
In response to
That loud whistler
And attention turns one-pointed,

Yet,
That whistle is
Void
And that irritation too;

But what good does that do?
None at all, I expect,
So then, what the heck
Is the point of all that?

Can I see it now?
For there’s nowhere else I can,
Not sure
But perhaps that’s good.

Dreaminess: Seeking Relief

Take me home!
I’ve had enough!
Too tired to steer,
Too sleepy to see clearly;

Yet, no time for rest,
So much yet to do,
Before I can
Really relax,

Dreaming of relief,
While steaming ahead,
Stumbling a little
And longing for bed;

Planning a holiday
In my mind,
Not knowing when
Or how to unwind,

Too exhausted to decide,
Too weary to say,
It must be time
To remember how to play;

It starts easily enough,
Form the toes it wiggles,
Turns into a dance,
A silly jiggle,

Cavorting to the kitchen,
Giggly and fizzy,
Feeling lazy and dizzy
But nonetheless getting busy;

Cooking and cleaning furiously,
Working up to a tizzy,
Even though I’m reeling
From fatigue and confusion
And I’d rather be dozing.

Dreamer: Caught on Irritability

“Have some writing to do,”
That’s what I said
To one of those people,
You know the ones,
Don’t you?

Who chatter ceaselessly
And it’s all about them,
Nothing substantial,
Perhaps only blowing wind,

What does he want?
I confess,
I was too tired to request,
Too busy to pursue,

If he’d give me a hand,
Perhaps we’d have time for two
But even then,
Idle blab gets old,

Like the incessant chirping
Of a sparrow,
Even that gets on my nerves,
In this frame of mind,

In which case,
Maybe that’s it,
Just overtiredness
And need some pick-me-up.

Whatever is required,
Sure hope it’s located soon,
It’s well past afternoon
And not ending;

Have to pull out the patience
And rummage through the mind,
For some sense of humour
To lighten the gloom.

Dream: Reveling in the Seeing

Nothing original
But everything new,
From a certain point of view,
And yet nothing can be gained,

It’s always the same,
Until we forget
And examining simplicity
Are filled with glee,

The swirl of tea
In the mug,
The pattern of the sunlight
On the carpet;

These marvels
Appear and disappear,
Leaving no trace,
No aftertaste;

Looking at the shadow
Made by the pen in hand
And the hand,
Gliding across the paper,

Where this really comes from,
No science can explain
This subjective dream
As it too is part of the scheme,

The endless game
Of here and not here,
Gone in a heartbeat
And back in a flash,

Never imagining
I’d see it this way
And yet
Somehow,
Always knowing it.

Drawn: Pulled in Many Directions

In the quiet space
In between races,
Soaking up the solitude,
Feeling safe and calm,

These days fly along,
So I lose track,
Mixing up Days
And stuff like that.

Hot and cold,
Spring-like,
Coming along,
Seeking it’s own rhythm,

So I drink in
This rare interlude,
Before the next run
At all that needs to be done;

There’s a time for energy
And another for serenity
Or perhaps they can meet
One within the other;

Indeed this makes sense,
For how can they be apart?
To feel one,
One must know the other

Tranquil vigour
Infuses everything,
Even when
We’re one-sided,

Our perspective
Somehow seems to exclude,
Not sure how that works
Or what’s its purpose.

Drawback: Returned to Patient Application of Effort

The other shoe
Has dropped once more,
As lack of sleep
From unknown cause

But no worries
Because this too is spontaneous
And as it has arisen
So it shall pass through,

Meanwhile,
Patience is overdue
For another spin
To settle in,

Watching the breath
And its assorted companions
As they flit about
Playfully,

Like fireflies
On a hot night
Reveling in
Their brief existence,

While I
(Whoever that may be)
Observes with fascination
The unfolding game,

Never the same
But still a consistent pattern,
Light and dark,
Life and death,

Up and down,
Outward and inward bound,
Running and stopping in place,
Always eager for the chase
And the quiet space in between.

Dozing: Resting in Activity

Drifting off
To sleep
But felt cold in the toes
And Aching arthritic feet;

Tried metta,
Tried wiggling
And ankle circles,
Leg shaking and rolling

But I needed to keep going
To make the heat return,
This vigorous occupation
Continued because it’s voluntary,

Caring spontaneously
Because it doesn’t have to be,
There’s no particular reason
For anything and so here it is,

Free flowing
And generous,
Inexhaustible
And endless,

Then the warmth percolated,
The blood vessels opening
In response to the stimulation,
The comfort returning

And so, the effort let go,
Replaced by enjoyment of
The pleasant results;
Finally, just on the way to sleep,

Lying and floating in
Nothing doing
And yet everything doing,
Forgetting all,
Until the morning.

Downy: Silken Bedding

Falling precipitously
But landing softly
On a bed of flowers
Strewn about,

Fragrant and sweet,
Gentle and delicate,
The air wafting
Over them silkily;

Coming down from
All that lofty stuff
To rest in the simple joys
And settle in “enough;”

Satisfied with sunlight
And spring breezes,
Feeling unconcerned
With their temporaryness;

For that implies
The passage of time,
And what is that
But a colourful metaphor;

And yet,
That concept
Is no different
From all else that is

And from there
One can go anywhere
Without even moving,
As it’s all here;

Making sense
Of what’s present
By just being it
And it being.

Downward: Back to Now

My practice has slipped
Away from sitting!
Tis a defection
To reflection,

A direction change
From meditation to action,
But such action!
Not mindless but present,

There’s a freedom
And an ease
In everything doing
And yet all is the same.

Is this a return
To the old way of doing?
Or is there something different
In this pattern?

Oh, never mind!
Just enjoy and learn
Being here,
Forget about there,

Who cares what’s the reason,
Whether mood or season,
The dharma
Or living;

No recalling to mind,
No imagining,
No thinking about what’s happening,
No figuring or trying, just resting,

Getting on with
What’s indicated
Based on what’s needed
And what’s decided.

Down-to-Earth: Just So

It is a solution of no solution.
What if everything is mutually arising and there’s nothing that can be done about any of it?
So then, striving ceases and effortlessness ensues.
But how does that happen?
I think perhaps, nobody knows.
Still we keep searching because that’s what we do, or we can say it’s our nature to search. But then it grows tiresome and we stop for a while, or forget about what we we’re searching for and keep going or move on to something else.
You try to do this
You try to do that
Is it any good?
Or is this just doing?
I’m not sure.

Along with this, there is a sense of deadness, of unreality and a desire to write about it. But what if these too are merely mutually arising?

What is wrong with grasping?
I clasped my left wrist with my right hand and it felt fine, it felt comforting and safe.
If I hold onto this long enough it dissolves into death, into a skeleton, into dust, but so what?
I don’t see any problem here.

So what’s the problem?
I don’t know.

What was the Buddha’s problem?

I don’t know. I wasn’t there, and even if I had been maybe I still would not know.

So then what?

I don’t know. I think finish drinking the coffee and make breakfast and see what develops. . . Or maybe that’s it: that it’s all just about making coffee and breakfast, and so on, and not minding that that’s all it’s about.

Downright: Just Life

Feeling blue
For the usual reasons,
Comes and goes
Just like the seasons.

If only I could
Look at it what way,
I’d be less bothered maybe
When the ghouls come out to play!

Mindfully holding them
Just like dear familiar friends,
Welcoming them at the door
With tea and biscuits,

Shaking their hands
In the receiving line, with,
“Haven’t seen you in a while,
How’s the family?”

If only twere so easy,
I’d be able to get busy,
Instead of glooming
And fuming,

If grumpiness could make it better
Everything would be perfect
But trying doesn’t help
So back to waiting,

Meanwhile proceeding normally,
Going about my tasks,
In between blasts
And bombasts,

Working steadily
Whenever I can,
Preferable to stewing
Unless it’s on the stove.

Downpour: Embracing the Storm

Jumping jitters,
Restlessness flickers,
Up from nowhere,
The source is unclear.

Slammed like a wave,
Pushed and pulled,
Seething and spilling,
An ocean in a tizzy,

Even if I keep busy,
The storm overtakes,
Roaring and shouting,
Slapping and rolling;

Where is this going?
Tried stretching
And exercising
And writing

But just can’t
Seem to get my footing,
Struggling with unsatisfactoryness and pain,
Overcoming me again

But I fight back
By giving in,
Immersing in the dance
And by doing so gain mastery,

Embodying this energy,
Thoroughly making a snack and eating it,
Completely washing the dishes,
Being fully present in it,

Now vitality is in command,
Vigorously flowing,
Energizing instead of frightening,
Motivating rather than paralyzing.

Doubting: Muddled Waters

Hey ho,
Which way to go?
Doodling along,
Not singing any song,

Just twiddling
And twanging,
Not rhyming,
Not making any sense at all,

Not taking anything seriously,
Too tired to fuss,
Letting the wash water slip
And watching it dribble playfully;

Hissing and sounding,
As it flows out the spout
And hits the metal sink
Bubbling and gurgling into the drain;

Gaily tap-dancing down the pipes
To join the larger waters
And swim out
To refill the lake;

Then merging
And re-emerging
In somebody else’s sink
Or bath or swimming pool,

Until once again
It escapes temporarily,
Only to be scooped up
By some intake pump.

What a life!
But the water never complains,
What’s its secret?
I too must learn.

Doubtful: Seesaw

Feeling withdrawn,
Waiting for the dawn,
Feeling remote,
Everything seems so far away.

Sitting at my desk
Listening to sounds,
Fascinated with my uninvolvement,
This total detachment

Or is this non-attachment?
How can I tell?
Is there a particular sign?
Or do I just wait for a time?

Holding everything at bay,
So maybe it’s delusion,
In which case
Right now I’d rather not know.

I think I’ve decided
To take a break
From all this inner gazing,
Time to go to sleep

Or at least temporarily,
Until it becomes necessary
To dip a toe in the water
Once more;

Still the aggravation
And ongoing frustration,
Which probably conceal something
That I’m avoiding;

Oh well,
Now just enjoying
The feeling of being
Without probing into it.