In the Living Waters of the Mind
what you seek is what you find.
What you think is what you drink.
What you see is how you look.
What you get is what you took.

Purifying the mental plane
reduces the pain
of coming back again.

(Poem from Gnomonic Verses)


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Even in all your fine regalia,
hint of blue and buzzing wing
all the trappings of your kind,
you are far from being a substantial thing,
and all your efforts end in failure.

All entomic paraphernalia,
proboscis, thorax, abdomen, wings that fly,
six legs, antennae, multi-faceted eye,
are merely dust imprinted with your mind.

And so you flit from fruit to faeces
to satisfy an endless lust,
disintegrate into component pieces
and so revert to where you started, dust.

But even without dust to model
and round a dusty world
you fly, quite formless, from your silent hell
to where the nerve ends of the brain are curled.

You are thought
your body but its shadow;
not from the maggot were you brought,
but from the glow
and from the fire
of still unquenchable desire.

The human here
in all his pride,
gives you sanctuary inside,
eventually emerging to appear
a bold facsimile of you
with buzzing wing and hint of blue.


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Because we have neglected much
we finish up with such and such,
surrounded by we see and touch.
Because we have neglected much.

Because we sit and dream (and dream)
we cannot separate is and seem;
images come in floods and teem.
Because we sit and dream (and dream).

Because we lose ourselves in thought
(and all our errors are self-taught)
in Māra’s nets we are well-caught.
Because we lose ourselves in thought.

We have to buy back what we’ve sold.
We have to listen what we’ve told.
We have to trade our young for old,
(and watch our sun grow ever cold).

We finish up with such and such
because we have neglected much.


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Matter is always inert;
dense shadowy stuff
that resists the shining.

Leave the puppet
to its own devices
and how will it ever
get out of its box?

Who then is there
to make an effort?
And with what force
from where obtained?

The child, the kitten, the puppy
have no idea
that there are efforts
to be made.

Simmering with energy,
breathing  through the joints and strings,
they almost make the puppet fly
with pure enthusiasm.
By what deity
are they then possessed?

Growing older,
fires colder,
energy wanes,
puppet pains,
lies down
in its box.
and inert.


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Watching the flow
of middle-earth
as all things go
from birth to birth.
Here, one can know
what it’s all worth.

An empty tide
of rise and fall.
Nothing outside
is mine at all;
nothing inside
nor large nor small.

The mind reflects
vague shadowy drifts.
The mind connects
blank mists with mists.
The mind projects
meaning – where none exists.

Rich and poor
in ragged procession
pass the door
and dispute possession
of what they cannot own;
like dogs, growl and groan
over an imaginary bone.


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The great Foundation on which all things rest
is soon lost sight of, soon forgot,
fails to hold man’s interest
as entanglements lead to great confusion
(due to the power of the great Illusion);
until he cannot see what is real
and what is not.

A slight vibration in the ear
makes the whole wide world appear
with laugh and shout, wind and rain,
grief and heartache, joy and pain
singing along a thin membrane.
Machines and sermons – all are here
in the slight vibration of the human ear.

Disconnect the electronic train
which links it to the human brain.
A sudden silence fills the head.
The mind feeds on itself instead.
A thousand voices it can hear
can cause a myriad images appear.

Let go.  Let go.  Let go.
Let go what’s in and what’s outside
and seek not for another place to hide.
The silent stillness waits like a drawn arrow
to leap into the void and space.
A raindrop falls into the sea
(losing of moisture not a trace)
but finding out at last how, finally, to Be.


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A tree climbed over the wall
to give us its shade and its cool
and asked for nothing back at all.

Except, perhaps, the wall.


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