Flaws upon a face;
each indicates a place
where pain and sorrow grew
as each eddy of death-in-life flowed through.
Monitor the wind
that scatters the leaves the storm destroyed.
Monitor the mind
that blows its dead selves through the Void.
Each imperfection
is a recollection
of where unguarded thoughts drew near
and left their mark.
A clear reflection
(in a dusty mirror)
of deep and dazzling Dark.
.
The Ego is so adept at adding things on
to increase its dysfunctional self.
It is hard to be sure that a Man
is truly acting
without ego
or whether he is acting the role of a man
who is truly acting without ego.
Certainly, the religions of the World
all came into existence
to purify the world of ego
yet have ended up as pyramids
with super-egos sitting on top
using the original teachings
to consolidate their precarious positions
and feed/gorge themselves and their allies.
Maybe, in the end, to gain
the final purification from ego
requires the giving up of all distinctions
of separateness,
including the words which label their separateness.
The Tao is forever undefined.
Small though it is in unformed state,
it cannot be grasped.
Once the whole is divided,
the parts need names.
But one must know when to stop.
Knowing when to stop averts trouble.
Tao, in the world, is like a river
flowing home to the sea.
The Tao
Khaos
Voidness
The Abyss
That which gapes wide open,
is vast and empty… even of words.
Silence
into which words… the finest words
disappear into
Healing.
.
This year
mixes spring and summer here,
a sharp wind chasing baking heat.
Hawthorn hangs like snow in clusters
with gorse and last year’s bracken at its feet,
turning the whole cliff into an in-between season.
Beyond the hills
lie great fields of daffodils
balancing organic gold against a leaden sky.
These the farmers grow instead of food.
This they are paid to do
to keep abundance low
and prices high.
Below the cliff at Tregantle
another kind of fruit appears at low tide;
mines sown half a century ago,
relics of an earlier generation’s
resistance to invasion.
Someone has been blowing them up
with great enthusiasm.
At each explosion,
the gulls and jackdaws scream and fret
(and, having screamed, forget).
But I remember.
These bombs were planted
in your father’s time and mine
as they struggled to survive
a rising tide which, win or lose,
derailed their lives
and shadowed ours
with clouds that have retreated
to a new horizon
(but will not go away).
.
The sins of the fathers
are visited on the children.
When the father goes bankrupt
the children and the grandchildren
lose their inheritance
and discover poverty.
When the Jews rejected Jesus
they refused their inheritance
and their children and grandchildren
are still rejected
two millennia later.
When the Tibetans took over Changthang
from the Zhang Zhung,
they left the door open for the Chinese.
Think!
You pay your taxes to your Masters
and your Masters bomb Mespotamia
and your money helps to buy the bombs.
Think!
Suicide Bombers
may deliver your morning post
one day.
.
I am at the end of my tether!
Yes.
What will happen?
The tether will break.
Oh, thank God! And what about Me?
You are the tether.
.
When the fires are raging
don’t add fuel
and the two worlds
(the inner and the outer)
subside into their natural state.
When the dogs
of dissension and desire
are sleeping
don’t wake them
and the world is already cool and quiet.
.
Are you a nut or a shell?
Inner seed
that germinates and grows
into the Tree of Life?
Or outer shell,
which, having fulfilled its purpose,
is food for compost heap or fire?
.
There is a fire that consumes
and the fire that illumines.
There is Desire
and there is Love.
Those motivated by Desire
see things they wish to possess,
things they do not wish to possess,
and other things –
of no interest whatsoever.
Those motivated by Love
see Fellow Travellers
in a thousand different forms;
mirrors
of one Fire.
They feel compassion
and sympathetic joy
and friendly interest.
Others again
see transmutation
everywhere;
and pain.
Only a fool
thinks to possess
the moon
reflected in a pool,
or a sandcastle
or an articulated puppet.
.
Censorship is no substitute
for Education.
This-you-must-not-do
creates duality
and ultimately
opens the door to Force.
This-is-the-reason-why-you-should-not-do,
allows unbiased information,
maintains harmony and Unity.
.
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.
.
Poetry in DHAMMA.
Learn how to access the Centre. How to understand it. How to use it. How to enter it forever.
BLONDIN Poems 