True Guru Myth and Play / Joyce

[Guest guest]

Beautiful, Joyce!

Thanks for sharing it ...

Yes, naked and unadorned ...

Adding to it misses it ...

Appreciatively,

Dan

There is a Zen master in our

town,

Dressed in fine robes gray and brown,

New in town, I rushed right down

To play my games with master's frown.

Alas, alack, he is quite fake,

A guy from the book store, he learned the Way,

and painted his Sumie at coffee break.

He could not be Lama, that is too silly,

Golden Lamas with dorjes and mantras

are really quite frilly.

"Who is your master?"

"Where's your transmission?"

Ask these questions like these

>From your knees on the floor

He'll smile quite kindly

And show you the door.

So I raged and I mumbled

feeling quite duped.

Eager seeking had landed me

Right in the soup.

That bonsai in bowl

So zenfully placed, wooden stick and

Bell ringing, black cushions on floor

All bargains acquired at our local store.

I fret and I fuss and want to take him on down,

Not master of Buddha he is only a clown,

Tricky magician,

Fake priest of the Way,

This should not be allowed,

This is not very fine,

At this banquet of lying

I will not dine.

Filled with resentment

I just could not see,

How any of this I could allow to be.

Then my Friend came over

And made me some tea.

He laughed and he chortled

And made fun of me.

"Dogs come with their leashes,

You howled for yours.

You played with these guru's

and only closed doors.

Your myths and your gurus are all very well,

But never the whole story

Can they truly tell.

Your Friend is here with you

You need not look far,

The wide open door

Is not found on the floor.

Forget your sheathes and your weaves,

Don't try to fake it

If you look very closely

You're really quite naked.

Drop zendos and temples

Change tea into wine,

On My daily miracles then you may dine.

Right here where you are

Is really quite fine."

So I ponder His words, they really come clearer

As I look at myself

In fake Zen master's mirror.

No guru's or shamans, not even a dorje,

Magic mantras and koans, bells, horns & whistles.

All flown away like fluff on a thistle.

Questions and answers made me forlorn

Piercing my heart like any rose thorn.

For breakfast and dinner, Im drinking wine

The cup that is offered is really quite fine.

With practice and praying Im really done,

Things as they are, are really quite fun.

Life walks when I walk and runs when I run.

Living and dying these myths are quite fine,

Whatever it is, it sure isn't mine.

Joyce