ShivAllahSita sutra 50 (dedicated to b)

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I hear the swirling music of my own bodyechoing through the caverns of

a heartthat hums the universe.This music is the source of the world,

andyet within its refrain the silent song ofitself has tuned to a

subtler, timelesschord beyond the play of energy'slyrical themes in

form.The more we search for the Water Goddess in liquid currents of

the Heavenly Sound,the more She will gaily elude us,slipping away on

the rippling melodieswe make in the motion of our pursuit.When we

come to our natural stillnessat last, She'll float to the surface

andgreet us, singing:"Where have you been, my mischievous child? I've

waited for you in the murmuring stream, while you've been dreaming of

water."~b

 

This way proceeds harmoniously.Being in opposition is not trulybeing

in opposition.There are no arguments in this family.When the river

pours over the waterfall,countless relatives are shocked into the

objective world.Splashing down, it is as ifthey had never

been.Water's voice is that clear!Silence wants to hear Itself –a

thousand merging streams oblige.This conversationastounds the

universe,burbling forth like rich rice wine,splashing over waterfalls

thatdescend an airy stairway towash the bowls,after the rice has been

eaten.

~b

 

The one who will kindly kill my last cowHas been playing with me all

along,You see, and as far as I seeAs I stand here and peeAgainst Cold

MountainHe can sure have it.The milk from that cow is soSweet indeed,

yet I'll happily Share it with all who have heardTheir own Death's

familiar whisper!It's innocent milk, at last, and yetIt's sweetness

fills canyonsWith rivers of light, Snow white emptying into

white,Snow melt gone to the Ocean.~b

 

Our curiosity of whatremains afloat when all the fine ships we have

launched sink beneath the waves of memorymay come at first as

intuition from that for which we have no name.At some point,

Now,Intuition blossoms, ripening, liberating all ships at last in the

infinite depth wherewe, in their stead, happilyhave come to restin the

Peace Grace grants as Love.~b

 

Choice or choiceless?Coot piss on such ideas!Here's the thing:we can

let the conflict within ourselfcome to an end by seeing throughthe

mind that spawned it.

~b

 

Those who see say little,Content with all creation,But since I'm

speaking with Nobody, I might as well Enjoy the conversation!I have

nobody to please.I say what I see, andWhat nobody seesI

imagine.Imagination is a kind ofSeeing – fun, yes --So fascinating at

the start,So brief its time to shine,So pale toSeeing, deeply,

theSource of its design.

~b

 

Arriving and departing –with no point in timewhen one becomes the

other --I recline on Cold Mountainin a blanket of fallen maple

leaves,rustling in glee! ~b

 

Let your will rinse out like the tide,exhausting itself in muted death

upon the shore of its desire.This death does not come easy.All the

reasons for resistance flaillike beached fish to remind you why you

struggled so. Be earnest and persist.When the shadow of the mind

andthe shadow of the body turn toflood back to the ocean,none shall

be refusedthat drowning. Alone on the shore, you may be an

emperor.Returned to the sea, you become the Empire of Peace and

Harmony!

~b

 

Cutting off all my hair was easy –relinquishing schemes of

renunciationis a subtler path, one that even hermitsfear to tread.I

came a long way to forget myself,forgetting the one who

remembers.Roaming this wide world fromcity to shore, I must confess

myjourney has been in vain.The road's red dust still clings to my

robes, but unbidden tears havewashed my eyes clear.I have always been

grateful for water.The eloquence of a silent skycan banish the

arrogance of purpose, but few are willing to open their ears and let

that sky start speaking.Bending to drink from a still mountain poolI

glimpse my reflection and laugh out loud –I see a head grown wild

with hair butno longer know its owner!

~b

 

Effort or effortless?I worked hard to climb this mountainby doing

nothing at all.Who can understandI have yet to place one foot on

it?When the rain falls,each drop is a suspended oceanfilled with the

mysterious essence ofeternal potentiality.Town folk run for shelter

whileI stand with my mouth to the sky,bathed in my own water.~b

 

 

The eye lifts skywardthis dusk falling callingto look higher look

upagainst the horizon that bluethat bluecoloring this momentsome

formless freedomflows into form as greenas greenI remember the

thistle grew from an eaveholding nature against the nightand the

night approached itselfwith tremendous desire --I wanted to touch

thatas I stared at the milkweedagainst the sky.The universe

existsbecause of us, our lovefor these forms.We can wink at the

dream.We can touch, stare,flow into each other asLight flows into

itselfat dawn, at dusk.Two pieces of a puzzlefit together

perfectly,leaving only onemystery.This mystery of dreaming, andthe

dreamer.The one whodreams us now as two,Cold Mountain and me,we awake

in the midst ofdreaming, only to findthere is only dreaming.We seem to

meet each otheragain and again here, alwaysrecognizing the futility

ofresisting the night,approaching with tremendous desire, andwanting

to touch.

~b

 

Wrapped in cotton robes of the Unknown,thin, open, wind-rustled,I come

to the Winter Solstice, wheregrass, already wildly growing freethrough

this skull, encircles the fruitless fruit Jar of No-Mind.One small

plum tree along the path -its mantle of silent song snowing all

around me, as this -a springing forth from any constraints of time

and space, YES, yes, thisbranching breath -the breathlessness of this

momentcovered in tiny, fragrant, white blossoms –deathlessness amidst

the darkest winter hour.Winter Solstice, and the black tea is hotwith

floating plum blossoms concentricallyswirling around each other as I

too circle around that which circles ceaselessly around me.

~Mazie

 

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