Chuckling at my Face-Painting Party

[Guest guest]

Vulnerability is about walking into the heart-zone,

and leaving who walked there behind, checked in --

as the mind-hat -- at the door.

 

-Bill

 

I'm a comic crackpot on coffee and casually coming clean

of being anything other than what I am.

I'm a kook trying to cover up my ignorance with my own human hands,

trying to cling to the sense-of-self sand falling from the hourglass

of my beliefs and imaginations

of just who I think I am.

 

I spook myself with what I say and what I think sometimes.

I spewed out SRF party-lines for decades until I didn't,

until I couldn't bear the burden of being just another baaaing bozo

believing in the idea that anyone could give me anything

that wasn't already mine and undefined by rules and rituals

and demands of others for an expected behavior or action.

Sheesh! I even had a tab running on the reactions of others to my

words and to my ways

and I never knew the day would dawn when I would yawn

at all my clever constructs and designs to divine

the Lion of the Heart

tearing me open to the Truth of there being,

really, really being, no doer.

Did I have a lot to unlearn

as I burned under the weight of my own fire of I, I, I!

Yikes and yeek and I thought my thoughts were so slick

that I would trick and treat

my own Dear self into believing in my own myth.

Tee Hee HEE and a HaHa Ho. Ha!

You gotta hand it to the head

that would build a sturdy shed to tear down

to feel the very shade of Bhava that it deflected

in the search for protection from scalding in Bheda-bhava

born of ignorance of Self.

Here now and as it is,

as it is in its natural functioning

of being a fuck-up in dharma-drag dragging around the bag of belief,

i take a swig of my own brew of distinctions and become drunk

in their dropping off as i drop all pretense of having a clue

of what's needed for you or me or any other i discover in each day.

I take no fear nor pain for gain or loss.

I just toss it up to the tenacity of the ego

to hang onto what it wants to appear as reality.

Yo! Mazie! You ain't crazy!

Your just deluded and need to be denuded of the past

and all its claim on my domain of doership and knowership

and nodding at the neti neti

without nearly, clearly knowing why I did the things I did, and do.

I just wanna be Loved, said some little perky, personaic person

parading around in MY mind!

I've had my head in tragi-comic traction with reactions

that are the compaction and contraction

in a compulsion to be loved and admired

and sweetly squired around Advaita town

by the best minds and clearest non-dual finds

that found me somehow lacking and needing

a brotherly beating to break down the walls of illusion

I'd erected as a monument to my Mazieness maybe knowing a damn thing.

Ahh, the craziness of composing poems about this or that

or wearing hats or shoes of ideas

when heads and hands are sprouted on demand

by the hungry, snapping ghosts of ego-mind.

I drink up draughts of paths and means

and ways and endless days

and never-ending nights all grow bright then dim

when the Friend is thought to be somewhere else

than inside this Heart of Love.

What changes is not That

and what changes not can never be known by me.

I am what Sees and not what saws at its own tender throat

of TatSatOm

by spinning tales of two-ness and other than-ness

with the blade i honed in the art of blissful ignorance.

I stand with honeyed lips pursed in ponderment,

parade about on lists with puckered comic cheeks filled

with seeds of seeming smart,

and then by Grace, I chance to See my face in a mirror,

masked in the most silly grin…

The Friend shoves my face in the watermelon of me and then,

in Freedom from any identification to the past

that I did grasp so tightly to,

Love spits them out…

and the bitter herbs to the Heart

held as the days that never were,

the days that will never come, will never dawn,

that will not depart with out a sharp spear of inquiry

from their time-space frame of a game

originating from out of mind's creation,

all scatter in the wind of Impermanence

permeating to the core story

of all existence existing as dream, dreamer and dreaming.

 

I don't know a thing

and that not knowing is enough

to wake up and simply be

 

Here

 

Now

 

As

 

It

 

Is.

 

 

Happy Heart, how happy is this heart

to hear my own song

fade away so softly.

 

 

LoveAlways,

 

Mazie