ShivAllahSita sutra 113

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There is a moment, a time lapse in consciousness just before falling

asleep and just before waking up, no name, no face.

Time-lapse mind revved at the ready:

the steady pull of the full moon lamplit two-headed Buddha lifts waves of sadness

from the heady rhythm of rainfire-ripened past.Bare against the storm

clouds of memory, this heart is again pierced by a hooked

rainbow trout looking out at what’s looking back, both crying for mercy.

Still shore of i, bare, free of shiny stones of thought –full

Mara-moon caught in the sky-jar of no-mind, sinks and disappears.What

appears on the horizon of time and spaceshapes the future in the past

and the past in the future.There is no future in reliving the past.

Bodhicitta! O Awakened Heart! Opened, the dreamer’s

eyes!Courage-Favored Heart! Gentleness and Openness, O Mindfulness! O

Vigilence!

~Mazie & b

Four or five times I left my cell.I had no peace of mind,no control

over my mind.I went to a nun I thought I could trust.She taught me

the Dharma,the elements of body and mind,the nature of perception,and

earth, water, fire and wind.I heard what she saidand sat

cross-leggedseven days fullof joy.When on the eighthI stretched my

feet outthe great dark was torn apart.~Patacara

What perfection of Expression!

The Beauty Absolute and Pristine in all that’s seen,

In all that’s experienced and intuited through mind divine!

The dance of duality is the full Dharma armor of Advaita dropped

dead in its raja-rhumba tracks in the drop-dead Gorgeousness of I Am, Divined.

~Mazie & b

As water is serene when free of ripples, sois the mind serene when

free of thought,when it is passive and fully receptive.When quiet,

the mind reflects Reality.When absolutely motionless, it dissolvesand

only Reality remains.~Ramesh S. Balsekar

Two snow-white butterflies,one winging up-river, one downmeet directly

before me, sharea sudden dance together, then proceed their separate

ways --memories with nowhere to land.What remains,the opening space

left by their parting,resumes.As it isI am.

~Mazie & b

VolcanoDon't hold yourself like that You'll hurt your knees I kissed

your mouth and back… What I am to you is not real What I am to you

you do not need What I am to you is not what you mean to me You give

me miles and miles of mountains And I'll ask for the sea Don't throw

yourself like that In front of me I kissed your mouth your back Is

that all you need? Don't drag my love around volcanoes melt me down

What I am to you is not real

~Damien Rice

The visions of luminous vastness that absorbed my heart today are

tonight fast consumed by hard freezing mists --stinging airborne

water curtains darkeningthe once-bright stage and leaving this now-

soaked audience of one to contemplate the alternations of yin and

yang, impermanence, and some such sober truths – yet like a lunatic I

rock back and forth, arms hugging my sides to keep them from

splitting, loud pealing laughterechoing through the canyons like a

thousand peacocks drunk and falling, falling all at once in

love.~Mazie & b

The individual does not finally merge with his original nature any

more than a wave merges with water. They were not different to begin

with. A wave is nothing more than the shifting shape of the water

itself. It is not a question of joining separate things but of the

abandonment of something inessential and superficial, the false

identity of a separate individual entity.

~ Ramesh S. Balkesar

Memories dissolve like mountain mistspierced through by morning

sunlight, yetI am not naive enough to think thatthey will not return

again, climbingalong the spine of my sentimentto linger again at

dusk, phantoms Iwill carry with me to the cave of my heartto be

tenderly consigned to the fire I have lit for them to disappear in

once again.Only then will the clarity of moonlightreveal the hidden

secret memory can't bear –I never had a past.

~Mazie & b

Buddha In Glory

Center of all centers, core of cores,almond self-enclosed, and growing

sweet--all this universe, to the furthest starsall beyond them, is

your flesh, your fruit.

Now you feel how nothing clings to you;your vast shell reaches into

endless space,and there the rich, thick fluids rise and

flow.Illuminated in your infinite peace,

a billion stars go spinning through the night,blazing high above your

head.But in you is the presence thatwill be, when all the stars are

dead.

~ Rainer Maria Rilke

The whoosh of the wind among the high pinesdoes not diminish the

fragrance of apples, royal round fruit flamed in crimson,ripening in

some unseen orchardin the valley down below.There are no boundaries

inthe heart of gratitude.I am the haunting bouquet of sunset,

brimming with the poignancy of this dissolving moment --wind rushing,

light fading,apples falling -- aromas permeating an emptiness that

staggers and stills all thought.I am here for love alone.The

vanishing light of day is nearly imperceptible now, even in the

sudden lifting ofmy smallness into Everything-Everywhere,dying into

life, arms spread wide to worship in the orchards of this

night.~Mazie & b

You cannot escape life, no matter how you try. As long as you

live,whether in a town or a cave, you have to face it and live it.

Real life "is" the present moment - not the memories of the past

which isdead and gone, nor the dreams of the future which is not yet

born. One who lives in the present moment, lives the real life, and

is thehappiest. ~Walpola Rahula "What the Buddha Taught"

This moonlight, smeared across the valleylike white glaze over dark

pastry,has settled every dispute andnow, in utter silence, beginsits

serenade to the inebriates like myself, madly grinning,exhilarated by

the song,happyto just sing along.

~Mazie & b

One of the most powerful teachings of the Buddhist tradition is that

as long as you are wishing for things to change, they never will. As

long as you're wanting yourself to get better, you won't. As long as

you have an orientation toward the future, you can never just relax

into what you already have or already are.~Pema Chödrön "Start Where

You Are"

No longer anxious to arrive atsome mythical garden, I freelysquander

my time, doting over the way the green and gold grasses, gaily

gathered in the arms of the billowing breeze, bend to blend like

willinglovers, mindless in the act of love.~Mazie & b

'It is all at easeUnfixtable by fixationsIncommunicable,Inconceivable,Indivisible.' ~Nagarjuna

I'm told I've wandered Cold Mountainfor over thirty years, but to me

it's justthe same year times thirty, and thirty thousand before that

–who can keep track whenno footprints are left? You'd think I have

all the time in the world, andin that you would be right!

~Mazie & b

The Self is the ear of the ear, the eye of the eye. It is the mind

ofthe mind, the speech of speech, the life of life. Not clinging to

anyof the senses, not attached to any thought in the mind, the wise

become one with the deathless Self. ...That is perfect. This is

perfect. Perfect comes from perfect. Takeperfect from perfect, the

reminder is perfect. May peace and peace and peace be everywhere.~The

Upanishads, (8th Century B.C.E.) "The Enlightened Mind," edited by

Stephen Mitchell

In the morning I wash my eyes and mouth in a fresh mountain brook.In

the evening I sit on a rockby the stream and listen to watertell

story after story without end.Some fellow once said there are no

eyes,no mouth,no ears –later he entered the stream atCold Mountain,

and hasn't stopped babbling yet.~Mazie & b

By oneself alone is evil done; it is self-born, it is self-caused.

Evil grinds the unwise as a diamond grinds a hard gem. Easy to do are

things that are hard and not beneficial to oneself, butvery, very

difficult, indeed, to do is that which is beneficial andgood.By

oneself, indeed, is evil done; by oneself is one defiled. By oneself

is evil undone; by oneself, indeed, is one purified. Purity and

impurity depend on oneself. No one purifies another.Oneself, indeed,

is one's saviour, for what other saviour would therebe? With one's

mind well controlled, one obtains a saviour difficult to find.~

Buddha "The Dhammapada," translated by Eknath Easwaran

I no longer remember when I first sat down against this cliff.Perhaps

it's been a day,perhaps a century.If the cliff doesn't care, why

should I?The best advice I was ever given:"Find out for yourself."Now

and then, I stand up and stretch –the blood flow seems to suit me.

~Mazie & b

For as long as space existsAnd sentient beings endure, May I too

remain, To dispel the misery of the world.~Shantideva

The men of the worldare not different than me,except they all have

thingsthey must do.I was exactly like that once too,back when I

thought I had something to do. How about you –what do you have to

do?Without your doingsomehow you were born.Without your doingeach

thought takes form.Without your doingyour lungs keep

breathing.Without your doingsomeday they will stop.~Mazie & b

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace, Where there is hatred, let

me sow love, Where there is injury, pardon; Where there is despair,

hope; Where there is darkness, light. And where there is sadness,

joy. O Divine-Master grant that I may not so much seek To be

consoled, as to console, To be understood, as to understand, To be

loved as to love. For it is in giving, that we receive, It is in

forgiving, that we are forgiven, And it is in dying to self, That we

are born to Eternal Life. ~St. Francis

How crisp this air is!Calling out in thrill to be embraced,I embrace

that which now instillsits icy kiss upon my heart. I live as simply

as the air I share the skywith, share the lack of any why with.Is

there anywhere as cold as this mountain?Chin-deep in chill, I am what

thrills me.

~Mazie & b

Not only is the subjective experience one of ease, but ease is

revealed as a feature of the sublime itself. For not only do

fixations generate conflict and anguish, they also obscure a natural

world that endlessly unfolds and vanishes, untroubled by the desires

and fears of humankind.Although we may take our fixations with utmost

seriousness, that about which we are fixated is utterly unaffected by

them. For life is incapable of ever being tied down. While we

generate volumes of theories and descriptions of reality, none of

them can capture the mystery of its happening at all. And no matter

how minutely we dissect and categorize experience, the lines we draw

leave no trace on the seamlesss web of life itself.

~ Stephen Batchelor "Verses From The Center: A Buddhist Vision of The Sublime

Heavy with golden tears fallinglike wet leaves from Autumn trees,the

moon swells inside the dark sky,weeps silently into my heart

throughthe night, devoid of any pretense we are other than

OneHeart.This moon and I are friends –we glide down the corridors of

time,unafraid to be alone, nevermindingpast or future.In the dawn

light the moon will disappear.In this heart light I will disappear

into dawn.This moon and I, we are not fooled by appearances.Being is

present in all I am, and I am present as Being --moon, sun, rivers,

this high delight, Cold Mountain. I drift through the sky of my own

Being, innocent and free, spontaneously happyfor no reason at all,no

reason at all.Here every day is the same day –the darkest night that

descends between lightis nothing but a finer form of that same

light.Some say every day is a new day andthere is that which changes,

yetthere is that which doesn't changethough all else rearrangesin

OneHeart.

~Mazie & b

We look at what we are concerned about and see how many things in

ourlife we wish changed so that we could be understood and loved

more, sothat we could get more, so that we could be consoled more for

ourworries - who has it as bad as we do? - so that we could be rid of

that which distresses us, so that we could be right, so that we could

know, so that we could be happy.Can we shift our concerns to others

today? Who do we know needs ourforgiveness, our understanding - just

a word that says, I am here for you - our sympathy, our helping hand,

our kind word? Can we die to our "self" in each moment, and be reborn

to our TrueNature? Can we at least begin? Mother Teresa once said

that the poor are all around us, even livingwith us in our own

families - these are not the poor in clothing, or possessions, these

are the poor who feel they are unloved. They are the Buddhas in

distress. Let's go to them and let them know by our loving-kindness

that they are indeed valuable, worthwhile, loveable human beings. Let

us becomeInstruments of Compassion to all sentient beings. Let's begin

today.~Dharma Grandmother

Life moves as it will,and it will not harm us.Love is the Mother of

every appearance.As a will-o-the wisp,this space and time

gardenwhispers its fragranceinto our hearts.Open-billowing

blissbreaches the brink of infinity -One Heart clears the Sky of

I.Life moves as it will.It will not harm us.

~Mazie & b

A soaring endlessly curving path;every few miles we have to rest.I

look around for my friends.They've vanished in the wooded hills.Rain

floods the pine treesand flows hushed among the rocks.There are

silent words deep in hill water,a long whistle over the summits.When

I look at South Mountainthe sun floats white through the mist.A blue

marsh is luminous and clear.Green trees are heavy shadows,

drifting.When I am tired of being closed in,suddenly I come upon a

clearing, and the mind is at peace.~Wang Wei "New Dimensions

Anthology of Classical Chinese Poetry"

Everything iscause for anything, andone with its effect.With each step

a fresh wind risesand I walk alone through the pink sky,every

direction home, every path the way.~Mazie & b

Forgiving is the greatest of all giving. It is so difficult for

usbecause it involves taking the blame. Not in a legalistic sense -

'Imight have done it,' 'There but for the grace of God go I' - but in

the sense that when you really forgive, you forgive from your heart

ofhearts. And in your heart of hearts, you are one with all, and also

one with whomever you have a grievance. There's no one to blame. You

are taking away all blame when you forgive. ...In the late afternoon

of our day, and in the late afternoon of ourlives, if we let go all

that we are holding against anyone, the evening of our life will be

clear.~David Steindl-Rast, O.S.B. "The Music of Silence"

Once there were many moments,now only one.No beginning to this

moment,no end.Within this momenta paradea procession of

perceptionseach with their own beginningsendings, languages

ofstraight and squiggly linescast across the surface of water,always

water –water of lifewatery canvas of shifting lightnever the

same,always as iswelcoming equally light and darknessinfinite

variations of shine and shadowbirth and deathall lifealways

liferestless surfacesilent depthirresistible depthbottomless

embracedying daily to this depththis endless moment of lifewaterfall

of feelingfalling into itselfits depthits silencejust as is,always as

is.No shoreno embarking or arrivalalways just arrivinga moment too

latea journey in a dreamriver in timewatery destinationthe

destination of liquidity,mid-air at the waterfall:drops of elemental

being,flowing unitybursting into billion momentarygleaming tiny

fleeting voicesroaring lifepouring life into lifereceiving

itselfwelcoming itself into itselfperpetuallyjust as is,always as

is.Nothing boundnothing loosedtimeless flow in a dream of water,a

dream of shine and shadowflowing into each otherdissembling and

assemblingdisintegrating and reintegratingbeyond any

comprehensionbeyond any narrative descriptionany motive or goal

orpassion or prescription butjust as is,always as is.Yes, and

herealong the banks of thisriver of myself I stagger,intoxicated by

the wine ofmy own watery being,this life of wavesrippling over

stillnessthe still pool of heart wherefeeling breathes so quietly,so

potently inthe tears Cold Mountain wells up from this depth –just as

is,always as is.My forehead restson the cool stone floorbefore this

mountain altar,there is no dividing placeseparating flesh and

bonefrom the pillow of stone.For this reason I seemto drift through

endlessnesseyes blinded by the brillianceof mysterious light --its

reflectionmy ownmy palms turnedupward, naturallyholding the mountain

tothe sky.I raise these palmsit is lightas the feather I am,feather

on wind's breath.The mere fact that theyearning is present is proofit

is possible.That yearning is whati always followed.A mountain placed

that kissupon my heart,now the cloudsfilled with lightglide through

this nighteach an exhalationa sigh from deep space,the space between

sighsdeepening --deepening into my sighs.I am on my kneesI kneel in

my own heartthe heart life made soI could feel it.This is whatit

does,it iswhat I do.Who speaks,who listens?Does this water

sutradepend on any lips?My lips are pressed againstInfinity.I follow

backwards into thatyearning of water forItself,that breathing songI

cannot forgetI cannot.The incense I burn for the world burns for

me.Between my fingersa slight sensationbefore the final ash --final

sighthis momentary flickerof acknowledgementof welcomeHere it isYesAh

~Mazie & b

I keep weeping for you, my soul,good sir, gently trying to let you

seethe nature of what you love.Not even the shadow of an iron

anchorwill last from here.Remember the truththat you are,remember,the

truth that you are.~Lalla "Naked Song," translated by Coleman Barks

I used to frequent the temples, ponderingthe humor and poignancy of

efforts expended on the search to be what we already are, questioning

the borrowed formulae, the thoughtful equations of knowing,the

reverence for an imaginary past,the hopeful investments in phantom

futures, the dreams of desire and division,until one morning my

freedomwoke me at dawn and called me tothe Transmission Place,the Sky

of the Heart,and now –all I care to do is praise.~Mazie & b

Even having all the money in the world won't bring satisfaction,

andthe remedy for such craving is to offer up our wealth in

meditation orgive our possessions to others. While it is fine to make

offerings tothe objects of Refuge, and to donate to charities, what is

mostimportant is the "spirit of generosity," with which you give

yourpossessions to others. In addition, recognizing that all that you

enjoy is the direct result of your previous merit, you can offer up

that merit, and the merit is not used up, but increases further.~From

the book, "Naked Awareness, Practical Instructions on the Union of

Mahamudra and Dzogchen"

Desire gets a scolding from those who desire the end of desire.Desire

is a mysterious gift from that which desires to combust in such

desireonly ash remains.Feed the fire of true desire --mounting

higher, funeral pyre.~Mazie & b

Craving for anything, even samadhi, is like putting on a pair of

handcuffs, so relinquish craving so that compassion can arise

spontaneously.~Gaytrul Rinpoche

Brothers and Sisters,Hearts of Faith,a moment please –we have been

checked into thesedrab roadside lodgings for so longwe have begun to

think of them asour actual forwarding address.We are driven hither

and thither bya little imaginary machine percolatingunder our skin,

and so we never rest.In the fervor of our archaeology, we hold up

pieces of broken glass high above our heads and crow about our

treasures.In solitary moods of desperation we secretly continue to

crave that of which we've already despaired –some sort of final

Blessing.Friends - the secret of Blessing is thatBlessing is never

denied,nor is it ever final.I have spirit money to burnin the Ghost

Festival, andThe Laws of Heaven allow no exceptions:luck and

misfortune are intertwined,and although I've played with thesedice my

whole life,they are useless to me now.It is said that someone

whodoesn't make flowers makes thorns.Even the palace of an Emperor is

but a gilded prison.Truly, the slightest breeze of mind can lock us

inside prison gates,and even the strongest ox of our will cannot pull

us out again.Wherever we walk, the monkey is surely not far behind.He

even volunteers for jail.Perhaps this is why theMinister of Masks

remarked:"The dragon in the shallowsis forever toyed with by

shrimp."The world often seems a cold place,but we can bring warmth to

it.What other enjoyment can therebe in life? A drop of

compassionbrings wellsprings of gratitude.Every cellar is fully

stocked.Is there water in this wine, orwine in this water?When such

questions are asked,my eyes drift up to the sky.I stare, still

somehow disbelieving, at the charred ruins of my own boat.How swiftly

the fire, onceignited, showed me that there is nothing we can own.You

ask from whence I come.I answer "Here".These ashes are my crib,and in

this mud a kind ofsprout has pushed through intodaylight.I am grateful

for the water.I stagger, blinded, fromThe Tavern of the Drunken

Idiots,my limp more evident now,but the tricks of the monkey

arewasted on me in my condition.The gods takes pity on fools such as

I.Beyond them, where we bothblend with eternity, something there

makes mehear the whole worldsigh in relief.I sit astride the toenail

of theBuddha of Infinite Qualities, withoutany qualities I can find

in myself.Where She roams, thunder echoesfrom Her footsteps, butI

hear only the most imperceptibleglad murmur of reception from

theearth on which She treads.They say that the heart acts as a

translatorbetween mystery and intelligence;that it has its own

dwellers who do not speak with those who are justpassing through.

Still I ask:"Who is there on this shining floorwho is not trampled by

HerDancing Feet?"The Princess arrives on theBoat of Kindness, and

along the banksthere are Lilac Groves whosefragrance runs riot

through the senses.Spring's first Buttercups are enough toquiet all

dispute, just as the Tulipsreveal the purpose of our appearance.Yes,

no, maybe so –in this lovely garden of our souls,what use are these

distinctions?When life is this dear,can we not hear the tender voice

calling us home,even now, even now?Don't stop anywhere!Not until we

vanish can we know where we truly stand.After this death we canbecome

human at last.I have emptied out my pockets –there is nothing in them

anymore. If you grab me by the collar,what you hold is only air.One

after another,each will pass through thisGate in their time, and

these wordslike ashes will be scattered along the avenues of towns

long ago abandoned.And please forgive thisindulgence here –my sand

has nowpoured through.~Mazie & b

If words are the worldLet them be fragrant wineAnd we all thirsty drunks.~Mitzvah

Here in the frozen predawn nightthe bamboo flute at my quivering

lipsanswers to some plaintive winter canyon call.I play for all the

starving ghostsand all the lonesome little lambsamidst the shivering

hungry wolves.Inside my chest where wild things growa tiny seed

resides.Within a garden fed by lovethat seed exceeds Dawn's sky.

~Mazie & b

A man speaking of a woman far away, at the start of the monsoon season:

Like golden-flowered konrai trees on a green hill,the clouds flash

into the crevices of a dark mountain.They spread, covering the vast

skyin the land where my dark woman is,and begin the first rain of the

season.

In her pain she grows thin and her glistening bangles are loose on her

arms.She begins to weep,she whose ornaments are lovely.At that, the

cowherds begin to play their flutes,like thunder whose voice quivers

in the night.

~Narrinai

Nothing makes a difference.Perhaps it always has.Blown along cold

coasts of reasonBreeze, languorous amidst the ice plants,mellows to a

softer part of the feeling, is warmon the tip of my eye I keeplike a

lover on this moon.This moon!Her naked radianceblatant and

unashamedblasts uncountable tiny mirrors studded diamond-like within

my cells, now all ablaze with urgent whitelight moonshine,yearning to

sing love songs,silent songs of praisewe all can hear.Some feeble fog

has slipped between us,as far from my nose as it is to my toes,and we

are tempted to the old debate:Stars moving, orwe? FamishedI devour

this mist and drinkmy tears.I am made of water, at the mercy of this

moon.Talking breedsits own dilemmasso we employ no words, just"Ah …."

nodding to ourselves in that sweet redundancyancient loving brings.Shy

masks of ash were shedlight tears ago, awayin the far ghost lands

shimmering even now shimmer as they evaporate in memory.I've heard it

saidthe only hindrance isremembering the past, but few remember

this.Tonight is that kind of night --the kind when lovers wish each

other "Goodnight, Beloved!"and it is nothingbut the Truth.Tonight

things fall from treescertain dogs fart in fear, but we

don'tbudge.These falling things have never mattered much to us.We

ourselves have not stopped falling.There are no sins of omission

here.The cards are all out on the table, butnobody's left to claim

the pot.I am not the kind who breaks thingsdown into some

comprehensibility, nor do I have much mind for the mathematics of the

gears,yet I can see how someone might.It all adds up, followed by more

tears.My ears --cast like limbs of treesattendant only to the

mysterioustiny melodies, barely audible,echoing from withinthe tear

the sky has grown to warm my eyestonight.It's niceyou knowjust

sittinghere, fire near-byblue-smoking the moonperpetuallyroasting

lingering cinders of cruel intelligibilitylistening carefullywith

unconcealed delight as four times twenty-seven hairs lean over these

ears to hear,my Friend,tonight.~Mazie & b

....Your pain is the breaking of the shell that enclosesyour

understanding.Even as the stone of the fruitmust break, that its

heartmay stand in the sun,so much you know pain.And could you keep

your heartin wonder at the dailymiracles of your life,your pain would

not seemless wondrous than your joy;And you would accept theseasons of

your heart,even as you have alwaysaccepted the seasons thatpass over

your fields.~Kahlil Gibran

The bridge to Cold Mountain demands a toll, but the wealth of the

worldwill not gain you entrance.You must become that bridge where

Spirit can cross over, lifted into itselfby the momentum of its own

design --to most mere chaos --to the Dharma Eyethe yielding heart of

humble submission where the Infinite strides a rainbow bridge and

bursts out loving, sampling sips from that same jug you paid as toll

toclimb this cold, cold mountain.If anyone could taste but a drop

ofsuch Nectar, they would give up all thoughtof bridges, spirits,

sips, or tolls!~Mazie & b

Ignorant before the heavens of my life,I stand and gaze in wonder. Oh

the vastnessof the stars. Their rising and descent. How still.As if I

didn't exist. Do I have anyshare in this? Have I somehow dispensed

withtheir pure effect? Does my blood's ebb and flowchange with their

changes? Let me put asideevery desire, every relationshipexcept this

one, so that my heart grows used toits farthest spaces. Better that

it livefully aware, in the terror of its stars, thanas if protected,

soothed by what is near.

~ Rainer Maria Rilke

Verdigris Dragon's fly, they flew when you and I were youngand

green-faced facing the cave of Puff & Ash-clad munis. We were

positively green-faceted and gem-dandied in gleam and glintas we took

the hint and hid our little siddhisthat somehow had manifest as

destiny for me and b.We were simultaneously bearing OneWitness to the

Unmanifest-Fffoommphthat burst our chest with Bliss so big,with Glad

so grand,that what we had of What Had Uswas primped-up & wimped out

when we thought us nuts.We could not choose the time nor placewhen we

would once again be facedwith skies filled full with dragonflies,with

damsel-sprites before our eyes.When their wing-panes sapphire

blue'dWe stood alone we stood completely nude.What opened out from

this MysteryOpened out in b and me.We heard aloud a most crispened

shoutcausing us to turn and look about,and all we saw was empty

skiespouring from the empty eyesof empty minds unlinedof dragonflies

unboundby time or spacetracingpastthe past to pre-existence. Dragon's

once flew where me and you roamedamong the ruins of temple domesand

tombs holding bonesof brothers & sisters still Breathing….stillbeing

the alleviators of lovers leavingby living the lives of everyone they

see.I Live all Your livesSaid Love.When we did not invest in any

notionsthat we were any less or any morethan the door of Everywhere

opened as visions of vast, luminous spacealive with life and death

and bornand unborn bursting as BrightLight. Wonder was Our

Green-Faced reflection multiplying in every direction in the mirror

of our Goddess-Headed Green Tara,swearing us to oath that we must

never,ever boast about the clout we had with God.Cloverleafs and

dragonfliesNeed no why to be.As for you and me, b,We don't need a why

either.

~Mazie & b

I cannot say which is which:the glowing plum blossom isthe spring

night's moon.Watching the moonat midnightsolitary, mid-sky,I knew

myself completely,no part left out.Although I tryto hold the single

thoughtof Buddha's teaching in my heart,I cannot help but hearthe

many crickets' voices calling as well.Although the windblows terribly

here,the moonlight also leaksbetween the roof planksof this ruined

house.If the one I've waited forcame now, what should I do?This

morning's garden filled with snowis far too lovelyfor footsteps to

mar.~ Izumi Shikibu

These days some try on claims to freedom as if exchanging one old

outfit for a newer, parading this way and that before the mirror,

congratulating themselves on their own good taste!Perhaps it was a

wise decision to make mirrors mute --imagine how short their life

expectancywould be otherwise!No matter what appears before the

mirror,the mirror is neither enamored nor dismayed.A lesson can be

learned abouttrue freedom from such a wonderful teacher, orone can

stepuntroubledthrough the glass shards. ~Mazie & b

When they plow their fieldsand sow seeds in the earthwhen they care

for their wives and childrenyoung brahmans find riches.But I've done

everything rightand followed the rule of my teacher.I'm not lazy or

proud.Why haven't I found peace?Bathing my feetI watch the

bathwaterspill down the slope.I concentrate my mindthe way you train

a good horse.Then I took a lamp and went into my cell,checked the

bed,and sat down on it.I took a needleand pushed the wick down.When

the lamp went outmy mind was freed.~ Patacara’s Enlightenment

We open our eyes, only to findwe have awoken in an insane aviary.If

you speak to a feathery inmate,they will twerp and tweet that you,"My

Dear", are the lunatic fowl, andthey the normal bird.The bird of mind

flies here and there until snatched in the talons of acertain

hawk.Death is inevitable –nothing remains but feathers,adrift on a

breath of freedom.Sometimes one can observe small sparrows,darting

and pecking at hawks in the sky.Seems suicidal and yet, we've all

come here for just such fun, squealing through the air!~Mazie & b

~**~

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