Wigant and Ise

[Guest guest]

Ignorance and Wisdom, ergo,

Ignorant and Wise...

 

Wignordom and Ignisorance, ergo,

Wigant and Ise.

 

Were they children of the Wu?

Were they children of the Wu...

 

Were they children, me and You?

Were they children, me and You...

 

Were they children chumming views?

Were they children chumming views...

 

Were they children, me and You?

Were they children, me and You.

 

The Eyes have it, as I hack it

haplessly,

helplessly,

to death. Did, do, doo-dad's clue the Id, ergo,

in the do the dead don on,

do Egotrons that in-and-out

in the inner shout of Etceteric Dawning,

(yawning now,) schmooze from the smacker

of my own heard herded from sacred cows...the Bo-vine

of belief, is it, is it climbed

then leaped

 

off?

 

Doffed of the dead-edged wunderbar-wedgies, (so fetching!)

and doffed of the cap of berate we faithfully wear,

faire smile, fair-played art of dente et visage,

detente of dualing dharma-stars

alarming armies of I and You,

do fine teeth brash Brahma, brushing up

against Vishnu, Shiva, in this, this

Quiver-flirting with fana from afar?

 

Are we sometimes splash-flashed like cash

cosmic-clipped from the causal-ball wall

of belief,

and do nondual police have a place to leg a stand on?

 

Hands on humility

with no hands

and no one to have a hand in it.

 

Hands on heart-throb, hard-on the trail of time

and timed to align the Belief-Star

with the Relief-Star of wanting

and trying

and vying

for a place to space a face further away,

flung faster and truer, thrust farther and bluer

in the yonder away, so wild with won't, with can't

that it cannot ponder the play away,

from the flames of see,

from the Sea of say...

 

Saaaay, aren't I saying that we defray the fraying

when we delay the laying

away

of jots and tittles and koan riddles,

when in the living, in This living

breathing being

being that, in chat and chittage,

we skittle the scam's figurativement

when we can the jar,

the star-jar of bright true mind,

time and time-durationally timed to ideas, again,

and yet again in the then,

which is the now, and somehow,

it's just more than we are seemingly ready to bear

of the burn's bruntage.

 

Love-Shunted SunBubble Breaking-Up the Brevity

with Levity by letting go of e v e r y t h i n g

forever and ever and ever

and then...

 

Then Nows Out.

 

 

Now, a nod to Rumi --

 

Rumetics -

 

Listen to the story told by the reedof being separate."Since I was cut

from the reedbed,I have made this crying sound.Anyone separated from

someone he lovesunderstands what I say.Anyone pulled from a

sourcelongs to go backAt any gathering I am there, minglingin the

laughing and the grieving,a friend to each, but fewwill hear the

secrets hiddenwithin the notes. No ears for that.Body flowing out of

spirit,spirit up from body. We can't concealthar mixing, but it's not

given usto see the soul." The reed fluteis fire, not wind. Be

nothing.hear the love-fire tangledin the reed notes, as

bewildermentmelts into wine. The reed is a friendto all who want the

fabrictorn and drawn away. The reed ishurt and salve

combining.Intimacy and longing forintimacy in one songA disasterous

surrender,and a fine love, together.The one who secretly hears thisis

senseless.A tongue has one customer, the ear.The power of a cane flute

comesfrom its making sugar in the reedbed.Whatever sound it hasis for

everyone.Days full of wanting, let them go bywithout worrying that

they do.Stay where you are, insidesuch a pure, hollow note.

 

~ Rumi/Barks

 

 

LoveNowingly,

 

Mazie

 

 

 

 

 

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