passersby

passersby


wait, please! haven’t i seen you before in passing? if not,

please forgive me but still, i feel as though we’ve met.


there are many strangers in life, hastily known, if at all. I feel

as though we’ve met by happenstance, perchance, do you recall?


do you remind me of someone I saw one time in a mirrored hall

long ago? if so, you were exceedingly fair, that much I can say!

like a fish caught in a net

like a fish caught in a net


like a fish caught in a net, bound against her will,

I sense that to struggle against karma’s harshly

miraculous and unpredictably bloody eructations

are futile exercises in ego appeasement in a place

where no fully human personality has ever been.


instincts to survive and to endure make her flip and

wriggle, nearly insensate. she gasps through gill and

jaw, quietly, for the air that will, if she breathes it,

send her into the next life. but not, hopefully, as a fish.


release from unending rounds of birth, old-age,

suffering, death and rebirth can only be won in

human lifetimes. after hearing about the causes of

suffering and its cessation, a sincere commitment

of mind and heart is the means to accomplish it.



it can be won in a single moment of spontaneous

realisation of boddhicitta. freedom will also come

to those who honour the practices of non-violence,

tolerance, forgiveness, kindness and generosity.

say the words

say the words


pregnant pauses, moments of hesitation and breaths caught signal

that what follows must be true and mature and ready to be heard,

like the clear notes of reason that lie beneath every one honest idea;


we wait, baited, hooked and caught by a compelling line that has

simply rubbed against the weft and warp of time to come, hoping

for a quick way out, an exit sign hard to miss we say, speak, please;


and, make sure the words are full of irony’s pith and that the participle

preceeds the conclusion’s big, big bang. we know you know that we

know you know what’s best, so hear our plea, and say the words.

shaking like a leaf

shaking like a leaf


here they are again, those times, those times that haven’t

augured well. when cold tsunamis of karmic repercussions

manifest and drown me once again. time isn’t distance,

I can’t run away and hide. but then, problematically,

when has it ever been possible to dodge karmic bullets?


blue, and being very very cold, simple decisions themselves

to enact, become inexact. dark and unclear, a way away from

this poverty is hard to say, but maybe less of this penury of

chattering spirits will do, only this once, if it helps at all.


here’s a wide, shallow doorway where I can squat. it’s

not any cover and no help. icy winds play up my sleeves

and down my neck. I’m scared I’ll freeze to death here on

these spacious American city streets, I’m shaking like a leaf.

sometimes, we wish

sometimes, we wish


vintage clocks ran in backwards movement, and

muted by forgiveness, words could be unheard.

angry heat morphed into gentle warmth, and savage,

bleeding wounds salved themselves, automatically.


that we had seen needs only, and ignored our wants,

and our ideas had never been agreed, still unspoken.

before assumptions formed and hearts were broken.

the beginning of a little better

the beginning of a little better


expected leaps and bounds haven’t happened yet, why ever not?

life’s given to hopes, guilty wishes confirmed, losing bets not covered;

there’s no blame or shame, wouldn’t any of us dreamers do the same?

we know what we want and ignore what we need, still, it isn’t alright.

magic won’t inflate what is into what we want it to be, what a drag.


“have patience, just wait;” until ears hurt from hearing it said, again and

again. why won’t they understand? time drains away, every grain of sand

has its say, quick, quick, never to be recaptured again, this isn’t a bluff.



the rub has been rubbed, and cares seem desperately heavy to lift,

but, needs must, once again, dig deep for a modicum of faith that

resists woe. so like a melody that plays and plays to heads that nod,

pay heed: often, as a beginning, a little is better than a lot of nothing.

vulgarity versus refinement

vulgarity versus refinement


the chief vulgarity of power is that it is a dark, panting thing;

lurking, flexed to pounce and flay into submission weak ones

who breathe in its corrosive fear, choking, grateful for the pain.


the chief refinement of power is that it is a thing of goodness;

lightly touching, flowing into friendship, trust and kindness,

wherever its gentle brilliance guides, giving of itself, always.

love’s lunar compliments

love’s lunar compliments


moonlight’s soft white glow holds deep, silent mysteries.

they’re reflected in your limpid eyes and your knowing heart,

and can only be guessed at until your gaze meets mine.


sunlight’s harsh orange rays either sizzle to life or burn to death.

love calls for shade to quench my heart’s heated, uncertain beats.

new love’s fires are welcomed fearfully, as the case may be.


nascent love’s kisses howl or moan, soft as a breeze’s caress.

wake me with the vastness of your love’s lunar landscape,

becoming quite lost there, with no fear, you’ll be my oxygen.

laughter as a consideration

laughter as a consideration


tonight I was reminded that people everywhere

have something in common that’s rarely mentioned

when pundits hold forth on ‘the human condition.’


I overheard my Muslim neighbors having a party to

celebrate a few days off from their jobs because

it’s the time of the Water Festival in Southeast Asia.


my place is too far away for me to clearly make out

words spoken in conversation but I had no trouble

hearing their laughter. it was infectious. I was charmed.


there you have it. that’s all I really needed to say. it’s

amazing how much there is to hear if we really listen. I

am ashamed to say I was, at first, annoyed by the noise.

skillful means

skillful means


living life requires navigating through myriad

challenging situations. some known to us,

pleasing and welcome, others unforeseen and

less welcome. often we will decide what to do

because we feel we must do our duty, even

if there are few good choices granted.


the way forward may seem to present now

as a lateral move where zigs pretend to zag,

or, as a straight level groove, straightaway.


but if, perchance, you think you cannot do your

duty and meet your obligation now, just wait and

think, maybe with no awareness of doing so at all.


lacking maps or tools to see your way ahead, imagine

the middle of the first step just ahead, and pursue

your ability to find the means, skillfully.


until, suddenly, unlike an x marked map, but true,

regardless of how very little you thought you knew,

the best path to follow will appear before you.

masters, guides and spiritual friends

masters, guides and spiritual friends


guru, teach me something that I need to know.

teach me a way to be less afraid, less confused.

confusion and fear are from ignorance you say.


everywhere I’ve been there was a lot to see.

I was filled with it until my emptiness showed.

you say inner journeys find richer discoveries.


illusions, based on me and mine begin to fade.

brave ego never met a pitfall it didn’t embrace.

delusions anchor lives in quicksand you say.


now muddy iotas stretch into sodden nowheres.

I beg for clarity, my views are smoky and veiled.

you say not to worry, that it’s only temporary.

in the lands where bandersnatchs roam

in the lands where bandersnatchs roam


summits ring round blighted lands where people’s homes

were foreclosed and abandoned at the subdivisions of yore.

every one now owned by the red queen’s minions, the banks.

it’s a harsh landscape where wild dogs prowl, feral and free

in alpha-led packs ready to rip and tear and devour prey.


deep in the interior’s cracked streets, down arrow straight lanes,

laid bare the shattered, bare broken homes of salarymen’s dreams.

the unwary go there to score. it could be drugs, it could be to visit

that rot-gut still in a long-forsaken shed that leans precariously

behind a crumbled three bedroom, two bath ranch; or, it could be

the underage trade that’s passed around from man to man. it’s a

foul, dangerous place where no one wants to be unless they have

fallen too low to break out because they’ve lost all vain hopes of

joining the living once again. they are to be pitied but avoided.


on dark, moonless nights fears grow keen, and never will be seen

the hot, slavering jaws that snap bones and rend tender flesh from

thin bones. and an horrendous stench of dreams corrupted by greed

overwhelms all. to say that hopelessness reigns is to overstate the

charms of helplessness when abject fear is reckoned into the mix.


is this then is the land that capital gains forgot? or, as I suspect, is this then

the leavings of the bandersnatch’s heedless, ravening feasts, left to rot?

I go to my human family

I go to my human family


I go to my human sister and I say, “sister help me.”

she gives me an arch look and then she says, “brother,

you’ve been gone too long, I don’t know you anymore.

I won’t help, for you are no one to me now.”


I go to my human brother and I say, “hail brother,

well met this fine day.” he looks me up and down

and then he says, “brother, you’ve got some nerve

to show up around here now.”


I go to my old human father and I say, “hello dad,

it’s been a long while since we met.” with slow

speech he says, “son, we thought you were gone,

there’s nought for you here now.


I go to my human mother and I say, “hi mom, I’m

so glad to see you again.” with downcast eyes she

whispers, “baby boy, you’re a sight for tired eyes

but I won’t look now.”


dear human family,

if it’s not important that your human sons and

daughters need you now, then when will it be important?

isn’t it true that we are all members of one human family?

hidden peaks

hidden peaks


high beyond this world’s unseen roof are hidden peaks.

for a very few questing souls whose journey takes them

inward, there are places where sojourner’s meditation’s

will, briefly, find a map. there, deep in the initiate’s mind,

richly drawn, ancient, secret paths will be revealed.


should the expedition be undertaken to benefit all sentient

beings, the tread will be light and swift. bodhicitta will

spontaneously arise in the seeker’s heart. and compassion’s

pure flames of grace will banish shadows from the path and

lead the way up and onward to apogees of forgiveness.


but if the journey has any other intention than that, seekers

will be met with the awful projections of a troubled mind,

and willful, compromising obstructions, and slippery, blind

dangers caused by wetly grasping at cold, sharp, flinty

attachments that appear as dualities in the wayfarer’s mind.

tears should flow to honour life

tears should flow to honour life


here on this world we make much of honour.

and in our brief times we make much of death.

and we often falsely conflate the two as being

consequential and supportive of one another.


but those with deeper, more thoughtful insight

don’t see things that way at all. to them, there’s

no greater bravery than to live life with a longing

for honesty, justice, and generosity of spirit.


some say, hopelessly, that such foolish proposals

are illogical because death is a universal constant.

but that’s just wrong; it’s life, with all it’s special

wonder that’s the real thing worthy of honour.

do believe - repurposed

do believe - repurposed


think, consider, measure, weigh, but don’t add or take away.

very long ago it was said and writ and often repeated mythically.

accept if it can be summed but if a tale seems askew, what to do?

practicality posits common sense over hope’s fancies, but drama,

drama suspends disbelief, if need to believe, or conform, is great.


weak confidence needs proof based on absolute, everlasting truth.

with half a mind and a questing heart we pursue glimpses of the

inimitable soul. but quicksilver ideas of immaculate births or deaths

briefly withheld, and lives attended by miracles, as the case may be,

are consistently hard to pin down emotionally, if at all.


if no other rationale comes into play, we hope then deeply for the

magic of faith to sustain us if there is naught else to grasp. that

ample certitude having been met, it is our desire that all will, finally,

agree that truth has been found in full degree. cherished words writ

large may be real or not, but do, do believe, by all imaginable means!

crystal doorknobs - revised

crystal doorknobs - revised


those memories of long ago, like echos of an echo’s echo,

scarcely heard, as they move in memory’s thick, dusty air.


beauty and strength were bestowed from heaven, and youth

was neverending like encore performances of free matinees.


whims, needs, and wants were catered to before they could

be fully imagined. all there was, was to be for me, selfishly.


arrogance, pride, and hubris too, were sown and grown in

fertile fields where the soil was moist, rich and fecund.


I never dreamt that some day I’d struggle to find febrile

remainders of what was then bright crystal days and times.


I never dreamt that anguished memories would soon be drawn

to me, to be remembered and known, and finally, unknown.


yet, I can still faintly see limpid, prismatic tokens that are now

commemorated as crystal doorknobs in the house of my youth.

anger, fear and hatreds trapped in amber

anger, fear and hatreds trapped in amber


don’t believe me, look for yourselves:

rigidity, paucity of heart, judgmentalism in excess of reason.


look for yourselves, don’t believe me:

warped senses of humour celebrate other’s failings and suffering.


don’t believe me, look for yourselves:

self-righteously owning every issue’s obscure proofs, pridefully.


look for yourselves, don’t believe me:

from magazines, maybe from media kook’s opinions, who knows?


don’t believe me, look for yourselves:

strident, angry voices bloviate to drown dissent before it’s heard.


look for yourselves, don’t believe me:

authority exhaled, seemingly, subterfuge reigns as perspicacity.


don’t believe me, look for yourselves:

drawn from old tropes, opinions abandoned long ago by most.


look for yourselves, don’t believe me:

twisted figures of speech, errancy unnoticed by most, surely not.


don’t believe me, look for yourselves:

sharp, harsh words defend and demand to be agreed by all, or else.


look for yourselves, don’t believe me:

dim, circular arguments, imprecisely vague, mystify and obfuscate.


don’t believe me, look for yourselves:

anger, fear and hatreds diminish all that’s good as consequence.