One turns away from this cycle of becoming.
Shaken by the force of habit and longing.
Knowingly- dragging the bones of the 10,000 sufferings.
Why is it that when you get it?
The grasping, clinging, attachment seems so apparent.
Dragon spewing rocks and fire--beginning this courageous battle of the "self" unburdening.

Heroes; generously giving themselves to a journey plagued by doubt.
Knowingly they had to mix the fear with the faith.
Blind once more; resting in the faith of the Pilgrim who broke free 25 centuries ago.
Befriending the sworn enemy of clarity and heart.
No possibility of turning around when the scent of freedom,
Registering the truth of such a fleeting world ,close at hand.

One sits so quietly listening to the flow of sensations and thoughts.
No longer disturbed by doubts or the need to know.
Everything is like water flowing through your palms and fingers.
This deep sense that you have left behind the ferocity of a painful world.
This immunity of the great silence, giving birth to this confidence and delight.

You have made it past the dark shores and the burning buildings.
To a place on that first hill- seeing the fog in the distance and the body of the great mountain.
This simple longing to reach the thin and glorified heights of a promised freedom.

One gently descends into this foggy valley consumed by its own beauty.
Trees with delicate moss, perfect flowers with enchanted bees.
Streams with perfect clarity- nothing out of place.
Recognizing the growing joy, tranquility and happiness.
Completely enthralled by the lightness of being and virtues of concentration.

Suddenly recognizing that one still had a ways to go before reaching the great mountain.
Oh my! Shades of impermanence, twinges of suffering and personality still linger.
Climbing slowly out of the fog of delight.
Coming to a vista- sinking deeply into the knowledge and body of truth.
Kneeling down to drink the tears of last year's realizations.

 Looking up from this pristine Hill, the great mountain is that much closer.
A steep path leading down through rocks and bramble bushes.
Stumbling down through heavy fog ,temporarily hiding the great mountain.
The clear austerity and strenght of one who knows there is no turning around.

One weaves one's way down, down to the bottom of the ravine.
Disenchanted by the sense doors or even the conjured stories and beliefs.
Everything steady-a deep equanimity allows one to climb up through the steepness.
Leaving behind the sleeping world, non-attached in dispassionate steps -one climbs.

 Freeing oneself from the fog -the moon shines on the great mountain.
Lighting up all the corners of one's own mind and heart.
Now your bag is empty; no need for words or even inspiration.
Arriving at the gateless gate.

Before the flame ignites the world.

Sitting close to the breath.
A voice hesitant and trembling a little.
Is there a choice here or is it just habit?
Bamboozled, by a world turning too fast.

It's such a small movement, how life’s
marvels lead to this moment's hesitations.
How easily our wings could catch fire
Or help us soar above this meditation hall.

Oh yes! A small crack revealed, rising and floating
In the mist of my own mind.
Can't you tell the difference –Sir- between?
Being pulled into or being pushed away?

Oh my! This slight stumble – caught again,
Entranced, by this cycle of becoming.
Weeds floating on the surface.
Knowing somehow the weeds keep reproducing themselves.

This is about insight.
Courageously- studying the laws of grasping.
Befriending the truth of dependent origination.
Knowing some days I wish I didn't or couldn’t know.

Yet readiness for quiet brings me down to my knees.
A moment where I don't choose liking or disliking
But sit in the center of longing without movement.
The sky slowly begins to open.

Recognizing that resting in that crack between worlds.
Brings the blessings of an adult mind
And the heart of the child, held with ease.

Freeing oneself; this bright mind illuminates this impermanent world.

The marvels of the Bougainvillea and the hibiscus.
Colors that hold one in softness and beauty.
Delighted by the visible world.
The sea in its blue and turquoise – so inviting.

Butterflies dancing in warm Thai breezes.
The jungle and perfect temperature of water and air.
With the outer world so enchanted.
Why -see, feel the transparency of such an ideal world?

Easy to want to keep this physical world in such perfect order.
Yet a mind trained to disassemble, deconstruct the visible.
Releasing the entire known world into its truth of
Its dependently ,co-arising.
The sheer emptiness of it all turns one to the unconstructed.

One could call this the invisible world.
Someplace where consciousness releases the seen world.
Dancing on the edge of the known parameters of the senses.
Resting between the edge of sea and land.

The marvels of living in a fleeting world.
Sometimes engrossed – absorbed in little moments of the senses.
Other times, feeling the sadness of your irreversible time.
The world, our bodies fading from youth, midlife, now old age.

Such a small crack- needing trained attention.
Releasing all fabrications, infedecimal moment after infedecimal moment.
Softening the heart so beauty and sadness hold together.
Truth giving answer; how can I help? knowing all this.

Day and night the relentless fury,
Waves pounding out every thought, every emotion.
Sometimes believing one is stranded on the edge;
The edge of time – the silence between the waves.
How can the fury and the silence coexist?

Sometimes drifting towards a past,
Where the magic and the bitters,
Fall short of anything as real –
As the sea mimics the breath.
Or is it breath that mimics the sea?

 Feeling the old tugs.
The mind tracking itself.
Looking for its own source.
Bedazzled by its own constructions.

Gently; giving over to the waves,
A mind twisting to find meaning.
Turning itself- inside out.
Only to find this body, sensing itself.

Oh yes! It was all about surrender.
The mind was at home to begin with.
Being lived through a body-
A heart washed in gratitude.

Rising, falling, rising, falling

Looking out with longing eyes.
Recognizing that in youth there was some solis.
Adventuring always to another trail,
leading you to some fork in the road.
The thrill of the new places never seen before.
Somewhere inside-
longing for a higher road,
destined like any traveler to be subject to the unpredictable.

Yet today sitting quietly realizing,
even the trials of midlife;
tore at the souls of the old pilgrim.
bruised and scarred old feet.
Leaving his armor broken and bent.
Knowing the learning is all about the sunset now.

The bravado of yesterdays sunrises… touching deeply.
As the aware mind , surrenders to its likes and dislikes.
Not buying anything anymore.
Just the senses and thoughts experiencing themselves.
Control was a fantasy, the freeing of… was everything.

 The wings even broken in places...
now knowing -even the slightest breezes;
allow one to glide through a contracted world.
Freedom was in everything, sliding softly into ease.
The small tears of grace being so grateful for living.

All this just to find faith even so very small.
Heart feeling its own wonder.
No longer needing the footpath of the Pilgrim.
But the wonder of still being alive.

Every place, giving everything – hallelujah.

Sometimes walking along the path ,
the traveler encounters his own needy shadow.
Perplexed by the question"that can't be me?"
The mirror must be confused.
It's just a visitation from a ghost,
some proximity of the real me.

Deep down knowing that the confrontation
was again pulling one toward ones own beckoning.
Where the revelation of the path through the mountains. Could be a way to silence the one in the mirror.
Oh my! How many me's have I created.
Every fear and hope creating a newer version.

Finally having to stop.
Not turning around or looking ahead.
But standing; face in hands.
Shedding tears for all the lost selfs.
Meticulously crafted ,so I wouldn't have to know
it would end as a dead end . Everything redistributed.

Speaking in a low voice, hoping the others parts won't hear.
This hidden silence, slowly deconstructing
the tortured and unassuming faces, or should I say "masks".
A moment again where the mountain path –
so obscured by the many stories painted so colorfully
across masks- distorting both eyes and ears.
Comes back into focus.

Winding its way towards the heavens.
Revealing snow and wind, to a high and rocky loneliness .
A place where we can take back
the image and break the mirror of " this and that".
At last letting the body carry this heart and mind.
Slowly letting the self recede in the amazement.
Being blessed by the relative and absolute.

Sitting up straight
Correcting ourselves over and over
Dedicating ourselves to the good.
Beyond ambition – beyond attainment –
Yet some deep down longing
Correcting posture over and over.

Knowingly--- developing this fearless openness.
Reestablishing; maintaining; flexibility and resilience.
Knowing no place better to cultivate this sanity,
Determined to stay in the center of our pillow.

The posture can be lost so easily.
Darkness creep under my wandering thoughts.
Coveting the smallest little sparkles,
Dragging me 100 miles from here.

How to avoid these seductive cries?
Stories seeming more real than this place I sit.
How to overcome the sharp edge of a dead past.
Or conjure up a perfect future.

Sometimes simplicity and strength,
Coming into the sheer foundation of your own loveliness.
Living so close to this gut feeling of peace and ease.
The fire of your own voice singing praise to all awakening.

Curled up in front of the fire at home at last.
Knowingly--- bowing to the darkness.
Old friend; coming in the back door;
Ushering itself out the front door.

Straightening up again -mind at rest in soft heart . . .

When will we ever wake up?
Destined to sit in our own
Darkness –
Clamoring for our own redemption.

Such an apocalyptic culture;
Caught in the vortex of absolute endings.
Innocence gifted back to us only when
We’ve given ourselves over to our fears-anxieties

Clouds down around our ankles.
Damp and gray wrapped in our own bodies and raingear.
The long calendar of the Mayans,
Destined to start another
Solar cycle. Hooray, another chance.

Sitting still, somehow trusting the current,
Open to an unmoored boat floating downstream –
Deadlines, schedules, appointments,
A world with constant demand.

Breaks my heart, over and over.
The faces of small children lost to a future.
Seeing the open innocence of my three grandchildren.
Wondering what pain those Connecticut families must feel.

This sitting here; heroically –
Loving the small voice underneath.
Deep below the obvious.
Some sanity reconnected – wisdom found.

Dissecting the personal over and over, to nausea.
Slowly stepping back- separating -content from the
Vast space. Relaxing in all the small spaces.
The sky has no limits.

Somehow knowing the heart understands.
All separateness was untrue.
Welcoming us to the new paradigm.
Wisdom with compassion flying off into the future.
The joy can be catching… …Blessings

The clouds move through our Valley
drizzle then perfect sunshine.
Balancing the elements.
The sky too big for our own smallness.

Coming to this place with these simple instructions.
The vulnerability of this human intimacy challenged.
This breathing into our own darkness.
Somehow being alone in our own arrogant selfishness.

This sitting, allows the chaos of our world to gently yield.
Reaching out through the years.
Finding some grace; some medicine.
That shakes the heart; and loosens our grasp.

Stepping out of a life so long ignored.
Dipping back into one's uncertainty,
forgetting the strength in our own bones.
magnifying the prayer of this mysterious groudlessness.
Softening, for some final blow.

Having beaten the judger in ourselves 1000 times.
Only to crack the old” selfishness” .
What seemed like a battle becomes a symphony.
Holding this simple, wild, unfettered heart.

Our world open to the great stillness.

There is this leaning forward ;checking it, again and again.
Could we be near a new beginning or a dreaded ending?
I was thinking–oops that could be the problem.
Always this imagining– having learned how to keep it simple.

Sitting on a bench near the hall; tree miraculously budding.
Loosening my grip on these sense doors and fickle thoughts.
Sitting in the tranquil presence of my own body.
Breath - breathing itself; remembering this leaning into time only a habit.

We sat together–awareness--- these sense doors--- in this grand and marvelous world.
Studying this inner/outer landscape, hoping to find something.
But then there was just -fooie and wow--- couldn't find a thing.
Some grand awakening will have to wait till next retreat. Fooie!

I knew this was all so very simple–
Clear mind---seeing for miles and miles.
A mysterious heart holding everything in this open spaciousness.
Anchoring awareness in the body knowing the ease as the destination.

So I practice, not moving into tomorrows.
No leaning into time, planning some pleasure or impossible escape.
But resting in the natural peace and ease.
That is the natural peace and ease. Confident in how it goes.

May the sanctuary of this practice.
Held so keenly by the two winged crow.
Bursting with its chatter.
Sending its message from retreatants to the heavens.

Perched on the pinnacle of our hall.
Viewing our own longing for freedom.
Covered over by the dark door of our own hope and fear.
We sat quietly - unruffled by the unseen.

The weight of our own shadows.
Slowly dissolving under the intense light of our own awareness.
The great light of our own goodness shining from behind.
Believing that we will be blinded - slowly we turn away, directly into the sun.

Words, ideas, and images dissolving in the light of this truth.
Finally exhausted–we stop struggling.
A free being can only praise what cannot be described.
Every bit of the known--- relaxes in this wonderment of peace.

Hallelujah

Was it the concert given by the frogs?
the Dharma talk that was louder,
than the chatter of my own mind.
Until the wild roar stopped.

A silence descended through the hall.
Stillness untroubled by breath of that forgotten place.
Your own voice refused to move your delinquent thought words.
Adjusting without movement the quiet fury of the stillness, almost forgotten.

Like the great Hunter you track that breath, enlivened and focused.
Respectfully balancing a bedazzled heart and this well-crafted discernment.
You who came to this place longing for child's eyes that had grown accustomed to loss.
This river of aliveness floating on the minds inward attention.

Frogs came alive again but this time breathing life.
Some great stillness untouched by the sounds.
Breath, body, mind/heart placed on the pin point in time.
Everything lined up for a fraction of a moment.

Your mind knowing this emptiness;
Heart knowing this fullness.
All bargaining over; you have arrived.

The grande Oaks - blades of grass - soil shriveled and empty of moisture.
Waiting patiently without emotion, a day when the sky opened.
Teardrops from the heavens quenching the earth’s thirst.
Everything opening - so it can fully be its aliveness.

One moment longing, another moment filled to the brim.
Soil, trees, beyond enough so it races downhill.
Pulling all loose things down towards the mouth of the universal ocean.
Low spots filled - the veins of the earth rushing down toward its own merging.

A good day to see that nothing holds on; not for the minutest of time.
Awake, to every sense door–finding no home in them.
Heart sinks, as all contaminated states shake us.
Our core finds no rest in this transient world flowing by.

This attempt at finding ground; a solid me to hang my hat on.
Was this just a trick–finding this inflated or maybe deflated Mirage?
Again, floating downstream–no winning or losing here.
Just a heart bent towards ease; freedom close at hand.

Dropping in–smack–into the middle of your world.
The silence crackling through my bloodstream.
Oh I can guess–you came to set something free.
But once again nothing but change; new teachers, new faces.
The boat you so carefully steadied.  Rocked -
Knowing this feeling of empty seats with familiar socks and shawls.
Vanishing into the rain and fog.

You know, the one who pretended to have it all together.
Feeling again the loneliness of those who bowed and walked away.
Openly aware of those still here.  All who hold you now….
How still can I be in this stilled world?
How still can I be in this still world?

Is it holding the old stories, being battered and beaten?
Or is it the lightness of being, which radiates in the 10,000 directions.
We who have arrived can only bow down to your truth.
But the height of the mountain that calls us all
Stretches out before us as our common destination.

February 28, 2012 Two Month-ers

Clouds covering the open sky,
blueness gone, gray holding the heavens
this first day, wobbling is like this.
Shades of sleepiness. . .
mind spinning,
holding court with memories,
body–resisting, creaking or was it just hollering
why did I come?

Some small gesture. . .
this sitting up straight,
remembering the sadness,
no one can be saved-
time takes its toll.
Heart sinks with truth.

How to begin again?
Knowing all about endings.
Could it be so simple?
Letting go of everything.
Starting to practice again, breath appears–
where no breath was noticed before
life is holding itself.

These magical displays. . .
breath enters– this subtle relationship.
Giving and taking.
A wilderness of unforeseen chaos,
reorganizing itself.
Inhale–exhale - in out. . .

Could there be a place to rest
in this ferocity of change?
These elements dancing
earth, air, fire , water.
Oh yes–this knowing
it has its place to rest–readily available
mind dancing in body.

Looking carefully–close in
body and mind befriended
a sense of ease.
I knew you came to awaken.
Relaxing in the center
of this pleasant, unpleasant dance.

Oh my! Bell rings
leaving the whole valley waiting.
All disappearing–reappearing
disappearing -reappearing.
Heart quivers.

Color bursting on retina,
grass and trees washed clean.
Entrancing eyes, ears, nose, mind. . .
California spring bursting toward summer;
this Valley vibrating towards its own creation.

This silence so keenly decreed-
Only this wind blowing...
can actually speak in this inhabited valley
speaking only the language of leaves/ branches rubbing.

We came to this enchanted Valley.
so this human silence
could tear bitterly at these closed places. . .
you know, the betrayals, pains, regrets
moments of all sorts; lost forever. . .
good and bad- drowned in all of time.

Slowly; to regain this fundamental clarity.
these afternoon winds blowing new thoughts down,
down to the great highway.
remembering–holding to anything–is not the point.

Could it be? like waking from a dream;
a clear buoyant mind.
wide like the sky;
has no need of an object.

Finding some balance
these factors- awakening themselves
this crucible of a teeter totter
balanced on the head of a pin.
Everything comes to this center point.
The known world vanishes;
Mind in its dualism,
has lost its home.

All seperateness
Untrue.

In a world of shifting sands
One sees the Hawk
Perched in our Valley
Calm -devoted to all movement,
In the green sparkling grasses.

The crow dive bomb him
This is my roof, my territory, my meditation all,
My stories, my thoughts.
How dare you intrude.

Standing on this edge,
The merciless, sweet, sound of your own voice.
Never convincing you to jump.
The taste of salt and dry mouth
And the blood from your own bitten lip.

Who told you,? You could out-think this life.
Weighing all things with your golden intelligence.
That jumping into complete silence
the sheer darkness …
wouldn’t have consequences?
No matter how courageously you struggled.

Yet, your own redemption.
This simple gesture
A Buddha touching the earth.
Dissolving the madness of centuries.
A Hawk poised on the edge of roof
About to drop off into
Darkness of the unknown.

Only two possibilities
Finding something solid to stand on;
Or
You will be taught how to fly.

Faith comes in confirmation
Like electricity–unseen
Yet it lights your path.

Returning from so many journeys.
Stories piled on top of stories.
Closing chapter after chapter.
In some small cave...
Hidden away, some text-
Forgotten for centuries.
Held tightly in the silence.
This river of our own mythology.

You! who have abandoning yourself, one too many times.
Having finally sat down -
knowing nothing is forgotten in this place,
only amplified.
This meditation hall filled to the brim.

Stepping back–moving out of this house of dreams.
Into your own center.
Holding this lacquered begging bowl.
holding last year’s dreams over it,
knowing this simple gesture;
hands open…
dropping it leaf by leaf,
into this bottomless bowl.

I was here to celebrate-
After all this living, ---bargaining over.
A place where the hummingbirds come:
To taste the sweetness of your own openness.
The insecurity slips at last-
The rains washes it down
the green hillside
Into the creek, undistinguished
From tears or just the toxins of growing up .

Sitting, like a stone Buddha
Unmoved by the longings and the dislikes .
Now, no need to move away from the Great Suffering,
Or even be enchanted by the Great Joy.
One sits– in even mindedness; with a boundless heart.
Earth, water, fire, air- find no footing here.

One rests, the exile is over.
To praise- form and the formless
A world were Emptiness, just the word.
Brings your hands together.
Gives way to a bow –
In the great understanding.

You know now when they use the words,
Luminous or boundless
It is no stranger,
You know you can sit in the Unknowing.
Blessed by a taste of grace.

Rain cascading down, the heavens have opened.
Bundled up inside my own memories.
Water rushing, moving through me swiftly.
Tip towing across the surface of breathing.
Pointing towards our own hospitality.

Destined to reach my own underground.
A place where I could let the rain
Soak through my clothes;
Skin; flesh, to these very bones.

Dharma not different than the rain.
Truth soaking through the layers of my own being.
Celebrating its silence and strength
Reaching the marrow of our bones.
All judgments left on the surface.
The outward bathed in calmness.
Inward resting in original nature
The eyes smiling at all things.

The no name teacher comes,
Teaching us to hold nothing.
“Flow is possible” finally in gentle voice.
Yet–resistance, uncertainty – maybe the old small panic.
“I can’t swim, can’t breathe”
Abandoning the possibilities of freedom.
Totally forgetting that the river can’t be stopped.
Just molecules dancing towards infinity.

Deep down, being earnest and loyal,
Opening to this cascade of remembering.
Dharma has touched these bones. . .
Knowing separateness to be untrue.
The gift from these practices; simple trust.
This surrendering and stillness.
Determining its possible to just float;
In the aloneness of one’s own River.

Having been touched by all the small loves.
Knowing you belong to this place.
You open both arms.
Knowing; the smallest entry;
Could give rise to this Great Love,
You know the one that holds everything
And no-thing. . .

the white heron
standing so still, dignity of posture-
so like the yogis in our hall
knowing somehow
To draw ourselves back-back into a center of safety-
consumed solely by the center of our own flames.

Burning of the old -- the old stories
wishes, fears, desires;
your own voice calling to yourself,
only heard by yourself
back, back from the brink of the remembering
to this place where the white heron stands.
Breath- breathing you.

Untouched, by a shredded past,
an uncomprehensible future;
resting like the white heron
only the dignity of the posture remains
blessed by the faculties of our senses
knowing somehow there is no other world,
than this, simply this.

There is this small point, infinite point
where the world divides.

one road --
leading back, back into the flames of becoming
this voice speaking too quickly --
desperately searching through the crowded years
where life's hopes - fears;
can be played
in this game of winning and probably losing
grasping tightly , capturing, imprisoning,
keeping it for all of... time.

And then there's this other path---old path
caught in the miracle of ordinariness,
bewilderment ---
the price of the sand slipping through our fingers..
knowing somehow that you have to surrender-
leaving behind the hopes and fears in the grasping,
resting nowhere -- falling on your knees;
knowing somehow that the heart knows its way from here- on.

The gurgling of the creek
asking only one thing.
"Can you move with me"
teaching -- never the same twice -- just moving.
Asking to trust the impossible of this waiting

How to breath this aloneness
poised on a ledge of spring.
everything waiting
bees, flies, you, me,
trembling from the earth's power of renewal.

You came to this place
knowing only faith could carry you across the threshold
some fierce love so deeply buried
some moments so long forgotten
rising out of the clear mind/heart,
that keenly feels its lightness, brightness
wanting to be found, to come alive -
to its own delight, joy, steadiness
letting the darkness recede.

This great posture, unmoved by the small discomforts
sitting -- an ancient Buddha
revealing an upward spiral moving towards a moment-
a moment of disappearing
following up all the way up to nowhere.
Step-by-step

Moving back into the known, this becoming
grabbing the smallest sound in time.
Bang!!
Your sensitivity yelling -- ouch!
Caught, trapped, struggle
had enough of this dying?
Please- please let go.

No wish -no need-only to journey down with gravity
revelations occur
we were never not whole.
Blessed and blessed again
by the emptiness, the nakedness of it all.
We have to give up everything to sit here;
the eyes of a wise-one and the heart of a child.

Before freedom speaks
you must know?
Know you lost something
someone somewhere somehow.
When a small shiver -- vibration
some tingling that causes your fingertips to stretch out;
out beyond time
someplace where that budding awareness
Leaves the foul taste and smell behind.

So a lucid calmness
like stepping through the clouds
being held in all directions
your own strong arms
embracing that seer/ that seeker
the one who promised freedom.
Your own body covered in rags
A patchwork of so many dreams;
caught in the destiny of becoming.

Today you looked under the covers
far beneath the aluring senses
somewhere where a warm heart and fierce eyes;
feet free to walk-
among the high mountains again....
unmoved but the chill of last year's dying.

Needing only a moment of full attention
the whole world disappears
all the grasping to belong -- gone
all the constructions- useless
this body-mind; interconditionality - known
wisdom well earned sees the natural state of things
Oops ! the heart breaks open.

So why would I want to climb this mountain?
Maybe it was yesterday, last week, last month, last year, sometime long ago,
long before now.

A lightning bolt cut through the darkness of minds eternal chatter.
Revealing a majestic snow -- covered peak.
Somehow not knowing if it was real or a dream?
Some impulse deep down,
knowing no time to waste...

The heart frozen
the mind emeshed in fog
body not found.

Knowing the harsh need to changes us, was at hand.
Sitting down in remedial silence
watching everything like the sages, seers, seekers,
listening, listening breathing, fidgeting,
thoughts like streams of every color
darting off, landing nowhere.

Was it five days; nine days,
waiting for that inner compass
that trusted voiceless instinct
like a sleepwalker
surrendering the mind to the heart.

Humbly walking without seeing
zero visibility
heart knowing its way;
nervously letting ourselves down
on this old path
trodden by so many courageous;
seekers -- wanderers -- pilgrims.

letting go of the ground we stand on
nervously clinging to every day,
so for one moment --
the breath -- breathe all beings.
Yes! You were always whole...
The mountain was you.

standing so still, dignity of posture-
so like the yogis in our hall
knowing somehow
To draw ourselves back-back into a center of safety-
consumed solely by the center of our own flames.

Burning of the old -- the old stories
wishes, fears, desires;
your own voice calling to yourself,
only heard by yourself
back, back from the brink of the remembering
to this place where the white heron stands.
Breath- breathing you.

Untouched, by a shredded past,
an uncomprehensible future;
resting like the white heron
only the dignity of the posture remains
blessed by the faculties of our senses
knowing somehow there is no other world,
than this, simply this.

There is this small point, infinite point
where the world divides.

one road --
leading back, back into the flames of becoming
this voice speaking too quickly --
desperately searching through the crowded years
where life's hopes - fears;
can be played
in this game of winning and probably losing
grasping tightly , capturing, imprisoning,
keeping it for all of... time.

And then there's this other path---old path
caught in the miracle of ordinariness,
bewilderment ---
the price of the sand slipping through our fingers..
knowing somehow that you have to surrender-
leaving behind the hopes and fears in the grasping,
resting nowhere -- falling on your knees;
knowing somehow that the heart knows its way from here- on.

Did you say it was over.
You mean I'm kicked out
back to the world I so carefully crafted?

How could this be?
I just got here.
You must have a plan.
all this work
just to get so sensitive?

It was raining and dark
both inside and outside.
When I arrived.
Sitting quietly,
again and again
and so
the clouds on the inside
began to thin-
day by day.

You knew you came
to give up some of the old,
and frightened parts.

Remembering some faith---
the Sun having been there all along.
waiting,
waiting patiently.,
day after day....
For you to breathe into your heart once again
standing firm
-- knowing for sure that the winds of change;
demanding everything.
only to pull you back into the complex- of your life.
maybe this time.
Pausing a little longer.
Listening
listening to something below the chatter.
Heart little more at ease.
One sings one song.
Mercy Mercy --

Oh you thought I could talk about the heart
the subtle way the armor shifts.
The many layers that hold it in place
and cover it with trance.
Or the ice that chills the fear
and freezes the heart.

At night, even the light through the window shades,
asked the moon to come
and press its face against mine.

Yes, breathing into me,
closing the dream world,
eyes open, 3 AM
shutting off the world of words.
A soundless shadow of the heart
knowing; like a bird nesting,
would gather all our flaws in celebration.

Could it be, uncovering another layer --
breath -- wedded to both body -- mind
seemingly uncomplicated and unfabricated
that this small movement,
the smallest shifts,
allows -- heart freed from its trance
to shine like the moon,
undiluted by the window shades of our stories.

To merge with it perfectly, impossibly
it opens and closes
"the sure hearts release"
a promise given by the awakened one
thousands of years ago.

I know, you know, we know
I remember, you remember, we remember
that's enough, you're enough, this is enough.

the eye drops off to sleep.

Sitting on the bench,
the brazen Turkey with the club foot.
Knowing the human predator
suspended in these wandering yogis.

Knowing somehow they are taken by something greater
knowing their first utterances,
overheard only by themselves
dropping them only deeper;
the silence of this impossible place.

The white tailed kite, sitting so still
suspended above our valley
both wings in unison
hovering at the edge of its own
insubstantialness;
body still, eyes everywhere.

Here the visible and invisible
show us how our ego -- mad mind
dreams on and on. Questioning what's real, who's real,
heralding the ancient panic.

Here on this ground, the wave breaks
leaving you only sky
vast empty sky
a groundlessness
that sparks the panic
which lights the flame again.

One wing which holds one above the valley
empty-- maybe just emptyness.
in the other some old flame with its warmth
and uncompromising light;
one holding the void the other to touch our world.

You knew you came to die.
Seeing through all the fabricated selves,

the warmth and light only things left .
please take my hand
the world knows you
they have been waiting.
-- sanity and compassion.

yesterday this was me, today not sure

From this silence so well constructed
I wonder off, into tomorrow.
bending like a willow
trying to touch a world unhatched,
this impossible, of my imagination.

i am the intimacy of faith
I am the grandeur of loneliness.
I am the worthiness;
-that which is kept buried beneath the wounds of my stories.

Sometimes everything has to be studied
knowing somehow this sitting here
not enough.

this knowing the fierce walking
like pilgrims through the darkness.
Knowing we've traveled inside everyone.

Feeling the grief; the joys.
I want to know
no more traveling on the wings of fear and hope.
but sit by the fire of living
no longer dying to what could have been
or even what will be.

But finding my place in the things that are;
some mystery presented
some grace
some bit of mercy
miraculously lived.

So let this listening
Somewhere beneath the granite shelves of the earth
where the sweet waters, lie in wait.
To be tapped to give life back to itself.

This basic goodness
this first step home
gives you back to yourself
the heart flowing with each encounter
a mind pliable; moving like the sweet stream
from that deep down listening .

I am awake
as the world calls in its pungent need to change me.
I move into it -- with it.

We came to the waters for some reason?
Possibly some childhood connection!
Some ancient pathway-
To be touched, to be moved, yes! possibly forever.

Allowing some mysterious place-this unknown .
Water pouring into water. . .
A cave in the dark clouds;
Where the crutches of centuries are laid to rest.

Could it be hunger for ordinary bread.
Something so plain and simple ?
Yet the complexity of our thinking-
Addicted to the old ways of darkness and never enough-ness ?

Simply sitting- Seen from some new place,
Hands placed so neatly in one’s lap;
Enraptured - wholly amazed. . .
Intimately washed by the waters of the heavens.

Knowing; no one could be prepared for this re-told story.
And somewhere above the clouds of our thinking-we can remain open like the vast sky.
The steadiness-the brightness –the lucid.
I know this is in you–as I know it is in me.

We came to let go of this darkness;
That gnarly scaling snakeskin of the past.
Hopefully--renewed by the waters, softening the old leathery hardness.
Giving us back this miraculous - pliable, flexible, adaptable, shining heart.

Winter solstice / full moon / moon eclipses / new beginnings
December 22, 2010

Today was a good day.
Listening to the whispering,
the hum below the mind chatter
of so many stories told and retold.

So many talks' of mountains,
pilgrimages, lakes, caves, foreign lands,
Demons and Angels.
Saints, sinners, and clowns
stumbling always stumbling
some human frailty exposed.

Trying not to rush to some conclusion.
but to dangle on the ledge
of not knowing'
entangled in the ferocity of
waiting.

Why not?
Relaxing in some small place where the grief
and the dark waters of life's truths;
ease ....some breath between breaths that
releases the burned past.
Leaving some expansion, a luminosity,
some awareness of the infinite -- close at hand.
When every strategy has failed
standing on the precipice
shouting....
"I can't take any more."
So everything falls away.
"Plop"

John Travis - 08/17/09

Sitting on the bench,
meditation hall held in fog.
The path winding down,
down past the dining hall
stretching out towards the world.

Sitting in remedial fear of the world
kicked out of solitude,
the madness of my own life.

How can the sensitivity to be translated?
How do these sweaty palms
find a home?

Breathing; touching my own hand,
knowing somewhere deep down
touch is always available.

Not out there, in here,
stepping out into a world;
so consumed by itself.

standing ;feeling body;
small shiver
as the becoming and
the fear rises together.

Can you ever be ready?
Stepping back into the
like you have so carefully
crafted out of all
the old wounds and successes.

Is it possible to stand
in the center.
Unmoved by the tides of change.
awake, collected,
heart listening to all the subtle
clues?

Why not today?
Awake, at ease
remembering,
remembering the monastery bell

How it rang, yet left
no trace.

Ready?

Yes, ready

John Travis - 01/02/09

Today from one thought
I created Buddha realms.
Layer upon layer,
Like a blister
It popped.
At first stranded in the present;
Only to awaken to peace
And contentment of the simple
Ordinary awareness that holds
The Buddha feels of right here.

Leaning back - not disturbed by anything
All experience empty
Need for or against
Nowhere to be found.
Thoughts float by like clouds
Letting everything pass by,
No place to stand, awareness takes care of itself....

Bodh Gaya, India, Full Moon, February 11, 2006

Like a great blazing fire
Body came to rest on the cushion
Fired up to stay awake and present
Only to find bittersweet drifting off,
Old stories holding court
While body cried out
"Pay attention to me, I'm the most important. "
Everything demanding attention
Nobody's getting first choice today.
Maybe enlightenment can wait

Where are my car keys???
John Travis 3-30-05

As I was pushing on,
The Wall appeared,
Falling to my knees,
I cursed it.
One time
Closing down,
Silent,
Withdrawn,
Letting go of the longing (wanting) to arrive.
Out of some deep passage-way
My hands begin to move across the cold smooth stones.
Fingers already knowing where to go,
Finally coming around the corner
Opening not only the eyes but everything.
Slowly getting up walking on,
No questions, no hesitation,
Opened to a breath,
A step,
A breath,
A step,
A Breath,
A step.

John Travis 2005

Clouds covering the smallest
Wedge of light.
Standing in the puddles looking
For the moon.
Gone from this world.

Nowhere to be found—looking up
And down, in front, behind,
To each side: lost!

Seeking it—longing for it
Bending in every direction
Falling to my knees

Moon comes up to greet me.

John Travis 2005

Deep below the ledge
Another mask is revealed
Is that you original face, heart leaping?
But who is that child in the corner
Eyes sparkling, who knows love so well!

John Travis 3-30-05

Sitting hour after hour
No end in sight
River of time rushing down stream
Holding on for dear life
This innertube of self
Slowly losing air
Current pulling one out into the unknown
Struggling for shore once again
One lets go of innertube—no struggle—
In pure amazement floating
"Look Mom no hands—
No feet—no body—oops; no me?"

When clarity finally comes
The Buddha crashes on his bottom
Cracking the center
Revealing golden light.

John Travis 1-4-05

(wings of awakening)

Now having found the mountain
Looking up, covered in mist.
Heart sinks
Inner teacher says
"Stop; feel your feet
Look only at your next step."
Two legs
Pointed up the Mountain
Listening to the many voices
Waiting for that one word
That points the compass to that original face,
Pentacle within your own mind.
This leg of wisdom

That other leg,
Stiff, held by the old pains, memories, protections
Only moved when the heart softens.
Giving it that gentle touch.
"I have been with you, all of these years.
We will climb together."
Knowing all those that we have touched
Climb with us.

Dalai Lama's refrain calls us over and over again
"Don't give up"

John Travis 3-30-05

I went looking for a better me today,
One that sparkled in the sun.
Inviting resistance and impatience to accompany me.
We again took the wrong fork in the road.
Bowing deeply: I went my own way
Leaving all the many voices behind.
The bushes inflamed by the spring sun
Gave completely to the bees
I knew right then!
"Surrendering to the bee, taking whatever it wants."
Nectar moved by invisible wings.
Calling my friends resistance and impatience back, holding myself, we were all together again, but nobody spoke this time,
The sky held us without questions.

John Travis 3-15-05

The mirror unstained
Reflecting a spring day
Frogs entering with great songs
Thoughts thinking
Crows cawing
Old wounds calling
wonder of wonders
Ah! But the lunch line remembers,
the septic pump soaking up the darkness,
remembering to invite that part that limps
staggering under the weight
determined to allow the movie star
to embrace the cripple.
Bringing the luminous mind to bear
witness to the fire of the heart.

John Travis 3-8-05

Hesitantly, standing between worlds.
The gate is open, Dear heart.
What kind of medicine are you caring in your pouch, Pilgrim?
Turkey feathers, lizard's tails, a worm's body,
a small brush of deer hair,
a ray from the full Moon
a tattered picture of Shangri-La.
Is it enough these few things,
To stand by the high tide
Without being swept by the tsunami of your life?
Buddha whispered from that deep place within.
"Medicine pouch full,
You're enough;
These few things enough."
Opening your whole body/heart to the deep water
Pulling you out into the world
Everything held in the original ordinaryness,
A picture frame bigger than the cosmos.

John Travis 3-24-05

Sitting on the rim of time
Waiting for the breath
Some foothold on the mountainside
Some place to take a stand
Over and over again disappointed
Until that "that grasps"
Floats on the eddy of time,
Saying, this is body found,
A river carrying everything and nothing.

John Travis 2-29-05