He Saw How

little buddha by bestarns

little buddha by bestarns


the deep dark night
and the passing moon
saw Buddha’s vision

He saw how—life fits
into the circle of an embrace
encompassed in the hand

—let passing thoughts
chase cars in your headspace—

whispers Puddicombe

in the awakened moment
illumination is equal
to enlightenment


Suggested by Jack Kerouac’s Wake Up! A Life of the Buddha

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in my Mind’s Eye

I’ve updated my About page and my concept as a Poet & Writer. Take a look.

Pablo Cuzco

Satori

http://theflickerees.deviantart.com/art/The-Playground-called-Life-210657370


 

Do not question why we are here,
only answer it.

i

time
shares
all wisdom
(every secret)
unlocked will open
the most stubborn door

nothing is fast
in real-time

ii

we admire
Renoir’s opulence
Van Gogh’s pain
taste eternity
in their work

artists
express their lives
so we recognize ours

iii

a wind blew
and made a whisper
the house woke up to rest
the sun shone from the horizon
clouds formed
hushed

iv

you fear strange words
will escape your lips
so you quit talking

do not question
an inner motive
only to find it lacking

let the milk of life touch you
for it will only curdle into ash Continue reading

Suite – Machine of Civilization

http://stayinwonderland.deviantart.com/art/Post-Apocalyptic-Ruined-City-296266421

post apocalyptic ruined city by stayinwonderland


i

it’s a big machine
this civilization
gears turn
governments
shape society’s
collapse

ii

I flashed horror
at the dance at the morgue
sacks of flesh torn and wobbled
bent lopsided smothered
by the ancient “ahor”
I swallowed my screams
and recited Wolfe’s mantras
while clown pranksters
told incoherent jokes
by the light of
acid washed
campfires

iii

the conjured
reality of Harari’s
Sapiens made fire
invented the wheel
sought shelter
in the rocks
invoked God
found Buddha
sitting under
a tree

iv

south
west
central
a white glow
of feathery stars
darken a swirling
van Gogh sky
a coyote dances
teasing scorpions
spins dust trails
nips and snarls
teeth bared
in dog
play

v

artifacts
in deserted dwellings
of pueblos at Four Corners
the Inca in Machu Picchu
Khmer of Angkor Wat
and Easter Island
Moai suffered
climate change

vi

industrial
revolution’s
infinite orgy of energy
gasoline weed trimmers
coal fired suburban
steam punk
technology
force
survivors
to migrate
dwell in mud huts
watch African sunsets
under thatched roofs
row Polynesian
longboats
on opal
seas

God and the New Buddha

buddha ke bandhana by Wolves-PSD


On Buddha becoming Enlightened:

“If the mind of a person is free from all craving, no god can make him miserable. Conversely, once craving arises in a person’s mind, all the gods in the universe cannot save him from suffering.”

Sapiens – Yuval Noah Harari


stumble on a vision
understand a psalm
listen to a prayer
beg for an alm
thirst for the righteous
sigh and groan
not enough fishes
let’s eat the bones!

left on the mountain
seeking atone-meant
for the wicked
not for ones
who have not sinned
though they’re treated like one

Buddha met Christ
and said you’re clever
you brought the message
to more people than ever
I could in the distant
past or present
but tell me why
must they repent?

doesn’t Salvation
sound like salivation?
craving for life when
death is our station
telling the poor
give thanks
for their rations
don’t you believe
in upward mobilization?
reincarnation?
must we continue
in damnation
if the spirit
is love?

“Be not afraid
I’ve conquered
the world”
Buddha replied:
Maya is not your pearl
of great value hurled at swine
or light under a basket–it is Void
we are tasked to accept it
not avoid it

δ

today we worship
things
not God
we research
and tie it in knots
the simplest of truths to find
a way to separate the gall
from the wine

Breathe in!
Breathe out!
we do it each day
while some meditate
others pray

of the outcome
there can be no doubt
God has met the New Buddha
the verdict is out
God – zero
Buddha won


A Moment in Satori

snow and the city by duophonix


standing on the corner of Lincoln Avenue
near the rush hour train station

watching pedestrians
on a winter’s afternoon
the gossamer of snowflakes
creates a vignette

big rubber tired taxis
round the curb
let off passengers

rush into the drugstore
for newspapers
cigars

throw candy wrappers
on the sidewalk
in the swirling snow

… a moment in satori

The People’s Poet

(in lament of past folly)

 

beneath a dark and august moon
with eyes of a stark and raving loon
I looked beyond the blackness of my rage

and saw there in the shadows
a distant laughing vagabond
who uttered vague cabaret songs
and danced the street lamp lighted stage

“reality bends like a horseshoe round my mind!”
he screamed “becoming lost behind me –
tomorrow is not reality for it has not become
today becomes reality only after it’s done”

he spoke his words no thought aforethought
he looked into my burning soul and grinned
a winsome gaze that challenged
all my well-worn guise

“you look to me a man of fortune”
grinned the wicked vagabond
“but fortune of what sort has bargained
you to end up where you stand?”

that his speech
seemed well-intentioned
mattered to me not
but the tortured man had reached
into my heart of tangled knots
and found a shriveled wound

“to each his own!” he gleeful moaned
“to each his own!” he mocked me
“what life you’ve lived so free at last
to strap you to this mizzen mast
with joy as you did revel
and cast your lot asunder
to hear the woe-begotten knell
of a not so distant thunder?

“your brow against the roaring swell
of seasick brine and salty spell
to face life’s bitter vengeance?

“for what you reaped is what you’ve sown
and not a lick of it so funny
that as in haste you do repent
and see your fortunes now negate
into the holes of blunder:
don’t worry of the furnace
that you peer into with wonder
for as ‘to each his own’ has been your cry
to ‘each his own’ has done you!”

“to each his own,” I whispered low
“to each his own,” I wondered:
what life I’ve led I chose my own
to be what I would be
to do what I would do
with no one there to taunt me
nor words to whisper in my ears
like a conscience that should haunt me

I tripped the light fantastic
and rode life to its crest
and what I’ve brought to bear with me
I did at my behest
and now I’m just a shell
of what I once did best

“to each his own,” I wept and moaned
“to each his own,” I sorrowed
to each his own, you’ve left me here
with nothing for tomorrow
and though my life has always been
a thing that I have borrowed
to each his own, I beg to turn
this tide that I have swallowed

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