The voiceless lake lay in close calm frozen in borrowed time ambrosian moments as the new dawn peers over the far distant pantheon. Creatures of rest awaken from nocturnal nest yawn and stretch and amble to the glasslike lake through bramble to refresh old bodies reborn into an unfamiliar bright morn. Old owl and coyote like a Don Quixote still sleep soundly after midnight hunts profoundly. A sinless swan swims slow and wan slicing a gaping wound through still glass like a sharp harpoon. Glass now shatters, Raven alone chatters sitting high on a tree observing all wanting to flee. Past wordless poems now slowly all life moves sadly unholy.
Month: May 2020
morning mandala
quiet flows from the mandala valley resting below sacred mountains. dakas & dakinis play hide & seek, through green sage & pinion they peek. goddess tara watches and smiles with love at such antics and wiles. red robed figures move silently as one quiet through mist before the sun. dew from midnight’s cool desert rain giving desert growth a new green refrain. a new day peers over the tall east wall to shine on the new morning call. so it begins --- gate, gate gone, gone --- to the golden temple before for meditation to explore empty minds to find compassion in an infinite deep silent ocean. gate, gate paragate parasamgate bodhi svaha gone, gone, gone to the further shore ---
Silence
Is there perfect silence? A truism of the meaning? In a noisy bustling world? A baby’s cry? Music on every corner? Cars & trucks & motorcycles and trains? A footstep in a rain? A chattering t.v.? A dog barking closely? A teapot’s shrill whistle? A jet plane in the sky? A banshee’s cry in the forest? A salamander on a rock? An eagle’s hunting cry? A wolf howling in the mountains? A meditation 100 miles from anywhere in an empty sage desert stillness? A fly buzzes in my ear.
A pretty sunset out our back yard tonight.
The Bus
A lone vulture circled carrion now quiet along a lost desert road. Carmen played her guitar singing a lugubrious song of desperate lone lands where blue sage grew for my Shaman’s magical wands. She cannot strum. Wind does not blow. Rain does not come. Rivers can’t flow. Tarantulas silent under their rock for cool. The vulture had long ago left. The blue bus was leaving. Carmen finished her song.
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