Poetry

Ripening Desire This blazing desire is a volcano’s wakeful sleep. To draw close and know beauty, the ego’s roaring surge, the pounding of waves. As the full sun stands blazing, a thirst even water cannot quench. Life gathering to bring forth life: desire intent. The cow’s natural hunger, yearning for milk to well. The rock’s softening, stirring to know its lord. The transcendent egg laid in the nest where attachment conceives. An attraction that sets two lives in motion. Sensing nearby the wing-music of ripening youth, beauty itself unfolds as a flower, and honeyed nectar wells in splendour. 0 Can anyone prescribe a measure for the blaze that dances, entranced by the light of life? Can a ray of light help prise out the thorn lodged in the foot…

Vast Form. All birds  are the sky’s ornaments. All rocks  are great breasts swollen  in the hour of pleasure. All herons  are white compassion spreading  the heavens upon the earth. All light  is love’s semen. All darkness is Shakti’s sleep. All revelation  is pure glad tidings. What lies hidden is learning beyond time. Grey hair and wrinkles  are fallen leaves that know no awakening. All sorrow  is rain’s hand washing the leaves. All joy is the true face of the sublime state. The expressions that arise are the workings of the heart. All music  is this moment’s surging wave. All silence is fulfilment’s waxing moon. The cosmos  is a living multitude of crescent moments.…

For a handful of grain, sparrows come to perch by the hundred. Oh… hundreds and thousands can be counted. It is what lies within the fist that makes one tremble. * Can those who adorn themselves for festivals thrill to the blossoming of every moment… How long does the perfection of adornment last… * The child flies her kite in her own sky. Even when the wind buffets it, she claps and laughs. Even if it lies torn, its tail snapped off, caught in a branch, she hasn’t a care. Kite upon kite, a hundred thousand are hers. As she makes…

The Great Way is not difficult for anyone without preferences of their own.  When longing and hatred are both absent, everything is clear and undisguised. Cling to even the slightest attachment, and heaven and earth are separated without limit. If you wish to see reality, do not cling to any view, whether in acceptance or rejection. The struggle over what one likes and what one hates is a kind of sickness of the mind. When the inner meaning of a thing is not understood, the mind’s fundamental peace is disturbed…