8 posts tagged “poetry”

Taima Mandala

What's this desire for contact?
This yearning in my heart?
To turn away from silence,
Not to stay apart.

'Surround yourself with voices'
The voice inside me cries.
'Support yourself with bodies,
'A friend on every side'

If I rest in silence,
The only voice is mine,
And all its pained echo's
Across the fields of time.

So here is where the hurt is
And where I see my face
Stripped of every makeup,
In the quiet place.

Where screams are whispered softly
Across an endless sea,
Of all my karmic passions,
Here the dragons be.

This darkness seems unending;
No hope for me unless
There's something that's much greater
Something holy; blessed.

And light breaks through the darkness,
Golden threads of love;
A grace full of compassion,
Falling from above.

And though I cannot see its face,
Or know its truest name,
I hear the sound of Dharma
That sings, and sings again.

A symphony of melodies
From heavenly abodes,
Sweeter than the Deva's song,
The music that unfolds.

So now, in silent places,
Where still the pain lives on,
I know that I am held
By something from beyond.

Namo Amida Bu

Show us your hand.
Submitted by Chris.

Handy

For Sale
Writers Block
Almost New
Ideal for chop
ping words up
on

Briefly, walking through the city streets
From the bus stop to the train,
I'm able to pretend, just for a while
And to give some semblance of knowing -

Relax! And throw my shoulders back
Forget the world, that runs inside my head
Smiling, at ease with passers by
Who do not know the secret of my self.

Dark and buried under history's buildings
Layer and layers of psychic self defence.
Somewhere fumbling in the darkness
A bumbling fool who breaks the placid silence

Here in unlit places do I stand
and meet my naked self, face to face
every flaw and wrinkle showing
every line and hardened edge of heart.

Plumb the depths of my own foolish nature
(But only when the old scripts turning pale)
Play the tragic hero, in the spot
Stand centre stage - and read the same old pages.

Really life isn't so dramatic
The tragedy I am is just good copy,
mostly I'm an ordinary being,
with foolish aspirations to be more.

And so I swing from knowing to unknowing
and hope to settle somewhere in between
held by the love of sangha, and of buddha
I'd rather be an ordinary being.

Namo Amdia Bu

Not simply mowing the lawn, knee high and home to some frogs.
But raking away and then thinking, 'What can I write in my blogs?'

Something that's very mindful, first rake one way, then the other
watching my breath as the grass piles up, piles up like cattle fodder

Mind starts to wonder, as does my rake, jumping from thought to thought
I'm raking the grass, but I've got a feeling I'm not doing something I ought.

And so on and so forth, in the heat of the Sun  - thinking that maybe
my day's just begun....

Or something along those lines anyway - actually my day had begun much earlier with morning service, which always presents many chances for learning, whether it's in the reflective practice, or in simply meeting your own foolish nature - The recent psychotherapy course block was called One Foot in the River,  the idea that you have to keep a part of yourself outside the flow of events, in order to process what's going on. The same is true of the Bell Master's role in morning service - it's all to easy to get caught up in the rapture of the service and loose count of the number of prostrations, or which line of the liturgy you're supposed to recite next. Excellent training in many ways.

I remember when I first took on that role a few months ago, being absolutely terrified of making a mistake, ringing a bell at the wrong time or forgetting an offering verse.  Each of which I did, (and still do although less frequently).

Part of the training is in learning how to run a service, with the correct attitude and style, essential when it comes to big events like the recent wedding, but a big part of the training for me has been in learning and accepting that I'm not perfect, and that I'm unlikely (impossible I suppose, but I still don't like to admit it) to ever be; I'm simply bonbu an ordinary foolish being.

But I can look to and be inspired by perfection, I can sit at the feet of Amida, the infinite Buddha, trying, and vowing not to mess up, and then messing up and still feel loved and accepted. This is the life of faith.

This afternoon I worked on the Running Tide website, our order's journal. And I emailed an Erhu (Chinese Violin) player, who I'd like to play at an event we're holding later this year - partly to celebrate the release of two new books, Who Loves Dies Well, and The Other Buddhism.

I'm just about to head over to the main house for dinner, where I hear Dr Elizabeth Harris (Methodist Secretary for Inter-Faith Relations) has arrived, so I'm sure the dinner conversation will be interesting. Dr Harris and our Rev. Dharmavidya are co-hosting a seminar day in June, a Buddhist/Christian inquiry into faith.

二泉映月

China Central Chinese Orchestra perform Er Quan Ying Yue (二泉映月) with erhu soloist Song Fei (宋飞) conducted by Chen Xieyang (陈燮阳).

Last week, I spent most of the time away from the Buddhist House, at Leicester’s Intercultural Communication and Leadership School, which is pretty much what it claims to be. This seminar was small in terms of participants, only six, but vast in terms of information and experience.

Spending four nights away, in the company of a group from many different backgrounds, and in the setting of a rather nice conference hall, raised a few questions for me. A few months ago I would have felt completely comfortable in a setting like this, and know exactly how to behave. Not perhaps in the most wholesome way, but in a habit driven and mostly comfortable way.

Now I am a visible a member of a faith community, and have made a commitment to training in something greater than myself. So I try to behave in a way that’s more wholesome and less habitual, perhaps creating new habits…

Coming home, questions remained; about my place in the world, in society and so on. But little time for reflection in some ways, we were straight into the Honen memorial retreat. It was wonderful to practice and feel the support of the community.

I don’t know if all my questions have been, or will be answered - but the support of those here, and elsewhere - assures me that I’m in the right place.

Standing underneath a boiling shower
Through clouds of steam I glimpse my naked self.
Unkind light shows every flaw and wrinkle,
I turn my face away and wash and scrub
And pray for rebirth; purify my soul.

The chrysalis I’ve shed lies heaped outside
Folds of red cloth, tailored like a badge,
That shows the world who to think I am;
That hide the flaws and wrinkles and the sins.

Folded on the chair, wings wait for me.
Emerging from the wet I fold myself
In folds of red exactly like the old.

I straighten up my mala and step out
Newly cleaned, but no cleaner than before.

Just as I am.

sense of irrational
inexplicable
feeling that the
world has changed
for me for the worse

something is missing
from the present
from all my projections
of the future

a sense of all those
sparkling moments
lost
gone forever missing
from my future

and then maybe
(for the rest of those poor souls)
a wider grief
not just for the loss of me
not just for the loss I am

but for all the loss of all
perfection

This was written during a contemplation on grief, part of the psychology course I’m taking.