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Prose & Gatha

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posted on Feb, 4 2018 @ 09:05 PM
A creaking in my sitting,
while all ways,
roars in the distance;
I peck out crumbs,
for others eyes...
a simple feast.
Whether it satisfies?
Tastes of bitter or sweet?
This crisp January day;
will never know.

Over five peaked mountains
minds never walk;
they pace, leap, soar, and scatter
to the four winds of change...
as the valley streams down.

The egg of butter quacks
milky drops between the eyes
pervading the in and out
downward to warm a heart
free to beat
against the current

this old bowl
knows no robe
in which to adorn the sky

The Buddha meant "No." when asked the first time.
The Buddha meant "No" when asked the second time.
The Buddha meant "no" when asked the third time.
The Buddha only said "Yes." when asked knowing the fourth truth.
This path we all walk; whether short or long, in ignorance or bliss?
Bears the same fruit.
Picking and chattering like a monkey is easy;
scratching in silence the surface of a diamond with a single seed?

falling into a well
theres a bottom
falling into the void
is knowing the well has no depth
the dog that fetches water
carries no bucket
and yet a rope is still attached
to bring down the moon
and extingush the sun
calling it the same light

Over fields and streams
tracks the infinite dream
stubborn and rough terrain
hit the plow
the yoke has yet to be noticed
as one gnaws against the bit
a cud grows bitter
and a hot iron ball more fitting to spit
alone in a vast field swaying circles
scented up to the cold heavens
a lone passion more firey than the hells
when all the timbers are burned
a house still sits ablaze
over grown with illusions
of more mansions in the sky
no noble knight other than death
swings a silent blade
not being fit for battle
there is no other duty
than to shake the winds between
on chain mail leaves
the old man just sleeps
as the blind woman stares blankly
at a corpse

Buried face down
dirt gets in the eyes
upon waking one wipes away
the sand and grit
smacking the mouth
a hungry ghost looks to kiss
ears with food it's mouth can't handle
when the river bed is soaked up
there is no stream to enter
how is it that others keep falling in
other than grasping at branches above
with monkey feet while hands pick at the moon
failing to walk upright on that very same bridge between this world and the next?
Oh turtles in the creek smiling on
as rocks sitting eternal

being the brush
where is the center
being the center
where is the circle
being none of those
where is mind

No home
no home
no home
having gone forth
No body
having spoken
no speech
having thought
no mind
hommage to the buddhas
of the triple gem
Thus I have dwelled
Thus I have heard
Thus I have seen
Gone to the furthest shore
No ocean to cross
No sticks to rub together
Well gone.

Bubbles popping
picking fruit
the comming and going
of beings
some hungry
some thirsty
silence traveling near and far
oceans crashing against the sky
as the moon winks the sun farewell

posted on Feb, 15 2018 @ 05:46 PM
Was it your brain...
laying & splattered there;
for all to see?
Head posted up;
In an endless sea?
Body floating on;
In the minds of others...
Speech cracking;
On a distant shore?

A mask smiles.
Noh matter...

and yet the beat...
goes back to beath.

in a sideways slide;
Pictures fly on,
While mind?
Nails them up.

Cannot be,
when being cannot see...
Cannot hear,
when ear sees;

posted on Jun, 2 2018 @ 11:52 AM

A ray of sunshine asks; “Who is this?”
Drunk on moonshine was thought.
Ignoring the Emerald and Sapphire jewel;
Lost in the darkness of desire.


As the kamma comes undone...
Others cannot avoid the falling.
When weighted with a chain;
It is no longer an implement.


Riddles are not koans...
Better; to burn incense.


Another telling your tale?
Is just another tongue wagging...
As the squirrel sits on the tree;
Who is barking, nutter than itself?


A crow carries the carriage on return;

“Who is that?”
“Who is that?”
“Who is that?”

Carrion. As an appetite pecks on.


“I am.” It says;
“That; crap! crap! crap! ... Nap.”

posted on Jul, 13 2018 @ 12:16 AM
a reply to: BEBOG

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same.

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

posted on Jul, 14 2018 @ 04:23 AM
a reply to: Judy21

When a one armed patriarch is done beating Bodhidharma to death with the sound of one hand clapping... perhaps a Matriarch will kindly sew it back on?

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