echoes from emptiness

have you seen my mind?

I’m not sure what it is about full moons, but they seem to turn on a tap of poetical scribblings here. June’s full moon: it’s cold and audaciously bright as it rises behind the tropical foliage that protects my terrace. Three haiku fall from my pen…

- – -

Bats flying across the full moon, NSW, Australia

 

here’s a state of Grace:

bats flying across full moon -

my webbed wings, aloft

-

what a paradox -

my greedy seeking has ceased

yet nothing was found

-

have you seen my mind?

I can’t find it anywhere

though it’s right in my face!

-

 


Image source


joy

Dervish Dancer
 

there is a joy
that’s neither an emotion nor a feeling;
that’s unaffected by unkind words
spat from spiteful mouths;
that’s unwounded by hurtful gestures -
off-handedness, rudeness, scorn

there is a joy
that pulses on regardless
of the world’s apparent disarray -
the distress, the abuse and denial -
a joy from which one is choicelessly
propelled into impartial action

there is a joy
that has no opposite, or cause;
it can’t be cultivated or contained,
bought or sold,
given or attained,
yet you’ll never escape its presence

there is a joy
that trashes all your
“teacup ideas” of transcendence;
that sets your wild fearless heart
spinning like a dervish
amongst the sorrows of the world

 


Image: Rumi on Facebook


raking rocks on the emptiness allotment

 

what I’ve noticed
since the free-fall into foolishness
is that
only a phantom called ‘me’
with its program of personal purpose
and its visions of attainment
– whether altruistic or mundane -
could demand of Life
(when the shit hits the fan)

but why?

why me?

?

 

Painting by Ingo Leth: 2011-004 the spirit of zen, 2011, acrylic paint on linen

 

a space-filled nobody
(the absence of a ‘me’body)
makes no demands;
it doesn’t mind what happens

it has no agenda beyond
the health and well-being of the organism
(all organisms actually)
and no fantasies of an improved future

it just streams on regardless
from now to now to now
often wearing a quiet smile
and surreptitiously
inviting
more playmates to rake rocks
on the emptiness allotment

(the home base, dears,
of radical activism)

 


Painting by Ingo Leth


full moon musings

Full Moon in May

 

luminosity

brushes

the edges of the threatening clouds

then

suddenly it’s sailing clear -

the full moon!

- – -

awakening is precisely like this:

our precious fears and foibles

begin to melt into lightness

at the edges

as

the dark curtain of concepts

and the tireless concept-builder

examined, unravel,

and there it is

the self-luminous light

of our eternal beingness

that was veiled

only

by ceaseless story-spinning

 


Image credit


letter to a reformed seeker

Cartoon by Michael Leunig

 

Dear (newly wide-awake) reformed seeker -

If you haven’t yet been called delusional, flakey, misguided, weird, out-of-touch, in denial, crazy, mistaken, blasphemous, arrogant, heretical, evil, a nutter…

If you haven’t been judged, shunned, ostracised, scorned, ignored, rejected, excluded, gossiped about, sent to Coventry…

No worries – there’s still plenty of time.

Seven billion stories (and counting) are poised to project their characters onto the empty pregnant space that you know yourself to be.

Hang in there – if you can find a ‘there’ anywhere. (Chuckles)

When the barbs come thick and fast you’ll be astonished to find that they fly right through your shimmering spaciousness. It’s quite a trip actually!

Best

etc


Cartoon by Michael Leunig


whatever It is

Image: Black Hole 7 by Fabian Oefner

 

whatever It is
that delivers these words
(unreachable by mind’s intent)
through this form

that’s what I pray to

 

whatever It is
that cracks open this heart
(circumventing mind’s cynicism)
to bathe me in bliss

that’s what I call love

 

whatever It is
that heals this weary wounded body
(unaided by any out-sourced effort)
restoring it while I sleep, oblivious

that’s what I hold sacred

 

whatever It is
that births and sustains creation
(immeasurable by mind’s technologies)
unfindable, yet apparent wherever my senses alight

that’s what I bow down to

 

whatever It is
that is moved by grace
(which is just another word for the unwordable)
to pray, to bow, to melt into the sacred

that’s whatever It is

entertaining Itself

 


Image credit: Fabian Oefner


the sea was grievous grey

Photo - Tropical Dusk by Carol Brandt

 

the sea was grievous grey
under a sky of blushing coral

and as I breathed these hues
they morphed, and I saw

sky and sea melt seamlessly into
a monotone quietude of greyness

I stopped in my tracks, my toes alerted
to the change underfoot – it was as if

compelled by some cosmic cue
the teeming sand crabs had disappeared

my antennae reached beyond the sigh
of the wavelets’ lapping and heard

the chorus of feathered critters fall
silent for the night

I stood with held breath, seduced, suffused,
by the immensity of the moment
wondering
how fulfilment could possibly
be fuller
than in an earth-instant
truly noticed

 


Photo credit – another stunner from my friend Carol Brandt. A different beach; same tones, same mood.


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