echoes from emptiness

Tag: now-this-here!

three rainforest haiku

Why is it that in the rainforest one’s thoughts are delivered in clusters of 17 syllables?

. . .

Rainforest Palm

festooning this palm

the then, the now and the next

my fleeting life’s fruit

 ~

not yet eight o’clock

and the far ridge is hazing

summer burns the bush

 ~

no cell phone signal

a total power blackout

listen! the wind sighs

~

awakening is as simple as this

And so my scribblings in that little ring-bound notebook came to an end.  Three hundred and sixty five dawns had come and gone.  The notes began with the calamitous and irretrievable loss of a psychological solid-state “me” entity.  (See the free-fall.) They jotted themselves down in prose or poetry, as I explained in the about page.  Incidentally, I was more surprised than anyone to find that readers thought the echoes were “poetic”.

At the end of that year, Life sent a robber to divest me of the physical aspects of my identity, as though it were cleverly matching outer to inner.  I’d be lying if I claimed to be happy about this, but I was fairly philosophical – or so I’m told.  It was awfully inconvenient.  I learned what it felt like to be a refugee, a paperless person.  (Identity theft is an expensive thing to address – one has to begin by proving that one was actually born, and build up the official paper/image trail from there.)

All this occurred a decade ago.  Last year there was an impulse to post what I’d come to call the *echoes* on a blog.  It was the same kind of impulse that prompted me to scribble them in the first place; I complied unhesitatingly, having learned by this stage that Life’s agenda is totally beyond my personal comprehension.

And anyway, it was fun.  I love learning new tricks, and the folks at WordPress were always there to help.  Gratitude goes to the wonderkids who, without a trace of impatience, cheerfully answer one’s goofy questions on the WP forums.  And gratitude to whomever deemed that this little blog would serve as a good example of the ‘Manifest’ theme on the WordPress Themes pages.  When I look at the stats, I keep in mind that many of my visitors have probably come to see how the theme works, rather than to read the content.

But perhaps something of the perfume of this savage wisdom has wafted across cyberspace, regardless.  How else to explain the long list of followers?  Blessed be.

The question now is:  do I stop here or do I continue?  Perhaps it’s for my subscribers and readers to decide.  The *echoes* keep echoing; I keep scribbling. Do you want to continue to tune in?

I leave you – for the moment – with the last of my notes from that time, a decade ago.  I had been reading my favorite living poet, David Whyte, and this *echo* echoes forth from my embrace of his wideawake wisdom.  Homage!

awakening
in this now place, here
is as simple as this:

look and look again
for the self you take yourself to be

find every self’s substance
to be a reflection
in the mirror-light of looking

and at last
on knees of awe and gratitude
see your True Face

~

echoes from emptiness

.

a willingness to disappear

363

analyze and adapt
diagnose and dialogue
formulate and fix
trance, track, tap:
so many ways to place
kiss-it-better
patches on the pain
of fragmentation

we call it healing
and invent new modalities by the minute
to ease the symptoms, which also
multiply by the minute, fattening the catalogue
of official psychological disorders

but until the trickster called time
is exposed and deposed
our little healings are just brief remissions
from the ache of incompleteness

to heal is to make whole

that’s why the true sages carry no band-aids
but go straight to the root of fragmentation
– time -
conjurer of the ‘me’-mirage
with its default sense of separation
and its insatiable appetite for union

they know that the ending of time
restores immeasurable wholeness
– no faith, no belief, no training required

only a willingness to disappear
into now and this and here

~

winter haiku

354

frost bejewels my gaze;

beyond the pane

a hoary garden shivers

~

( whodunnit? )

350

It’s 4am -

eyelids part

legs stretch

hands scratch

throat swallows

mouth yawns

.

effortlessly
I’m awake!

~

from where I’m looking

349

The sky is powder blue and cloudless.

Like a cartoon cut-out
defiant against the celestial foreverness
stands a tall straight palm,
its huge bracts lavishly festooned with nectar berries -
breakfast au plein air for birds, beetles, insects.

High above the bracts,
the palm fronds erupt into a wild dance
celebrating – as though their lives depended on it.

Behind the palm and the security fence
the surface of the swimming pool is tickled
by the quirky breeze.  It trembles.

Nodding demurely by its edge
clusters of coral bougainvillea
saturate the eye with impossible tropical color.

This is ‘n’ – the thusness of now-this-here
in which quivers of yearning
and shudders of aversion
find no place.

Everything, everything
exists as ubiquitous Presence
presenting Itself to Itself.

Just so.

~

haiku at midnight

344

midnight

a solitary cicada rasps

the surf’s deep throat

responds

~

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