echoes from emptiness

Tag: zafu view

summer haiku

 

Sulphur Crested Cockatoo and Jacaranda

 

a shock of silence!

the crested cockatoo has fled

purple blossoms sigh

 


Image credit


 

(it’s not just old age, either)

 

Echoes from Emptiness: Backyard Bauhinia

 
Under a new moon, at the turning of the earth towards summer, I sit at my table out on the deck, the candle flickering as the last stragglers of the bat community head over east, and I, a being once so addicted to “everywhere-but-here”, a global gaddabout of the first order, so easily seduced by salubrious memories of living and working and loving in Europe, North America, India, the Homeland (Aotearoa New Zealand), always ready to go – go – go now, am wallowing in a ridiculous contentment that consumes all desire to spend precious energy fleeing the inexplicable luxury of just this.

How, when my inhalation blesses me with the fragrance of Jasmine, Lavender, Wisteria, Orange and Mango blossom and I am giddy with double delight* at the excessive glory of the huge Bauhinia in my backyard, could I pine for any other clime?

How, when Kookaburra, Currawong, Magpie, uncountable Lorikeets and a host of unidentified cheepers and warblers chorus so insistently at 4am could I wish for a dark, cold, silent dawn elsewhere?

How, when greeted, like this morning, with a sky of powder-blue that throws the Border Ranges and Mount Warning into a chiaroscuro of subtle tones of silver, could I long even for those beloved Alps of my childhood?

I bless the land life has brought me to. It wasn’t my call, and it hasn’t always been easy. But I know beyond a shadow of doubt, it was, and it is, exactly where I need to be.

I am at last able to say – I love I love I love this sunburnt country.

And the weird thing is that it’s not about Australia at all.

I am simply and hopelessly in love.

 


Image by yours truly: Bauhinia blakeana – also known as the Hong Kong Orchid Tree. More info here.
*Treble delight actually – the tree is a dynamo of insect activity, and the Rainbow Lorikeets never draw breath.


“sunburnt country” – lifted from Dorothea Mackellar’s poem: My Country.


on christmas day in the morning

The Southern Cross and The Pointers

 

when you reach crinkled cronehood
days are as good as nights
as far as sleep’s concerned

wide-awake
I get up to pee

then I’m distracted by
the song of the Southern Cross
and lose my way back to bed

The Pointers are crisp and clear
SIT! they command
and who am I
to argue with the Cosmos?

oh joy and glee -

where else to be

but on a zafu

@3?

 


Image source – Sydney Observatory

One of the wonders of the night sky in the Southern Hemisphere (and greatly missed by its natives when they travel north of the equator) is the Southern Cross with its Pointers. In the image above, the Cross can be seen to the right, and the two Pointers to the left, indicating the position of true south.


all bugged up : breathing in…

 

Yeshe Tsogyal

 

breathing in

I smile

[lungs rattling, terrorist bugs at war with antibiotics, cough like a dying camel,
green goo by the spittoon-full, aching chest, watery eyes]

 

breathing out

I smile

[silence, stillness, serenity, pristine perfect, incorruptible, immovable,
unknowable Awareness - - - utterly unaffected]

 

breathing in, breathing out

being breathed

and

being bugged

 

I smile

 


Image source

A deep bow to my Dharma namesake and inspiration, Yeshe Tsogyal

 

three haiku from cloud mountain hermitage

At the beginning of this month I moved into an old (but beautifully renovated) farm cottage on Kiels Mountain, on the Sunshine Coast hinterland, Queensland, Australia. It is high enough to attract rain and mist, which are welcome visitors so far as the rainforest and its inhabitants are concerned.

Kiels Mountain rainforest hermitage

And in spite of being only a few kilometers from local villages, the beach and coastal busyness, it has the feel of remoteness. It is my Cloud Mountain, and I am a happy hermit. In my morning scribblings, haiku begin to appear:

.

Mistiness in close -
drowning out my loneliness,
a Currawong choir.

 .

Lost; an innocent
here, in spacious aloneness -
something Wild finds me.

 .

Alone in the bush,
befriended by Beingness,
I stop asking why.

.


Image credit

surfer chick

 

tunnel surfer

 

I’ve been there
crouched low,
riding a tunnel wave

but it wasn’t in that
rolling roaring wetness

it was in this
silent
unfathomable
ocean of Being

 

imagine my amazement
to discover – here
in this human form -
an aging amphibious
void-surfer

~

 


Image source unknown – if it’s yours, please advise!

having a ‘whoops!’ moment, again

 

awakening from sleep

awareness arrays a new-born world

splashes face

gropes for zafu

settles butt, folds legs

inhales the fragrant flowering gums

chuckles with the kookaburra

trembles with the palm fronds

sips steaming green tea

disappears into a silence

that senses every tone and texture

 

breathes – is breathed

marvels, that

not one scientist, philosopher or sage

can explain how any of this can possibly occur

on an exquisite pulsing rock

awhirl in a numinous space -

 

a space inseparable from

the immense, immeasurable awareness

in which it all appears

 

earth from space

. . .

Image source – Parallax

~

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