She-who-scribbles has been in d-e-e-p retreat for some weeks; don’t expect sense anytime soon.
Everything is dancing today.
A rabbit pulls a pipe
from his waistcoat pocket,
Breathes deep and fingers
a scatter of twinkling
This causes a few planets and I
to go nuts
and start a little jig.
Someone sees us,
tries to get me
Listen: this world is a loony-bin.
It’s only real if you’re chronically
if you haven’t made the
into wild foolishness.
Even with its firmness
beneath my feet
and the mailman knowing
my street number
I hang out somewhere else:
with partying bunnies
and a cosmos spinning
in giddy delight.
Reading Hafiz’s poem Then Winks catapulted my brain over to Beatrix Potter and her partying rabbits. Or was it the other way around?
Purists will protest my highjack and mash-up of Hafiz’s words, forgetting that they aren’t even his – rather, they are the Hafiz-inspired outpourings of Daniel Landinsky.
Beatrix – who knew the truth about bunnies and most things – would smile knowingly.
Daniel – well, he knows what it is to be gripped by a verse and taken for a ride.
As for Hafiz – I’ll ask him next time we’re in our cups and jiving…
Beatrix Potter watercolour from bibliodyssey blog.
Then Winks, by Hafiz [Daniel Landinksy]
IT is not understood
until IT is forgotten.
When IT is forgotten
IT can express ITself.
When IT expresses ITself
you won’t recognise IT.
If you think you recognise IT
you are mistaken.
Realising you are mistaken
revealing IT to ITself
“IT” in this context = reality, big R.
This post might read like a madwoman’s rant, but those who have free-fallen into Unknowing will simply smile at the play of paradox.
Such is IT’s way.
Image sourced from Facebook, where credit was not given. Please advise if it’s yours and an appropriate link will be added.
after the fall
into calamitous clarity
one cannot call either the state of war
or the state of peace ‘real’
the only reality is the knowing
of war or peace
this unknowable knowingness
which hosts and populates
never takes sides
and has nothing to lose
or to gain
self-satisfaction is unsatisfactory
my current state,
physical as well as mental,
is the natural outcome of my efforts
to satisfy my self
those efforts, encouraged by my
nearest and dearest, and fostered by
a culture of self-satisfaction
have driven me to distraction, to
discontent, and into depression
but not through any act of will
it ends because
some kind of intelligence sees
that to continue is wholly
illogical and unintelligent
how can a self that has never
had solid existence
ever be satisfied?
it ends of its own accord
if peace exists at all, it must surely exist
it must exist in
and it must exist right
would that mean suffering is
of awareness of peace
now, in this and right here?
ignorance opinionated-ness self-aggrandizement
– the fictions making up the fiction of a self –
these are the saboteurs of my awareness of peace, now
I sit at the foot of my cross
mea maxima culpa
[this post is a duplicate of the ‘about’ page]
A small, weary, middle-aged woman sits on a zafu. She is hobbled by an old injury that will soon require surgery. She is thousands of miles from her work, her colleagues, her friends and her sangha. Her brilliant life is reduced to ashes.
She is withdrawn but not sorrowful for she accepts her circumstances, and she deeply loves the two sweet friends – her parents – she has crossed the world to care for in their ancient age.
She has inquired deeply into life’s mysteries and questions. She has been blessed to be taught and mentored by great spiritual souls. The zafu is her friend.
She stops, perforce. She sits. She stays. This time there is no escape.
She enters Emptiness.
~ ~ ~