Poem - her name is kuntozangmo / the primeval mother

i met the source
of all time and space

her name is kuntozangmo
the primeval mother

she looked like pamela anderson
and

as she talked

her body would flow in and out
of her own mouth

she reclined on a nice couch
i sat by her

she smiled at me
with some fine wrinkles around her eyes

she showed me
how nothing external has any fixed characteristics

by demonstrating a host of objects
places and things dissolving and changing at great speed
in the sky above us like they were fireworks almost or splendid illusions

i said but people have fixed
characteristics

she said no they don't
even people have no fixed characteristics

she smiled sweetly
and i felt better


___



for Jñana

Poem - and the grass has grown a mile high it seems

i had a dream
that suggested i be sanely useful in this life

like clear water is
for thirst or food for an empty stomach

but i am easily angered
or my attitude is completed baffling

on one hand i am generous
then a few seconds later i am irritable and selfish

then i realize
wrangling with any idea of attitude is unworkable

because attitude is a construct
working or not working with it is a construct

a construct is a construct
only by letting go can i let go of anything


then inevitably things are simpler
and the grass has grown a mile high it seems




 to Jñana

Poem - she said have no hope

she said have no hope
abandon it altogether

then you can be happy
and i see it is true

you can't explain it either
because being happy

with or without hope
is the rarest thing of all


--

HB
2014 .8

dedicated to Jñana

Poem - blinded by waywardness / by stupidity

blinded by waywardness
by stupidity

but the fool in foolishness
is so holy

when truly a view innocently
spontaneous

---

to Jñana

Poem - by appearances appearing

universe lampooning itself
by appearances appearing

see a bubble or a house
flitting aimlessly or fully in flames

the moon or a hubcap
shining all night or shining in the light

referring to the referring
in that endless endless in turned way

see the softness of the fury
of each miniature perfect snow flake


-----


to Jñana

poem - flame looking for fire

if you look for it
you will never find it

in looking
it is like a flame

looking for a thing
called fire


---


to Jñana
2.23.14