Breathe

"Stop what you're doing!
Your doing hurts me!"
And if I stop,
they call that mercy.
Such a good son,
the nicest guy.
But something feels
so off inside.

In my heart,
I find no malice.
Yet my actions,
described as callous.
I'm thoughtless, yes.
This much is true.
But I never wished harm
to come to you.

Will it remove the pain
if I change my walk?
And why should I inquire
with so much talk?
If it hurts to watch me
walk this way.
I should change immediately,
without delay!

Applause.
Hey, I'm the nicest guy!
But something feels
so off inside.
It's not their face
in the mirror I see.
So their clapping can't truly
comfort me.

Reflection.
And who's that standing there?
What manner of posture
does he wear?
One that's upright,
standing firm?
Or one consistent
as a worm?

The world's applauding,
but off inside.
How can I stand
to meet my eyes?
If I can't meet
the face I see,
then how can their clapping
comfort me?

Man in the mirror.
Hey, don't forget.
You're supposed to be
a vertebrate.
Know it's not easy.
Expect to fall.
But get up quickly,
and stand so tall.

Stop what you're doing.
Your doing irks me.
And if you stop,
can we call that mercy?
Kindness maybe,
a brief reprieve.
I get back up,
and learn to breathe.

Lotus pond

Burn the incense.
Excuse the mess.
It's filthy here,
I must confess.

What's foul to you
is sweet, we think.
'Cause pigs don't know
that pigs, they stink.

You made us family
instead of guests.
But our foul odor
must make you retch.
Oh what mercy
to descend and bless
we pigs who wallow
without rest!

Proud little monarch
of a garbage hill.
We tumble in feces
and dine on swill.
But at least we rule
and that's our pride.
True fortune
we don't yet realize.

Mother's crying.
Her heart does wrench.
Teacher's choking
on our stench.
How many more messages
must be sent
for us to turn around,
repent?

A diamond thrown
into the muck.
Sent to hopefully
improve our luck.
We burned the saints
and strung them up.
We hate them 'cause
we're so corrupt.

Here's some more rubbish
for the garbage hill.
We tumble in feces
and dine on swill.

Our perfume smells
so sweet, we think.
'Cause pigs don't know
that pigs, they stink.

It's filthy here.
I'm sure you know.
We relax and down
the stream we go.
Against it
we are loathe to row.
From such muck
how does the lotus grow?

Please teach us,
we're not quite sure.
How can the filthy
become pure?

We hate the truth.
We're so corrupt!
We've fallen.
How can we get up?

Mother's crying;
we do not care.
We take too much
and will not share.
We say that life
just isn't fair.
So we strip the land
and lay it bare.

We can't distinguish
want from need.
We reap and reap
but seldom seed.

We're sinking deeper.
We have no root.
We've all but lost
the taste for truth.

Burn more incense,
let Teacher breathe.
From our stink
a brief reprieve.
We reap and reap
let's learn to seed.
Discard our pride,
and let us plead:

What seems so lovely
just isn't so.
Let's take our paddle
against the flow.
Please teach us what
we do not know:
Out of muck
how does the lotus grow?

Change

I don't want to change.
I want to feel better.
That's my issue,
my shackles and fetters.

I'm married to suffering
by ball and chain
'cause I want to feel better
yet remain the same.

It's too hard for me
to change myself.
There was a mistake
when the cards were dealt.
So please give me
a better hand.
And let me stay
the way I am.

Sure, I'm lazy,
but that's okay.
It's temporary
anyway.
So just let me
go back to sleep.
The spirit is willing;
my flesh is weak.

Once you know,
you can't un-know.
So don't tell me anymore!
Ignorance is bliss, you see,
so let the sleeping snore.

It's too late for me,
I know too much!
The original way
got so corrupt!
A diamond thrown
into the muck.
Treasures traded
for worthless stuff.

Once we know,
we can't un-know.
Sometimes, I wish I could.
So I could go around believing,
"Hey, I'm pretty good."
Sure, it's not true.
But feels much better.
That's my issue,
my shackles and fetters.

I'm married to suffering
by ball and chain
'cause I want to feel better
yet remain the same.

It's true that I don't
rob and steal
but doesn't mean bodhi
has been revealed.
So how can I think
me pretty good
when I've yet to do
what Jesus would?

By saintly standards,
I am a thief.
I rob and steal
and cause much grief.
'Cause what I see,
I want to own.
It leads me further
from our home.

I know some things.
I know too much!
And most of it
is worthless stuff.
Since I still can't right
what fell corrupt;
I'm sinking deeper
into the muck!

If this learning cannot
save the drowning,
then what's that learning for?
Too deeply I've been
slumbering,
don't let the sleeping snore!

So nudge and budge.
Oh God above.
Let ring the Golden Bell.
The longer I've been slumbering
I'm slipping into hell.

So poke and prod;
Don't let me nod.
Let ring the Golden Bell.
The longer we've been slumbering
it's not going very well.

Devils with horns
and pitchforks?
That is hardly a disguise!
The demons I'm most
acquainted
are my thieving set of eyes.

Look at that.
Looks soft enough.
So I reach a thieving
hand to touch.
I covet and steal,
and want to own.
I take a giant
leap from home.

But everything
I hold today
too soon it will be
stripped away.
I know what you're
about to say:

It's temporary anyway.

This, I know.
But tell these eyes.
These thieves
they cannot realize
that what's here today
is gone tomorrow:
We cannot own;
at most, we borrow.

Accumulating.
Wanting more.
Tell me what that stuff is for?
If it sinks us deeper
into the dream,
and leads us further
from the mean.

I covet. I steal.
I plot to own.
That's how I got
so far from home.

If these roots of sensation
cannot be pure,
how can they lead us
to the cure?
I go by feeling.
I go by sight.
They lead me further
into the night.

I want to feel better,
my ball and chain.
Adjust my feelings
yet remain the same.
Up and down
an endless game.
I'm tired of playing:

I have to change.

Worthless things

Why do I wish you
worthless things?
Like counterfeit coins
and charcoal rings.
A life of comfort,
pleasure, ease.
Opposite
of what we need.

The world is drowning,
I use the hand.
And build up castles
out of sand.
Before the tide
they cannot stand.
What a blind,
nearsighted plan!

I give you candy
instead of food.
To temporarily
uplift your mood.
To make us spoiled,
lazy, fat.
Why do they applaud me
for doing that?

The Chef serves veggies,
fruits, and grains.
How we kick
and scream, complain.

The Lords of Justice
raise their spears.
How we shudder and quake
with fear.

We flee from discipline,
wanting ease.
Opposite
of what we need.
Three times repent
announcer sings.
Why do I wish you
worthless things?

Really, I must be
so confused.
To give you candy
instead of food.
To temporarily
uplift your mood.
Meanwhile starving
for the truth.

I'm so deficient.
I'm ill-equipped.
It's daunting
and I want to quit.
I'm just about
to throw a fit.
And then I get
a sense of this:

Inside the heart,
a tiny the seed
unfolds into
a bodhi tree.
Not one that naked
eyes can see.
The One Heart steady
constantly.

Why not wish you
priceless things?
Like heat.
Like pressure.
Like diamond rings.
Duress and stress
and bitter dreams.
To wake us faster
to the mean.

Far afield

I try to have my worldly
and saintly too.
Instead of one master,
I'm serving two.

I love the one,
and hate the other.
Those far afield,
they call me "brother."

How did I come
to be their kin?
I'm too shameful to
stand next to them.

They have such virtue
and where is mine?
They're far afield,
I'm far behind!

One heart?
Hardly.
I've two at best.
And the third one's
bound with much duress.

And if it escapes,
the forest burns.
I fail applying
what I have learned.

Lost and wand'ring
somewhere outside.
All but blinded
by my pride.

Washed up on the
shore of saints.
One among them?
This, I ain't.

Mentally,
I know what to do:
Discount the false,
embrace the True.
Three times repentance
bows to you.
I strive for worldly
and saintly two.

Out there

I should be out there,
suffering for naught:
Compounding all the
causes wrought.

I should be out there,
suffering for free:
No wages to feed
my family.

I should be out there,
all alone.
No place to be
and call my home.

Ever hungry
and wanting more.
I should be out there,
outside the door.

So grateful to be
here inside.
I should be out there,
and left to die.

The door was shut
by lock and key,
and then matured
affinity.

The Heart Prevails

We agreed the time,
and I was late.
I guess I don't
appreciate.

'Cause if I did,
would I'd be there?
But I was late.
And do I care?

What's wrong with me?
Should I be vexed?
And worried about
what's coming next?

Or did I finally
glimpse and see
that it's not really
up to me.

Buddhas make effort.
Humans set time.
I'm not clear which
heart is mine.

Sometimes one way.
Sometimes that.
Muddy, I wonder
where I'm at.

Spin me. Spin me.
Round and round.
Who dares stand
and be knocked down?

We agreed the time;
this human failed.
The vexation is silent
when the heart prevails.

Does it seem so gruff and rough?
Too tough I am to smile?
Unblessed sneeze, I'm never pleased.
Reproaching all the while.

My arms do fold, oh don't catch cold
if I cast an icy glare.
There seems no proof, but hear this truth:
There's loving under there.

The outside looks pretty,
but what of inside?
That's what determines:
we live, we die.

Appearances, humble,
but what of inside?
The lightness of being?
The burden of pride?

The surface does shimmer,
who guesses the depths?
Daily increasing?
Diminishing, less?

The sun was bright;
the skies were blue.
And everything
was fresh and new.

But now the diamonds
that Heaven made.
Somewhat less precious,
turned to jade.

If Hell has depths
as Heaven is tall,
the height we ascend
is how deep we fall.

Come follow

Strike this body,
and stow it low.
You say, "Come follow."
I will not go!

You live in fear
of moth and rust.
I thirst the way
that can't be touched.

Oh God, please Heaven,
grant us reprieve.
A corpse in the mirror,
who is not me!

It thirsts for things
with shape and form,
but I was there
when it was born.

In pain. In screams.
In blood. In muck.
Began the clock
of moth and rust.
Before the good
becomes corrupt:
Let's walk the way
that can't be touched!

Oh strike this body,
and stow it low.
You say, "Come follow."
I will not go!

Beyond the reach
of moth and rust.
Let's walk the way
that can't be touched.

Who do you love?

Pick up your eyes.
Don't stare at your shoes.
Stand up straight.
Be dignified!

You're in the presence
of a courtesan,
the finest courtesan to ever
bid you how-dee-do.

You scoff and like to think her
naught but a glorified prostitute.
But the truth is...
as you lift your eyes...
drink in her curves...
Her perfume captures your olfactory.
Her smooth speech like honey to your ears.
You agree to e v e r y t h i n g she says:
you're not listening to the words.

Prostitute she may be,
but the erection in your pants swells.
Your sense appetites certainly
aren't offended by her profession.

Do you desire her?
Do you want to possess her?

Pick up your eyes.
Don't stare at your shoes.
Take your hands out of your pockets.
You're in the presence of a lady.
Where are your manners, man?!

Look her in the eye.
She curtsies coyly,
blushing on your behalf,
pretending not to notice
the bulge in your pants.

Where is your propriety?
Are you completely unschooled in etiquette?

Bow back when someone bows to you!

Now tell us,
mouth salivating...
erection throbbing...
Tell us solidly:

Who do you love?

Perpetual student

I graduated from nowhere.
I've accomplished nothing.
As a perpetual student,
I'm really quite dull.

My teachers instructed me to read.
Only now, after years of patience,
can I string together some broken sentences.

Apt, I am not.
Sharp, I am dull.

Lessons have to be repeated over and over,
and when I finally get it,
I just see how far away from wisdom I truly am:
a great chasm between here and there
that could swallow oceans;
how much easier this simple fellow?

Why don't the teachers give up on me?
Maybe they teach a lesson of faith.

Other people have degrees and knowledge,
are decorated with medals and titles.
But me?

I have none.

I graduated from nowhere.
I've accomplished nothing.