SI 2011-12

PT: Rejoicing in the visible shift from burden to ease, but who invisibly
carries the difference?

PSC 12: To transcend this mentality is to transcend to Li.

Rolling in the mud and expecting to be without stain, vanity is thus.

Considering benefit for one's self, it is easy to appreciate.
Considering hassle for one's self, it is easy to complain.
Seeing hassle as benefit, the negative mentality is transformed.

Supporting others motives, it is easy to agree.
Questioning others motives, it is hard to agree.
Reflecting on one's own motives is the way to self-review.
Transforming difficulty into ease is the way to break through.

To cultivate tolerance, one must first tolerate one's own intolerance.
Tolerating one's own intolerance, what then is intolerable?

Scribble on the wall

Don't mind that scribble on the wall,
Some nonsense that I wrote.
Mind this drivel not at all,
Some babble that I spoke.

The house always wins

Some win good
and ace the test.
Some win better
and shame the rest.
Losers lament
while winners jest.
But Grim laughs harder,
'cause Death wins best.

The house always wins,
you know its true.
Don't look surprised
when they come for you:
for this body, name
and all this fame.
Blackjack in the casino
of Death, his game.

We've had a streak
of luck, a bit.
And security's been
watching all of it.
Cocktails, women,
dice, and play.
To congratulate us on
our lucky day.

We go back to our
hotel room up, a bit.
And Death's been
watching all of it.
We close our eyes
for just a wink.
And wake up teetering
on the brink
of fortune, fame,
a roulette game.
I lost my house,
and it felt the same
when I lost my
degree, my kids, my name.
I lost it all.
And death's to blame!

The house always wins.
I know it's true!
But I thought I could win
and shame him too.
But Death is patient.
And Death is kind.
And Death will surely
take all that's mine.

So what is it
I truly own?
These are not "mine"
but rented bones.
And Death will come
and take these too.
House always wins.
And I know it's true!

But is there wealth--
if just a bit--
that moth won't chew
and rust not git--
that's always shiny,
golden, new--
is there anything here
like that, that's true?

And some win good,
they're better than rest.
And winners love
to laugh and jest.
But an unsettling cackling
that quiets that din.
And the one that's laughing,
I know it's him.

SI 2011-11

CNV ES: Perceived investment without return
CNV CS:
-Vanity begets greed and miserliness
-Perceived investment is backpay

CNV KH

1. Accept the unacceptable
2. Correct the unacceptable within
3. Inspire correction without

ATETL

-Worldly happenings as Heavenly Messengers.
-Suffering diminishes faith in the material; begets the Auspicious Timing.
-Even polishing the brass diligently, the dirt under the rug remains undiminished.
-With affinity, anything can trigger remembrance; without affinity, same trigger, no reaction.
-With affinity, awe; without affinity, same trigger, no awe.
-Stress begets tension, tension as armor; bowing to release armor.


MD MTC

-Mentality: Good idea, thank you for thinking of it. Why didn't I think of it?
-Mentality: Why blame leaders for misguiding, I don't have a True Self? If not enlightened, that's my fault. No one else's.


MD MDC

Happiness is not from having more, but caring less.

Completing many small tasks yields great ease;
neglecting minor issues harvests great vexation.

If not bothered within, wouldn't point without.

Easy to say, hard to do;
profundity lies not in flowery words,
but bridging this gap.

SI 2011-10

BP P1

Without Shien For, without Dao;
No Shien For, no direction.

With benefit rendered, respect is earned.

BP P2

The marvelous appears plain to distinguish the faithful from the opportunists.

CNV LP: Different behavior, same mentality, no advancement.

CNV AK: In seeing the arrogance of others, who is arrogant first?

PSC

Those who wish to penetrate Li,
ought to break through ought-to-be.

SI 2011-09

PS C 3

Affinity is from previous causes;
inferior and superior are relative.

The unenlightened see different dharmas;
the enlightened apply the Dharma differently.

As far as Heaven up there, Jesus is too far away;
as far as Upright Matters, Jesus is not remote.

Assuming true, expose the fallacies; sensing void, open to fulfillment.

Who, besides the pure, can reside in the Pure Land?

BP P & P1

Precepts not for Heaven's benefit;
benefit ourselves toward Heaven.

Wisdom is not learned directly.

Without rules, without standard;
without direction, without arriving.

Staying on the path,
what precipice will one encounter?

To honor Buddha, perform as Buddha.

Other ways are good, which path is surviving?
Other principles are sound, which ones not dividing?

CNV ES

Without gain, without participation; without temptation, without species.

As far as Spirit, these flesh suits are against us; if not, there would be no humans left.

Nothing outside will satisfy; satisfy with what's at hand.

CNV F

Seeing the part but not the whole, who dares make judgment?

MD LCS

Truth is void, whatever mind can grasp is relative.

Only void is pure, chi leaves traces.

The refuse of gold

I call it refuse,
and you call it gold.
You're happy to hear it,
I prefer it untold.

You tell me it's precious
a wisdom, a pearl!
To me, just as common
as acorn, a squirrel.

Scurrying rodents,
they're hopping around.
Common and ordinary
and hardly profound.

I guess they're quite cute
when the curl up their nose.
But hardly compare to
a wisdom, a rose.

I mine for the diamonds
so rare, of expense.
You marvel the acorns
by pound, a few pence.

My backyard a mountain
discarded of shell.
I'll burn it tomorrow
and send it to hell.

You tell me, "Don't do that!
It's precious and rare!"
My jaw hits the floor.
I gawk and I stare.

Am I quite snooty?
Do I look down my nose?
I can't understand
why you don't see the rose.

To me, it's such refuse
and piling too high.
You tell me its worth
is like earth and the sky.

Forget all this refuse.
I set it ablaze.
These shells of these acorns
they hardly amaze.

Diamonds and gold
so rare, of expense.
Marvel at acorns,
by pound, a few pence.

Am I quite snooty?
Afraid I'm a snob.
Pay money for acorns?
I think you've been robbed!

I'd certainly give you
all mine there for free.
But I'd rather be rid of
my old oaken tree.

It's branches so thick;
It's foliage so green.
The shade is so heavy;
the sun can't be seen!

I pulled out my chainsaw,
it quickly got trapped!
And the handle just splintered
when swung with my axe!

The squirrels they did gibber;
they laughed in the dark.
You told me, "Don't do that,
there's gold in that bark!"

I don't really think so.
It's old worthless wood.
I'd chop it all down.
And I wish that I could!

You see it's obscuring
that heavenly sky.
If the sun it could pierce it
you would not ask why.

There's something more precious
than acorns and squirrels.
Something more solid
than this trash you dub pearls.

Perhaps I'm quite snooty
or crazy or high.
I could be insane,
but there's gold in the sky!
I glimpsed it in winter
the light caught my eye.
Oh that we see it,
you would not ask why.

The final lament

If the heavens split open;
If the sky does fall.
That won't vex me.
Not at all.

If the earth cracks open;
If lava rush through.
Peacefully,
I say adieu.

But endlessly,
to leave, return.
That's the fire,
I can't watch burn.

To have the chance
to escape this mess.
And fail miserably
the final test.

To reach the border,
but not the shore.
A taste of honey,
so adored.

If the sky splits open;
If the earth does rend.
Can we welcome them
as long last friend?

But the gate was opened;
but can't walk through.
Lament mistaking
the false for True.

Ad nauseam

Shall I wax poetic?
Increase in words?
If I babbled at length,
would that be absurd?

Shall I expound on all
that I can see?
Blather into
infinity?

Points of view,
I've sure got mine.
I could drone ad nauseam
if you have the time.

I could bore you with such
points of interest.
Although, to you,
may make no difference.

If I waxed poetic,
would you think me vain?
Waste your time
with minutiae inane.

Your patience, saintly;
you're quite polite.
But next time don't let me
expound this tripe!

Time is precious,
and I'm wasting yours.
I drone ad nauseam,
and it's so absurd.
I wax poetic;
increase in words.
Such senseless babble
should go unheard!

Why give your audience?
Why lend your ear?
Why endure so calmly
and not run from here?

Shall we wax poetic
on all we find?
I could drone ad nauseam,
if you have the time.

Gravity bound

Been trying to leave here
since born of this earth.
I can't stand the hunger;
I can't stand the thirst.
Gravity bound me
since day of my birth.
This body so heavy
I don't mean the girth.

Steadily, inexorably,
it's pulling me down.
I'd rather be elsewhere
I'm gravity bound.
This appetite binds me
the sights and the sound.
I'm mentally babbling
pretending profound.

Been trying to leave here
since day of my birth.
This body so heavy
I don't mean the girth.
I'd rather be elsewhere
but fell for this earth.
The damned of the fallen;
now cuddling dirt.

Praying

We pray to God.
This much is true.
Prayers sent to Heaven,
and God prays too.

We pray an end
to suff'ring and strife.
God prays too,
and prayed your life.

We pray for mercy
and right reprieve.
So earnestly
on bended knee.

We look to the sky.
We plead and wait.
And God looks out,
and does the same.

We bow our heads
yet see no sign.
Feeling abandoned
we sob and cry.
Pray and pray
and wonder why.
We are our answer
our own reply.

We pray to God.
And God prays too.
God sent a prayer,
and it was you.

Paradise

The mountains high,
the skies so blue,
And all the sights
so fresh and new
No shortage of things
to see and do.
But paradise,
it passes too.

The mountain air,
the tropical sun.
Passerby:
a morning run.
A misty shower
that angels send.
But paradise,
it also ends.

The sun retires
to starry skies.
A different city
comes alive.
It seems an ideal
place to lie.
But paradise
won't always thrive.

The people bright,
the faces new,
some foreigners
in white and blue.
Sharing about
what's false what's True.
And paradise
it needs this too.

White clouds yield
to Bodhi sun.
Passerby:
a morning run.
The sounds of street
they pulse and thrive
as quiet drummers
come alive.

Seeking sideways.
Spinning 'round.
Climbing up
and falling down.
Looking,
it cannot be found.
And paradise
is more profound.

The mountains high,
the city streets.
A little drummer
and silent beats.
A change of heart
in tranquil time.
And paradise
cannot be mine.

A plane departs
to foreign land.
Where is conductor
of this band?
Can the drummers
beat in time?
Paradise,
won't you be mine?

The mountains high,
the skies so blue.
And none of it
compares to you.
Who discerns
what's false what's True.
And paradise,
it needs this too.

Intercession

Below Lotus
Kneeling
Bended knee.
Buddha, won't you
intercede?

We've weaved a mess here
in the muck.
Buddha, won't you
lift us up?

Silence
came the poignant reply.
Buddha! Rescue!
Lest we die!

A silence that crosses
time and space.
Buddha! We beg you!
Bestow your grace!

Buddha,
give us right reprieve!
Our enemies chase,
abuse, deceive!

Buddha!
Come!
Deliver us!
To the pristine lotus
beyond this muck.

You ask for what
you do not know.
And beg for grace
I did bestow.

Bestow I did,
but not your taste.
So kneeling, you beg
some other grace.

But there is no other
grace than this.
If you want the lotus
endure the shit.

Did you think
there was some other way?
If so, I'd have given it
yesterday!

Fake fertilizer
smells so sweet.
Yet die from cancer
before we meet.

You ask for gardens,
but not manure.
You want results
but can't endure.

You beg my mercy.
My mercy's this:
You beg for flowers;
I bless you shit.

My intercession
has already come.
The dawning of the
Bodhi Sun.

Get ready.
I tax you
further still.
Chase, besiege,
ground through the mill.

Below Lotus
Kneeling
Bended knee.
Buddha, won't you
intercede?