‘and is there homage …’


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                and is there homage to the
                Venerable Arya Tara who sits whole

                within the river crucible one
                and severally to behold; her

                laughter of TUTTARE always
                through those trees, her huge knee

                bent graceful in a thousand diminutive equipoises,
                her right leg stretching out and out

                over rolling fields and far away;
                does she hum with

                proximate mass, does she remain
                when words have stopped –

                no, shh, listen to the fluvial rains,
blink, look at the geranium leaves


this is the running couplet to here today and …




being & trees wormhole: here today and …
leaves wormhole: looking hard enough
rain & sound wormhole: travel // when I die
river wormhole: nowhere / that can be seen
sitting wormhole: poessay XI – piquant love
Tara wormhole: Tara mantras
words wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – I took my camera into the fields


here today and …


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                and are those clouds
                bent double in-Newton musculature

                poised in-dreadful calliper
                wide across the vale; no,

                no: the tractor makes field up
                in-possible way, and the breeze

                in-forms the trees constant
                even when still; and lo

                there is in-fill between hedge
                and row, here today and …


“…till we have built …”




being & valley wormhole: ‘not sure …’
breeze & clouds wormhole: ‘from the cathedral window two stories / high …’
field wormhole: 10/22 by William Carlos Williams
hedge wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford – The Valley
stillness wormhole: eyes like petals
trees wormhole: looking hard enough


looking hard enough


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                down to the right are paths
                wrap ‘tween stone and wall and rind up dale

                that smell of leaf over earth
                and rooting writhed and coupling too to earth

                and down to the left,
                down through constant broadcast high through leaves,

                high streets of venue and outlet to cater for
                every private over life, that

                will yield a book on Blake,
                if not looking hard enough, and books

                that you already had if you


and … eventually you have to go into town; in the 21st century you can’t escape from the town …




books wormhole: beneath
leaves & path wormhole: breakfast
life wormhole: despite all / depiction
looking wormhole: then
smell & stone wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford – The Valley
streets wormhole: riders of the night
trees wormhole: nowhere / that can be seen
walls wormhole: travel // when I die


‘not sure …’


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        not sure
        I wanted
        the over-
        head light
        on, until

        I noticed
        the grills
        of the bal-
        cony rail
        and the

        down the
        valley (before
        lights were

and myself
                between the both
        reclined to
        the write on

        the settee
        under a
        double full-
        se moon
        amid glazing


still in my friend’s apartment in Totnes towards being evening




being & streetlight wormhole: nowhere / that can be seen
glass wormhole: Puerto del Carmen
identity & writing wormhole: poessay XI – piquant love
light wormhole: riders of the night
moon wormhole: 11/1 by William Carlos Williams
seeing wormhole: breakfast
twilight wormhole: only
valley wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – valley


‘from the cathedral window two stories / high …’


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                from the cathedral window two stories
                high above town

                the eiderdown cloud has settled
                patchwork greys

                (and pastels blue
                 through the pulled-back door to the

                 balcony); there
                and here, the various facades all cream

                and white, but
                the haphazard verticals of the sweet-pea

                crane pink
                with-out the bamboo spine

                exercising constant flexed ligament to the air
                but not the breeze


still in Totnes; ‘stories’ are definitely … sic




air wormhole: psssssh
blue & grey wormhole: travelling,
breeze wormhole: on / that / day
clouds wormhole: travel // when I die
doors & windows wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – valley
history wormhole: despite all / depiction
pink wormhole: riders of the night
white wormhole: nowhere / that can be seen


IN THE ‘SCONSET BUS by William Carlos Williams


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                IN THE ‘SCONSET BUS

                      Upon the fallen

                      a gauzy down–
                      And on

                      the nape

                      a mat
                      of yellow hair

                      stuck with

                      not quite

                      matching it

                      two shades

                      at the roots

                      from the ears
                      the hooks

                      piercing the

                      gold and semi-

                      And in her

                      lap the dog

                      his head on

                      the ample
                      shoulder his

                      mouth agape

                      pants restlessly


from POEMS 1932
it was the revelation: that there was of such importance, in the minute observation, with wonder, of the minutest things, with love, and their intersposal with each other, with relationship, quite denuded of any sticky intention, that let’s them so; that has made WCW such an influential poet for me




bus wormhole: Plumstead – Woolwich – Plumstead 220211
dog wormhole: on / that / day
gold wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford – Rain
hair & mouth wormhole: The Atlantic City Convention: 1. THE WAITRESS by William Carlos Williams
love wormhole: poessay XI – piquant love
travelling wormhole: nowhere / that can be seen
William Carlos Williams wormhole: POEM by William Carlos Williams
yellow wormhole: travelling,


nowhere / that can be seen


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                late from the evening:
                the second-floor apartment

                the lights are Jacksoned
                all about the hill, some orange

                and insistent, some white with no design
                to the gash of nothing

                of the river; wait, solitary
                headlights work slow down the road

                into town, but’s OK, it is
                Sunday, they sidle idly behind

                tree-silhouettes and get nowhere
                that can be seen


in September we looked after the apartment of our friend in Totnes; we do this from time to time; this time we travelled by train – takes the best part of a day to travel just over 200 miles; we arrived and settled and it was already getting dark; the apartment has a wonderful window, a cathedral window, from the floor apexed into the roof looking out over Totnes settled either side of the river Dart: there’s nothing for it, many evenings, but to turn out the lights and look across the valley at the lights …




being & black & orange wormhole: travel // when I die
evening wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – I took my camera into the fields
river wormhole: at Kreukenhof
roads wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – sooner; / and later
silhouette wormhole: riders of the night
streetlight wormhole: sometimes
Sunday wormhole: PASTORAL by William Carlos Williams
travelling & white wormhole: travelling,
trees wormhole: on / that / day


Bodhisattvacharyavatara: Chapter VI, Patience – verses 128-132; reflectionary



Bodhisattvacharyavatara by Acharya Śāntideva

Chapter VI– verses 128-132

Transglomeration: [128] For example, acting completely alone, a king’s officer could intimidate and persecute a whole crowd of people, but those in the crowd who are clear-headed would not react even if they had the opportunity.   [129] This is because they know that the officer does not act alone but with the power of the king.   Likewise, I should not make light of or react to even the slightest of these beings who do me even the slightest wrong … [130] for they are backed by the power of both the guardians of hell and the Compassionate Ones.   So I should respect and please each of these beings as I would the officer of that fiery king.   [131] Moreover, what could even such an enraged king unleash upon me comparable to the tortures and agonies of hell which would certainly become my experience from causing the sorrow of beings?   [132] And what possible reward could a gratified king bestow comparable to the realisation of Buddhahood which would certainly be achieved if I was instrumental in bringing benefit and happiness to beings?

~~~ “BCA” ~~~

V. 127 serving beings serves Buddhas, serves my own ends, ending suffering = my Vow & practice
↑ Stitch ↓
V. 128-132 benefitting beings using the analogy of a king’s steward

Reflection: [128] it is best not to retaliate against bullies in power [129] because they have the might of that power protecting them; the full force – the punchline – of these two verses does not come until verse 130; these verses establish clearly (i.e. spells it out over two verses) that you don’t mess with other beings who are well-protected (in this case under the protection of a king: now, the ‘might is right’ is not so openly practised as to provide a useful example; now it is the fear of law (maybe…), social approbation (maybe…), but I can’t think of an example of an ‘untouchable’ outside of the social dynamics of gangsterism … maybe the equivalent is politicians, now, but their conduct has become the policy of repression, and their ‘protection’ is that ‘them’s makes the rules’, the Law), even though they might be one against a whole crowd, a whole populace, of people, because the punishment/retribution/comeback for messing with them would be definite and probably enhanced far beyond what you did; it is the definiteness and the extent of the comeback which would hold you back, and this is the point to be clearly established here using a worldly/political/military illustration, so you just wouldn’t do it, if you’re at all wise; even though the ‘steward’ might be just one against thousands, even though the crowd would be able to tear him limb from limb and eat his liver, even though he might personally be completely uncharismatic or stupid or impetuous in his actions, as long as he bears the king’s insignia, he is untouchable; it’s not saying it is right, it is merely establishing a clear illustration of how you ‘don’t mess’ with some people even if you have the perfect opportunity when you meet this person alone in a dark alley (in a neighbourhood from which the whole local population has been inexplicably moved out for … reasons, so there are no witnesses), and you happen to have a whole workshop of freshly-sharpened disembowelling knives and machetes with you and a spare machine-gun in your back pocket, ‘just in case’, still, this person is protected, don’t mess …); the point is some people are untouchable because someone else has their backs, they are protected by someone else – this is the only point being established in these two verses

Reflection: [131] (Jimmy Cagney voice): ‘… there’s protection on these beings, see; all of them, they’re very special to my dear friends; my friends, you see, they have this ‘special interest’ in all these beings: big plans, big dreams – yes, all of them (I don’t see it myself, still, that’s the way it is, I am loyal to my friends); now, we can do this the easy way – that’s how my friends would prefer it done, hell, they’d even want to include you in, the Family, sheesh – or we can spend some time (heh, quite a lotta time, actually) doing business with my boys, here (and, I’ll be totally frank with you, I’d prefer we didn’t have to use them, `always so much mess to clear up afterwards); so, come on, let’s be reasonable, here, we’re all grown-ups now, aren’t we…?’

Practice: when encountering someone who is against me, quick-as-a-flash, I imagine a hell-demon slavering behind them, newly-leering because I am about to do something which means it will be able to impale me or split me open yet one more time, and then, also quick-as-a-flash, I imagine a Compassionate Being behind them with a look of brows-raised-open-mouth shock at the harm I am about to unleash on them through my anger … that ought to calm me down

Reflection: [131] a king, an enemy with power, could deprive me of my rights, torture me, even kill me, fine, but once I’m dead he couldn’t do anything more to me – that’s the worst a sentient being could do to another; a hellish torment would not end with the exhaustion of my body, my life during that torment would not be short-lived; and this would all result from having harmed other beings in whatever way: they have the ‘protection’ of the hell-demons and the Compassionate Ones, not in the sense that they will stop the harm that we might inflict on others, but that they guarantee that there will be an outcome in terms of causal inevitability (the hell-demons will pay it back) and severity (the harm done will have hurt both the beings directly, and have frustrated the wishes of the Compassionate Ones, we don’t get away from having only hurt sentient beings, we hurt the Compassionate Ones as well – this is no small transgression); do the Compassionate Ones have wishes that we can go against and frustrate – in the sense that they are Enlightened, no, they have attained Enlightenment, but in that their only and natural function once they have achieved Enlightenment is to – by default – respond to those who, un-understandably, are not Enlightened, with compassion (they cannot not be like this, like water cannot not be wet, like water cannot not spread to the edges of that into which it is poured); if we, as deluded sentient beings are actively harming other beings, we are being more than just suffering beings needing help and direction, we are actively frustrating that very help and direction being supplied by the Compassionate Ones … have we no measure of our own blindness?

Reflection: [132] and – of course – this can be flipped (because this isn’t because it’s the ‘rules of some game’, it’s not because ‘Simon says’, it’s because this is the causal and conditioned reality devoid of the illusion of a ‘self’ of oneself or other which makes it seem like ‘all is for the taking’, ‘he who dares wins’, ‘luvvly jubbly’; when there is no self-existent anything, all that is left is the care and welfare of ‘other’ that hasn’t quite got round to realising it all yet, and what a quagmire of suffering they’re stuck in as a result): that if we pleased a ‘king’ (someone in power and influence), if we really got in there and charmed and impressed and proved indispensable to this someone of power, the best they might do would bestow some of that power, influence and maybe wealth back onto us; is that it?: power which could be undermined or equally taken away, influence that is as up to date as fashion, wealth which is only really useful when ‘liquid’ (as Gordon Gekko remarked), none of which would leave me any guarantee even into my old age, let alone my death; is that the best this king could bestow me – an unsteady burden, a shifting sand; and yet Buddhahood (no need of power or influence – no world or self to exercise over; no need of wealth and enjoyment – no need or self to indulge) could just be ours without any of the lifetime-career expended trying to position ourselves right within a loaded game in which we can never win … just by making others happy

Practice: don’t play the game, it’s always loaded; let the focus always be ‘benefit towards others’



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                an accord of yellow cranes
                pointing all in the direction passed

                golf greens flat and patchwork
                before fields of pylons on the horizon

                pointing awry in the sky yielding
                to cooling towers spuming in the direction passed

                into the sky until the white wind
                turbines underline the blue and grey afternoon


travelling north through the midlands to Cumbria back through 32 years of time …




afternoon & passing & sky & train & travelling & white wormhole: travel // when I die
blue & grey wormhole: blue sky high
crane wormhole: poessay XI – piquant love
horizon & yellow wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – valley


despite all / depiction


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                so, lowing
                and looking east
                from all the crumbling musculature
                of past empire,
                chewing cud

                ninety nine percent
                of all and ever species have become extinct and I
                cannot deconstruct
                the categories-
                enough to read

                the lines and mass
                of stijl, reminds me
                that I try to be far too clever trying to read
                despite all


mused from a visit ot the Museum at Darmstadt attending the celebration of Jon and Sara’s wedding




architecture wormhole: travel // when I die
history wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford – An Old Piano
life wormhole: poessay XI – piquant love
reality wormhole: SPRING AND ALL XXII by William Carlos Williams
thinking wormhole: riders of the night