transmuted

Tags

2017, 6*, Bodhisattvacharyavatara, Chenrezig, compassion, kleshas, Manjushri, purification, reaching, Shantideva, stone, transmutation, true nature, wisdom

                test the stone:
                where granular
                where sharp
                how weighty
                when peaked
                where settled

                take the cold
                chisel offered
                here offered
                there suspend
                the mallet
                and swing its ready weight

                then shuck the
                cap and scallop
                the flank and
                chip the eye to
                smooth the
                look then cut

                the reach and
                crack the step
                and round
                the corner to
                ripple the abs
                then clear the

                dust to stand
                resplendent
                reaching with a thousand arms
                or sitting
                tight with bristling sword
                transmuted

 

 

Bodhisattacharyavatara by Shantideva, I-10:nothing lost; everything gained

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

compassion wormhole: moment
Shantideva wormhole: writing: // in turn
stone wormhole: embodying

 

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the precision // the gentleness // and / the letting go

Tags

2014, being, blue, bougainvillea, gentleness, identity, letting go, Manjushri, orange, Pema Chödrön, poetry, precision, quartz, seeing, shadow, sky, stone, thinking, world, writing

 

 

 

preamble:

                                              I suppose
                the clarity and
                                        surprise of the
                                                                 poem
                                is the care to which
                                              you can allow it to be what it becomes
                                                               itself
                                                               quite
                independent of the skills and words and
                                              trammellings
                                that I – the Writer – want to put in it
                                              that I – the Watcher – wanted to
                                                               put it in

gestation:

                                              first
                                the precision of what is around you
                and what is inside you that distorts
                                              to see
                                then the gentleness that includes
                                              the kaleidoscopic stones
                                                               and shadows

labour:

                                (letting each smudge shine clean
                                 between the spinning swords
                                 deepening all the shades of orange like bougainvillea
                                 against the blue quartz-smooth sky)

birth:

                                              and
                                the letting go to
                let it thrive
                                mucoid and clueless
                                              in a New New World

 

 

the title comes from the fourth chapter of ‘The Wisdom of No Escape‘ by Pema Chödrön – teachings so sweet that they are poems from a burgundy robe

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

being wormhole: our life
blue wormhole: no hat
identity & letting go wormhole: letters to mum II – family // like a grate
orange wormhole: ‘I can hear it raining / but cannot see it …’
poetry & seeing & writing wormhole: ‘like a piece of ice on a hot stove / the poem must ride on its own melting’
shadow wormhole: on sitting / in front of / a hedge
sky wormhole: introducing / the stranger
stone wormhole: I will eventually drift tectonic
thinking wormhole: the Buddha head in an antique shop
world wormhole: first a mishap then clear vision

 

father figure – triptych

Tags

2007, 2012, breakfast, dream, eating, family, Geshe Kelsang, growth, guru, house, identity, Manjushri, morning, speech

 

 

 

                           dream 290307

                           I am visiting Manjushri Institute* with my family
                           we come to a room and I realise I am joining
                           Geshe Kelsang** for dinner

                           I should not be here sharing dinner with Geshe-la
                           I cannot meet his look
                           but he is very host-like and gracious
                           he bears no resentment
                           it is just myself
                           giving myself
                           a hard time

 

—–~“O”~—–

 

                dream
                310307

     I am at a gathering
     in someone’s house
     some sort of teaching event happening
     sitting in the lounge I notice
     that the picture on the wall is different
     it is a large sketch of Geshe Kelsang**
     drawn from above ‘comic book’ realistic
     later in the morning I join a group for breakfast
     I am following a figure onto the balcony
     in fact I am that figure
     then I am seeing from that figure’s perspective
     like a documentary
     the figure is Geshe Kelsang and then
     I am myself again
     and Geshe-la is joining us for breakfast
     honoured to have him join us
     he is jovial and light-humoured
     he takes one mouthful of something –
     was it avocado – and quips ‘I am better now’
     putting down his knife and fork

     all my fathers of this life
     I don’t get on with them that well
     I seem to find myself in a position
     I cannot talk with them
     I expect an impossible ideal of them
     I see them fall short and then
     I sulk
     …

 

—–~“O”~—–

 

                                                                                    dream
                                                                                    151007

                                                                                    at the table
                                                                                    at the feast
                                                                                    Geshe-la**
                                                                                    sees me reach
                                                                                    for the food
                                                                                    chastises me
                                                                                    for wanting
                                                                                    to eat too
                                                                                    soon

 

 

* Conishead Priory, known as Manjushri Institute, in Cumbria on the shores of Morecambe Bay.   A Buddhist college; lived there 1983-1984.
** Geshe-la – affectionate honorific used for the teacher, Geshe Kelsang Gyatso.   I moved from the Priory to begin my career twenty years previous to these dreams.

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

dream & family & house & identity & speech wormhole: dream / 130207
Geshe Kelsang wormhole: dream / 010397
morning wormhole: dream / 190599

 

wakey wakey / time to get up

Tags

2005, 2006, 2012, 8*, acceptance, breathing, childhood, divorce, dream, Eglinton Hill, Genesta Road, Geshe Kelsang, growth, identity, LamRim, lifetimes, love, Manjushri, meditation, Mum, muse, night, speech, stone, superhero, superpower, tv

 

 

 

                                                                      wakey wakey
                                                                      time to get up

 

                                              I

                                   I left my eight year old
                                   in Eglinton Hill*
                                   he wandered the rooms
                                   looking for Daddy

                                   he wasn’t ready to leave
                                   when we all left
                                   ‘I’m sure he’s here somewhere …
                                    didn’t see him … look again’

                                   I looked for meaning instead
                                   in Genesta Road**
                                   while he gazed sideways
                                   into rooms

                                   ‘Mum found me wandering one night
                                    I stayed and watched tv with her’
                                   up late at night finding possibility
                                   after lifetime finding thought

                                   I roamed superhero worlds
                                   and wore superhero stances
                                   against the invisible enemy
                                   wherever he appeared

                                   I found new superpowers
                                   distilled from the immediate
                                   music poetry art religion
                                   ingenious hope to salve the day

                                   but my battles never happened
                                   my victories never came
                                   the whale continued gliding past
                                   ‘… maybe look upstairs again’

                                   my face was always masked
                                   my self was never found
                                   I was haunted by an eight year old
                                   and Eglinton Hill

                                   go back home and find him
                                   take him by the hand
                                   c’mon boy let’s go outside
                                   show me what you found

                                              II

                                   when moments are bland
                                   I sit in the dark
                                   and look to find
                                   what everyone has missed

                                   when I abstract out
                                   I can trip and skip
                                   with a hundred ideas
                                   that hang together

                                   so well
                                   they ‘get’ the world
                                   more than ‘being’ the world
                                   I prefer them

                                   they take me on a groove
                                   they weave me in a tapestry
                                   always slightly aslant
                                   always slightly after

                                   but never where I am
                                   averse to where I am
                                   nothing bad nothing evil
                                   nothingness

                                   these take-me-aways
                                   these dark glowing colours
                                   these resolved phrasings
                                   building the relief

                                   of a Perfect Human Rebirth
                                   before Death takes it away
                                   before Habit seals it in amber
                                   before Fame echoes away

                                   this emptiness of my life
                                   was it produced by my lives
                                   or is it the breath I have held
                                   for too long

                                              III

                                   and here I sit in meditation
                                   with thoughts like Woodstock
                                   proliferating
                                   everywhere

                                              IV

                                                              dream 240606

                                              back at the Priory***
                                moved on in twenty years
                                              still lots of people
                                              large open rooms
                                pass Geshe-la**** in the corridor
                we exchange ‘hallo’ we recognise each other nothing awkward
                                              he is in robes
                but as I turn to look back
                                he is in tweeds and looking for something
                he is involved in something else

                                              I am in a room
                                              there is menace danger
                                a demon
                a sort of old god appears in the room
                                it is short but finely built an air of power
                                with a stone mask over its face
                and a stone club stood on the floor
                                hands resting on it relaxed
                                he is looking at me
                                              slightly sideways
                                I am going to have to face it
                                              here in the room
                we engage in a Captain Kirk-type battle
                                              I am on top
                and I am hitting the demon repeatedly
                                in the face
                                it is a girl’s face
                as I hit the demon it loses its appearance
                                and becomes a girl
                when I have beaten the demon out
                                I cradle the girl
                                I love her
                                I have saved her
                                              I pick her up
                I will heal her
                                              I will care for her
                                gently

 

 

 

______________________________________________________
* In 1961 my brother was born, in 1962 my grandmother lost her husband, in 1963 we all moved into a house on Eglinton Hill.
** When I was eight my father just left the family and left my mother and grandmother to bring us up. In 1971 we moved to a smaller house in Genesta Road
*** Priory – Conishead Priory, known as Manjushri Institute, in Cumbria on the shores of Morecambe Bay. A Buddhist college; lived there 1983-1984.
**** Geshe-la – affectionate honorific used for the teacher, Geshe Kelsang Gyatso. I moved from the Priory to begin my career twenty years previous to this dream.

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

acceptance wormhole: I didn’t see it coming
breathing wormhole: becoming old
divorce wormhole: Grandad / Redford
dream wormhole: Dr Strange #6-13
childhood wormhole: “bring in as many / different kinds of leaf / as you can find”
Eglinton Hill wormhole: from my childhood
Genesta Road wormhole: 1976
identity wormhole: mirror
lifetimes wormhole: brave new world?
love wormhole: what …
meditation wormhole: … I think that / just about wraps / things up
Mum wormhole: oh
muse wormhole: silence
night wormhole: only
speech wormhole: ”whatdoyouwantmylove…’ on the train …’
stone wormhole: there
superhero wormhole: Woolwich Central – / making life better II
tv wormhole: 1969
superpower wormhole: and no one would know