• Bodhisattvacharyavatara
    • Introduction
    • Chapter 1
    • Chapter 2
    • Chapter 3
    • Chapter 4
    • Chapter 5
    • Chapter 6
    • Chapter 7
    • Chapter 8
    • Chapter 9
    • Chapter 10
  • collected works
    • 25th August 1981 – count Up
    • askance From Hell
    • Batman
    • The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford
    • Bob 1995-2012
    • Edward Hopper: Poems at an Exhibition
    • David Bowie Movements in Suite Major
    • Eglinton Hill
    • FLOORBOARDS
    • Granada
    • in and out / the Avebury stones / can’t seem to get / a signal …
    • Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters]
    • Miller’s Batman
    • mum
    • nan
    • Portsmouth – Southsea
    • Spring Warwick breezes / over Bacharach fieldwork and boroughs with / the occasional shift and chirp of David / in the pastel-long morning of the sixties
    • through the crash
  • index
    • #A-E see!
    • F–K, wha’ th’
    • L-P 33 1/3 rpm
    • Q-T pie
    • U-Z together forever
  • me
  • others
    • William Carlos Williams
  • poemics
  • poeviews
  • teaching matters
  • wormholes

mlewisredford

~ may the Supreme and Precious Jewel Bodhichitta take birth where it has not yet done so …

mlewisredford

Tag Archives: naked

there will be ovations

24 Sunday Mar 2019

Posted by m lewis redford in poems, reflectionary

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

2018, 7*, acting, audience, betrayal, blood, Bodhisattvacharyavatara, breathing, brother, children, circumstance, concentration, doors, emptiness, enemy, expectation, identity, life, light, machinations, music, naked, others, realisation, role, self-grasping, self-image, silence, sky, society, sound, stage, theatre, thinking, traffic

                ah, there’s the theatre and
                inside, the stage is set,
                the audience settled, the
                lights down, thank the fates,

                I almost didn’t make it –
                the traffic at this time of day! –
                the other is here, good,
                warming up, waving that

                stick all about, making whoosh
                noises, being all athletic and
                disciplined, I’d better get ready,
                torn robe on, oh, the blood

                smear it on, quick, and
                the hanging limb, OK,
                concentrate, breathe – be
                the character – I need

                to give the performance
                they are expecting – the
                circumstance, the machinations,
                the betrayal … no, not enough,

                what if it happened to my
                children
, what if it were my
                brother
with the stick, oh yes,
                it’s come to this, use the silence

                of the realisation, use the
                music – slamming doors
                in the sky! – no, this is more
                than my story, this is the

                history of my nation, quick,
                I’m ready now, I’m naked,
                I’m gutted and impaled, now
                for the finishing blow – how

                glorious this will be, I have
                so much invested in this,
                there will be ovations and
                encores, so worthwhile,

                I hope he has practised
                well – knows where the
                padding is; wait, is that
                a blade, tied to, the end

 

from Bodhisattvacharyavatara, Chapter VI – verse 43-44: [43] Here is a brandished weapon, and here is my body ready and presented, both of them the causes of my eventual suffering. My attacker has laid hold of his stick (tena śastraṃ), and I both wear and brandish my body. With what should I get angry? [44] It is I who have obtained and hold on to this boil, this pressured blister of a human body – sack of suffering – which cannot even bear to be touched and, moreover, it is I who am blind-sided through my own attachment to it, so that when the pain comes and the ‘boil’ bursts, with whom should I get angry?

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

20th century wormhole: tram
breathing & society wormhole: the reach turned to love
doors wormhole: pursued
emptiness & life & others wormhole: the mantra of Maitreya
identity wormhole: I
light wormhole: travelling / back
music wormhole: and … // … sound
realisation wormhole: passing
silence wormhole: birth in the world
sky wormhole: horizon
sound wormhole: …zzh-vvttP*–… … …
thinking wormhole: ‘ouch’

 

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all the low clouds keeping pace / through the train window, / always arriving, whether fast or / slow, but never actually moving

21 Monday May 2018

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

2018, 8*, arrival, being, Bodhisattvacharyavatara, Bodhisattvas, body, Buddhas, clarity, clothes, clouds, confession, emperor, falling, ignorance, immanence, mind, naked, non-duality, omnipresent, omniscience, Perfection of Wisdom, presence, realisation, self-image, self-indulgent, standing, stillness, time, train, ultimate reality, visualisation, walking, windows, wisdom

               all the low clouds keeping pace
                through the train window,
                always arriving, whether fast or
                slow, but never actually moving

                ‘I am always in the presence of all
                 the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas who
                 are always endowed with unobstructed
                 wisdom’; there is no ultimate

                difference between the body and
                the mind therefore those who
                walk about in that realisation are present
                wherever an omniscient mind is,

                throughout each plane of ten directions
                within each of the ten directions
                none of them safely away in far places
                of my mind (where I might just get

                get away with anything) and when I
                invoke them to come ‘here’, they are
                already always here, far more immanent
                than I could stand on my own two feet,

                far more immediate before I could even
                think to in-front generate, far more
                intimate than my dignity could allow …
                and then at and long and even last, I’ll

                recognise it all, all my rotting lacks and
                fetid habits (never successfully hidden),
                finally signalling that I get it – confessing
                it all, each writhing and breaking-up sod

                of wilful and peevish stupidity, undressing
                it all with lay-aside relief; and it’s not
                like I’m informing them, they won’t be
                shocked or recoil with disgust or resigned

                with disappointment, it is just me falling
                far short of being right, let alone clever
                or wise, unpeeling from myself all the
                lies I accepted that said I am right,

                clever and vindicated like an emperor
                with new clothes; this immanence of
                clarity, this confession that inculcates a non-
                duality rising to a Perfection with wisdom

 

Bodhisattvacharyavatara II 27; V 31

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

being wormhole: the balance necessary between
clouds wormhole: ‘when travelling astrally …’
mind wormhole: to arms, then;
realisation wormhole: polystyrene / boulderscape
stillness wormhole: cape and cowl
time & windows wormhole: … the underleaves show
train wormhole: mother and daughter
walking wormhole: amniotic avenue

 

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loss

08 Thursday Feb 2018

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

2016, 5*, awareness, Birmingham, Bowie, computer games, falling, identity, loss, naked, standing, streets, walking

                “I

                stumble in to town …” on
                endless streets of paviour

                I didn’t notice a kerb and fell
                like an army unit from the

                23rd century, self-contained
                but waiting to rise

                once a cognitive-scan is completed,
                yet it revolves without completion,

                `cannot get a lock, so I stand
                without co-ordinate, beguiled

                by logo-lettering of all regard
                and stagger around with naked physique

                dressed for none to see
                to cover my loss

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

awareness wormhole: ‘still …’
Bowie wormhole: south horizon
identity wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J Redford – Working
streets wormhole: snapshots about Totnes
walking wormhole: out

 

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divergent // direction

14 Friday Jul 2017

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

2013, 6*, attention, being, CGI, control, distraction, echo, film, growth, identity, life, movement, naked, nerve, observing, reputation, self-compassion, self-love, sequel, sitting, society, sound, static, thought, waves

                it’s not just the oh-ho naughty thoughts
                that really shouldn’t but burst through
                ta-dha because you can’t stop them yet
                (secretly don’t want to, yet)

                it’s not even the oops echoes and sequels
                of each sprain and twinch that ached
                and deadened a sense of naked self, no
                it’s the thousand little nerves and waves

                the stylish static of the over-working CGI
                that test and flash the Dolby sound before
                the titles roll and the big names appear it’s
                all of that wide wide widescreen that needs

                      the love of incorporation
                      not the surroundsound of
                      stereo or the left and right
                      eyes watching in divergent

                      direction

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

attention & distraction & sitting & society & sound wormhole: nevertheless
being wormhole: facing the crime section
echo & life wormhole: the quiet whale
film wormhole: spit / spot
identity wormhole: written relief to / creeping anaesthesia / through palimpsest / and crankled page
thought wormhole: Virginia
waves wormhole: do I

 

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new-found love – poewieview #36

03 Monday Oct 2016

Posted by m lewis redford in poems, poeviews

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

1971, 2016, 5*, amplification, Bowie, clothes, concert, green, identity, love, naked, pose, ritual, self, smile, sound

                there is really very little to cast
                `cept the quiet and clothèd pose

                with primal-screech response
                dampened in amplified arc, which

                I shall wear with naked torso
                paraded along the auditorium-intimate,

                heightening register drawing up
                the flexèd leer, green and sickly, in its

                new-found love

 

I cried sadly, for a love I could not obey; summoned up through the dread rituals of Shadow Man, 1971; Star, 1971; Velvet Goldmine, 1971; Sweet Head, 1971

Read the collected movements in David Bowie: Movements in Suite Major

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

Bowie & identity wormhole: cut while you’re ahead/cut while you’re a thread – poewieview #35
green wormhole: magnificent salad
love wormhole: moment
smile wormhole: the 19th century
sound wormhole: hello, luvvey, do you want a cup of tea?

 

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dream career // groggy

07 Thursday Apr 2016

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

2012, career, compromise, dream, identity, journey, naked, obsession, pride, professional development, realisation, talking to myself, teaching, voices, waking

 

 

 

                                                      dream career

                                                      so there I was
                                                      naked except
                                                      for my pants
                                                      in the room
                                                      had to make it
                                                      round the room

                                                      I figured to go
                                                      right round
                                                      the room – do
                                                      it properly –
                                                      started off fine
                                                      became more

                                                      and more difficult
                                                      pants caught
                                                      on something
                                                      maybe the door
                                                      but I pushed on
                                                      turned the

                                                      support post at
                                                      far end of the room
                                                      pants were getting
                                                      tighter and tighter
                                                      ‘but I can push on’
                                                      stretched thinner

                                                      and thinner ‘but
                                                      I am strong’ going
                                                      to cut and then
                                                      I suddenly realised
                                                      how ridiculous:
                                                      the room, the

                                                      journey, my nakedness
                                                      my pants – would
                                                      my pants slice
                                                      off my legs –
                                                      so I stopped
                                                      and woke up, groggy

 

as the great majority of my readers are from America, I’d better point out that ‘pants’ means ‘underwear’ – the last vestige before total nudity (believe me, it ain’t pretty!); I am in the last throws of my career (I know, it’s been lingering on since obituary, and maybe shouldn’t’ve) and soon to enter the Last Rites; I was having a natter with Waywardspirit and we both agreed that it was about time; but I was nevertheless indulging in a little guilt ‘n’ defeat when I came across a dream I had before, even, my ‘obituary’ and it makes me feel better; and wiser …

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

career & teaching wormhole: and that’s where I are
compromise wormhole: working / for a living
dream wormhole: let the dreams / become the ghosts they / always were
identity wormhole: the start of adolescence
realisation wormhole: b / r / e / a / t / h / i / n / g
talking to myself wormhole: true nature
voices wormhole: becoming

 

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Morning in a City, 1944

18 Friday Sep 2015

Posted by m lewis redford in poems, poeviews

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

'scape, 1944, 2015, being, ceiling, city, Edward Hopper, green, horizontal, morning, naked, portrait, room, sleep, sunlight, waking, windows, years

 

 

 

                                   Morning in a City, 1944

                                   in the height of a room
                                   with no ceiling, it’s alright,

                                   it’s alright to stand naked
                                   before the window and be

                                   the first to let the tilt of
                                   sunlight through lucent

                                   green form every ligament
                                   poise and fold up from some

                                   groggy horizontal; the blinds
                                   across the way are half-

                                   pulled and unconcerned
                                   staring vaguely downward

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

being & Edward Hopper & years wormhole: Railway Crossing, c. 1922-23
city wormhole: up here
green & sleep wormhole: gre[wh]y / has Daddy left us?
morning wormhole: dream 230315
windows wormhole: dream 260815

 

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The Godfather III: // AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHHHHHHHHH …

19 Wednesday Aug 2015

Posted by m lewis redford in poems, poeviews

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

2014, blood, cog, decades, film, Francis Ford Coppola, hair, Have, identity, loss, mother, mouth, naked, power, sound, The Godfather, tragedy, ugly

 

 

 

                                                                 The Godfather III:

                                                                           long
                                                                 silent         cry
                                   mouth open ugly naked
                                                 power gone

                   and every cog of every decade caught
                   on the same piece of rag coiled around each tooth
                   limp bloody and hair-fallen in her mother’s arms

                                                                                              … … …

                                                         … … …

                … … …

                AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHHHHHHHHH …

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

film wormhole: I need to keep my eyes open / in meditation
hair wormhole: the tangles fall apart
Have wormhole: the lines are not that straight / after all
identity wormhole: dream 230315
mother wormhole: sight / seeing
mouth wormhole: sitting
power wormhole: the Conqueror
sound wormhole: the / very gradual art of sitting

 

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Evening Wind, 1921

14 Friday Aug 2015

Posted by m lewis redford in poems, poeviews

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

'scape, 1921, 2015, air, breathing, dream, Edward Hopper, evening, mind, naked, open, paint, portrait, sleep, stone, town, wind, windows, work, years

 

 

 

                Evening Wind, 1921

                      ahhh,

                      I have
                      washed

                      the bed
                      is open

                      and cold
                      I shall

                      dry my
                      self in

                      the air
                      of town

                      and breathe
                      the scent

                      of stone
                      and paint

                      work port-
                      al to dream

                      where the
                      work can

                      continue
                      all night

                      with vigour

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

air & breathing & open wormhole: the / very gradual art of sitting
dream & Edward Hopper & windows wormhole: that comicbookshop in dreams,
evening wormhole: “King …”
mind wormhole: good session
sleep wormhole: for goodness’ sake
stone wormhole: Exceat to Cuckmere Haven
wind wormhole: along
work wormhole: prayer to my self
years wormhole: Detective Comics #345

 

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ambling around / the garden centre

28 Thursday May 2015

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

2013, angel, awareness, Buddha, clouds, death, elephant, eyes, garden, lion, muse, naked, path, philosophy, posture, sitting, sun, time, walking

 

 

 

                                                              ambling around
                                                              the garden centre

                the sundial pointed through time
                     on a shorts-cloudy day
                and the fossil curled its long death
                     round in millennia

                the philosopher contemplated unaware of
                     his own nakedness
                and the angel contemplated the edge of the path
                     dejected

                the lion slept on paws the elephant awoke with trunk
                     for to curl the way
                and the maiden all-forlorn was nonetheless aware as the
                     dress slipped

but the Buddha’s head just stood and the Buddhas sat and lay all iconographically wrong and more than they should
                     in the gravel
                                              eyes
                                              half
                                              open

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

awareness wormhole: sight / seeing
Buddha wormhole: between
clouds & eyes & time & walking wormhole: up here
death wormhole: letters to Mum VI – Years / after you have gone. Still.
garden wormhole: prologue-ing
muse wormhole: 1959
path wormhole: I will eventually drift tectonic
philosophy wormhole: teaching performance
posture wormhole: Brugges April 2015 – looking lost
sitting & sun wormhole: [start where you are III] – delve

 

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← Older posts

… Mark; remember …

"... the impulse to keep to yourself what you have learned is not only shameful; it is destructive. Anything you do not give freely and abundantly becomes lost to you. You open your safe to find ashes." ~ Annie Dillard

pages coagulating like yogurt

  • Bodhisattvacharyavatara
    • Chapter 1
    • Chapter 10
    • Chapter 2
    • Chapter 3
    • Chapter 4
    • Chapter 5
    • Chapter 6
    • Chapter 7
    • Chapter 8
    • Chapter 9
    • Introduction
  • collected works
    • 25th August 1981 – count Up
    • askance From Hell
    • Batman
    • Bob 1995-2012
    • David Bowie Movements in Suite Major
    • Edward Hopper: Poems at an Exhibition
    • Eglinton Hill
    • FLOORBOARDS
    • Granada
    • in and out / the Avebury stones / can’t seem to get / a signal …
    • Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters]
    • Miller’s Batman
    • mum
    • nan
    • Portsmouth – Southsea
    • Spring Warwick breezes / over Bacharach fieldwork and boroughs with / the occasional shift and chirp of David / in the pastel-long morning of the sixties
    • The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford
    • through the crash
  • index
    • #A-E see!
    • F–K, wha’ th’
    • L-P 33 1/3 rpm
    • Q-T pie
    • U-Z together forever
  • me
  • others
  • poemics
  • poeviews
  • teaching matters
  • William Carlos Williams
  • wormholes

recent leaks …

  • “…and may the great elements…”
  • paisley // implicitly
  • this pocketed being
  • the inevitable tock // when we close our eyes
  • time
  • the simple prayer // the tattered poem // the bitter lament
  • taking birth
  • mirror
  • long / road
  • ‘in my car I pass…’

Uncanny Tops

  • me
  • Moebius strip
  • YOUNG WOMAN AT A WINDOW by William Carlos Williams
  • 'in my car I pass...'
  • 'the practice ...'
  • 'I can write ...'
  • like butterflies on / buddleia
  • meanwhile
  • 'hello old friend ...'
  • under the blue and blue sky

category sky

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'scape 2* 3* 4* 5* 6* 7* 8* 20th century 1967 1979 1980 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015 2016 2017 2018 2019 acceptance afternoon air Allen Ginsberg anxiety architecture arm in arm attention awareness Batman beach beauty bedroom being birds birdsong black blue Bodhisattvacharyavatara books Bowie branches breakdown breathing breeze brown Buddha buildings career Carol cars change child childhood children city clouds coffee shop colour combe end comics communication compassion compromise crane creativity curtains dancing dark death distraction divorce doing doors dream Dr Strange earth echo Edward Hopper Eglinton Hill emergence emptiness evening eyes faces family father feet field floorboards garden Genesta Road girl giving glass gold grass green grey growth haiku hair hands Have hedge hill hills history holiday hope horizon house houses identity kitchen leaf leaves lemon letting go life lifetimes light lime listening living London looking lost love management managerialism mauve meaning mind mist moon morning mother mouth movement Mum muse music night notice open openness orange others park passing pavement people performance management pink Plumstead poetry pointlessness politics portrait posture power practice professionalism purple purpose quiet rain reaching reading realisation reality red requires chewing river roads roof rooftops samsara sea searching seeing settling shadow shops silence silhouette silver sitting sky skyline sleep smell smile snow society sound space speech step stone streetlight streets sun sunlight superhero table talking talking to myself teaching teaching craft Thames thinking thought time train travelling trees true nature university voices walking walls water waves white William Carlos Williams wind windows wood Woolwich words work world writing years yellow zazen

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