paisley // implicitly

Tags

2022, 8*, being, Bodhisattva, Buddha, Buddhas, centre, circle, dharma, Enlightenment, Hinayana, identity, illusion, kleshas, Mahayana, mother sentient beings, nirvana, no-self, paisley, practice, prayer, sense of self, silence, time

            paisley

            the self-drive of Hinayāna the Strait Way
the laser-way to just

            snuff out this wholly illusory self
these wholly illusory selves (which is all ‘me’ I tells ya a-Ha-ha-ha-haa)

            “must-defeat-kleśas …”
(meeting each one with tumbleweed silence)

            “must-combat-self …”
(the root of proliferation of all other ‘not-me’s)

            the extremest of all possible
imbalances – phfff

            is maintained
it is, after all, the Buddha’s teaching, socially-taught, scripturally-crafted

            but immersed in unending waves
over the longest fetch and the deepest fathom way below apparent

            of the Buddha’s / the Buddhas’ oceans of conducts – exponential
squared and then squared exponentially again

            to an existential incision
which finds neither root nor core

            fulfilling the Buddha’s / the Buddhas’ (those come, immanent,
imminent and me) prayers

            that “I” (amid all possible beings,
along with all the possible beings I have become in time and perpetuity, with whom I am related and have ever-performed the most awkward of dances, magnetic forces perpetually reversed) become Enlightened

            is perpetually renewed
is perpetually redressed

            is both perpetual and effulgent
the centre to the circumference where the centre starts apart

            but widens the circle as it forms its own empty whorl
of the Extensive Way

            it is, after all, the Buddhas’ teaching
to be relied on

            implicitly

 

 

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

being & Buddha wormhole: this pocketed being
identity wormhole: taking birth
practice wormhole: ‘the practice …’
silence wormhole: time
time wormhole: the inevitable tock // when we close our eyes

 

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beepbeep

Tags

1960s, 1967, 2016, 7*, abandonment, colour, commentary, courage, crying, Dad, depression, direction, divorce, driving, evening, eyes, feeling sorry for myself, freedom, groundlessness, Have, home, hope, identity, life, light, looking, now, others, passing, people, pointlessness, purpose, renunciation, revolution, sense of self, sex, sign, sound, texture, time, true nature, Victoria & Albert Museum, world

                                did Dad leaving
                                trigger my sense of revolution or
                my sense of depression
that there is no purpose
                                in the world
                that I would eventually have to find the courage
to face those new tremors,
                                but five years on,
                                                there, between the given textures
                already cheap and fraying

                                or did revolution trigger Dad to leave
                                                                and find some other way
                                                                                to find some truer nature?

                -O~~~

                                I didn’t want the headphones, now
                                I didn’t want the commentary
                                                all safely wrapped and bordered
                                                                so I kept my own eyes
                                                                open and saw 50 year old memorabilia
                                                                                strangely mute, now
                                                                                despite the peacock-print

                                                and little in between
                                                                save shuffling overcoats with
                                                                no sense of direction where to go
                                                                                save their right of individual                
                                                                                                                way

                                                                                                ~~~O-

                                I don’t think I want the revolution
                                anymore –
                                                away with your awkward sex! –
                I want to know the innate freedom
                                I trust I have already,
                                                save for my sense of right of way

                                                                I cried for fifty years later that evening
                                                it is hard to lose your way returning home
                                                                cut up and turning in circles
                                                                                hoping for the right lane
                                                                                                lights on and direction to go                
                                                                                                                everywhere
                                                                                                signed
                                                                and passing overhead
                                                                it is hard to arrive
                                                toe to toe
                                                                with a fifty year old overcoat
                                with no face
                                but a blinking eye
and me with no headphones

                                                                beepbeep

 

on 30th October 2016, I visited the Victoria & Albert Museum exhibition @You Say You Want a Revolution’ – Records and Rebels 1966-1970 (a birth day present, thank you, Carol); my Dad left our family on 2nd November 1967, my eighth birthday, and the divorce became final by 1969; I think it was Brigitte Bardot who said something about the ‘tremors’ which were felt in the late 60s, but few who had the ‘courage’ to face them, but I can’t seem to find the quote verbatim; we got a bit lost, at first, driving back from west London

 

 

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

abandonment & Dad & people wormhole: chartless …
depression wormhole: the both passive and transitive / non-presumptive pre-conceptualist attenuation of being
divorce wormhole: 1967
evening & identity wormhole: sleep now
eyes & life & sound wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – snow
groundlessness & pointlessness wormhole: [once a] dilemminal [always a dilemminal]
Have wormhole: Doctor Strange III – the needs of billions
light wormhole: adjustment
looking wormhole: Clea
others & passing wormhole: passersby
renunciation wormhole: escape from Flat Planet
texture wormhole: zazen
time wormhole: the too big moon
world wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J Redford – Snow

 

just one, open, nerve,

Tags

2016, 6*, ageing, avidhya, Granada, identity, life, nerve, opaque, realisation, self, self-compassion, sense of self, the Three Poisons

                      I have a self
                      it is my self

                      a little capsule
                      grown in life –

                      whenever I noticed
                      every time I didn’t
                      each time I wouldn’t

                      a sliver at first
                      twisted once
                      but never looped

                      back to feed,
                      no helix to hold,
                      just one, open, nerve,

                      preserved in cartilage
                      opaque: hit it
                      you bounce, cut it

                      you slip, ignore it
                      it withers leaving
                      a baggy sheath

                      time now, quickly,
                      to make amends

                      time now
                      to connect the ends

 

 

 

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

life & realisation wormhole: moment
identity wormhole: new-found love – poewieview #36

 

first Spring storm

Tags

1985, air, blue, childhood, electric, house, identity, ink, lightning, rain, red, sense of self, Spring, storm, wind, writing

 

 

 

                first Spring storm

                                red-ink air

                                              and
                                              as the rain
                                              blows against the house

                                                              electric blue

 

 

 

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

air & blue & red & writing wormhole: red ink
childhood wormhole: a theremin note – poewieview #21
house & rain wormhole: always
identity wormhole: miss / ad / venture – poewieview #22
lightning wormhole: dream 230315
Spring wormhole: opening
storm wormhole: The Louvre in a Thunderstorm, 1909
wind wormhole: and that’s where I are