sitting by the open window

as every night

tomorrow's moon is hiding
behind the clouds
of yesterday

then a cool breeze
lifts the shadow of thought

your emotions huddle together
waiting for direction
ready to go
or surrender

while
this growing silence
eats you

alive

~ bhikkhu abhinando

autumn poem by rilke...

lord, it is time. the summer was too long.
lay now thy shadows over the sundials,
and on the meadows let the winds blow strong.

bid the last fruit to ripen on the vine;
allow them still two friendly southern days
to bring them to perfection, and to force
the final sweetness in the heavy wine.

who has no house now will not build him one
who is alone now will be long alone,
will waken, read, and write long letters
and through the barren pathways up and down
restlessly wander when dead leaves are blown.

~ translation / c.f. macintyre

rilke was not from the great northwest -
where any day of summer is not long enough..
when summer days are joined together..
still not long enough!

field notes

the only purpose of being here
is to be here ~
yet very few of us ever get here.

the less
there is of you
the more places you can be
at once.

if you turn inside out,
what is not within?

every time we allow
ourselves to be seen,
another human being wakes up.

who we think we are is a product
of the false imagination
of the past.

don't live in the memory pattern
of comparison.

many of us suffer
from thought-hangovers.

put your talents to good use,
then you will have no rubble
on your head when you die.

reshad feild
footprints in the sand

apple season

flame apples

little hot apples of fire,
burst out of the flaming stem
of my heart,
i do not understand how you quickened and grew,
and you amaze me
while i gather you.

i lay you, one by one,
upon a table.
and now you seem beautiful and strange to me,
and i stand before you,
wondering.

~ amy lowell

AN APPLE A DAY KEEPS THE DOCTOR AWAY!

hair-do's and don'ts

i consult the tibetan calendar
when it is time for a hair-do..
the calendar offers up the results of
getting one's hair sheared on the
different days of the lunar calendar..
my pelt was shorn today ..
the outcome is well-being..

on other days you may end up
with these consequences -
strife and quarrels, slander,
sickness, short life..(and hair!)

some days offer these results-
auspiciousness, increase in virtue,
intelligence, greater wang tang..
(be careful on that last one!)

great power is woven
within the threads of our heads..
remembre samson..
whose vow was not to cut his hair
nor take the taste of vine..

many claim i am superstitious
when it comes to my shear date..
i hold it sacred and honor the day..
the power is transformed..not betrayed..
(as in samson's case..)
short it may be.. it carries energy..
it covers the roof of my head
like turf on a island cottage..
the time to prune is held holy..
yet not too precious...

no bad hair days..
that's my intent
no bad days...


refugio's hair
~alberto ríos

in the old days of our family,
my grandmother was a young woman
whose hair was as long as the river.
she lived with her sisters on the ranch
la calera--the land of the lime--
And her days were happy.
but her uncle carlos lived there too,
carlos whose soul had the edge of a knife.
one day, to teach her to ride a horse,
he made her climb on the fastest one,
bareback, and sit there
as he held its long face in his arms.
and then he did the unspeakable deed
for which he would always be remembered:
he called for the handsome baby pirrín
and he placed the child in her arms.
with that picture of a madonna on horseback
he slapped the shank of the horse's rear leg.
the horse did what a horse must,
racing full toward the bright horizon.
but first he ran under the álamo trees
to rid his back of this unfair weight:
this woman full of tears
and this baby full of love.
when they reached the trees and went under,
her hair, which had trailed her,
equal in its magnificence to the tail of the horse,
that hair rose up and flew into the branches
as if it were a thousand arms,
all of them trying to save her.
the horse ran off and left her,
the baby still in her arms,
the two of them hanging from her hair.
the baby looked only at her
and did not cry, so steady was her cradle.
her sisters came running to save them.
but the hair would not let go.
from its fear it held on and had to be cut,
all of it, from her head.
from that day on, my grandmother
wore her hair short like a scream,
but it was long like a river in her sleep.

the nothing of roselight

death comes, and what we thought
we needed loses importance.

the living shiver, focused
on a dark muscular hand,
rather than the glowing cup it holds
or the toast being proposed.

in that same way love enters
your life, and the I, the ego,
a corrupt, self-absorbed king,
dies during the night.

let him go.
breathe in the cold air,
the nothing of roselight.

~rumi

brume-brume

california.. central coast..
drippy.. wet with mist of sea-
the fog rolls in and stays put..
the days are grey and cool..
except when they aren't ..
which is every 9th day or so..

it is good weather
for clearing and cleaning..
for letting go..
here with my long ago pal
from the earlies..
to shift the energies..
clear the stale ..
open her house to life
in the now..

resting my head
in the del monte forest..
at the home of another long ago pal
and his beauty from the earlies..
hanging ten with their dog, tika...
a most inspiring shepherd
of great wisdom and pull..
(her sis, tashi is away for training..)
and 6 cats to purr with
when their owners fly off
to naples for a visit to vesuvius..

sammy, the maine coon..
is the main squeeze of the house..

here's a tail about the breed..
captain charles coon,
an english mariner,
kept long-haired cats aboard his ship...
whenever coon's vessel would anchor
in new england harbours,
the felines would scamper off the boat
to mate with the local feral cats....
long-haired kittens began popping up
in litters of the township's cat population~
hence dubbed: 'coon's cats.'

the 5 feral cats have been
moved to the house on the hill
from the horse barn..
happy not to be a meal
for late night predators..
there is:
monkey..
grige..short for grigio..
kabuki,
smorf and bibi..
home sweet home..

at the equinoxes..
when day and night
are near equal in length..
great change is apaw..
the fog lifts..
the mists part..

seeds that were planted have blossomed ..
the season of change re-arranges..voila!
harvest time ~
a crop of cats,
a yield of space,
a vintage of fresh..
pristine awareness is spry and awake..
the broom sweeps the brume..

clear sailing!

you reading this, be ready

starting here, what do you want to remember?
how sunlight creeps along a shining floor?
what scent of old wood hovers, what softened
sound from outside fills the air?

will you ever bring a better gift for the world
than the breathing respect that you carry
wherever you go right now? are you waiting
for time to show you some better thoughts?

when you turn around, starting here, lift this
new glimpse that you found; carry into evening
all that you want from this day. this interval you spent
reading or hearing this, keep it for life -

what can anyone give you greater than now,
starting here, right in this room, when you turn around?

~ william stafford

dance

septembre 11

dance
dance, when you are broken open.
dance, if you've torn the bandage off.
dance in the middle of the fighting.
dance in your blood.
dance, when you are perfectly free.


a year with rumi
daily readings
~coleman barks

what is contemplation?

the knowing that arises
above and beyond
the process of thinking.
it leads to
not being fooled
by thinking anymore...
~ven. ajahn chah

in all our actions..
sitting, walking, standing and lying down..
are we bamboozeled by thought?
do we take ourselves out of the present..
meaning ..
do we take ourselves out of our very own life
by meandering down the labyrinth lanes of thought?

i do..says the bride..married to thought..

the everyday practice is simply to develop
complete acceptance and openness to all
situations and emotions, and to all people,
experienceing totally without mental
reservations and blockages, so that one
never withdraws or centralizes
into oneself.
~ dilgo khyentse rinpoche

thinking is the movement of mind.....
the ground -
(where all this roiling takes place)
- is the real mind..
the just is..
suchness..
this is our true home..where our very life abides..
no movement..
no coming or going..
no birth, no death..

we use the movement of the mind
to contemplate the nature of mind..
to re-cognize the suchness..
less and less affected ..
no longer hoodwinked by thought..

resting in spaciousness..ground..
rather than the rampage of thought-

if recognition happens simultaneous with thought..
we are self-liberated in the moment..
in the middle of our very life...

make it so!

moon

this bright harvest moon
keeps me walking all night long
around the little pond
~basho

harvest moon...
plucking the bright
from the night sky
~ our heart pockets
brimming with brilliance..
shall we bask?

reverence

the avenue of the giants

crowding the olde highway south..
winding the narrow roadway ~
giant trees..towering, upright lofty red wood trees..
the ents..the giants..
the ancient venerables; allies of the humanoids ~
speaking clearly in their silent stands..
their groves of wisdom and sagaciousness..
elder sages of the forest and woodland..

hiway 101 south..
the aire is full and empty..
the shadows.. bright with sun sketches..
each tree holding centre in sovereignty..
transmitting clarity cell by cell to all and any
...who slow the route to listen..
to quiet in to the reverence it takes to hear..
ears open..wide open..flared like bull's nostrils..
tingling with awake..
now and always..
no time for ones' own story..
present..be present..
listen ..be this awake..
nothing to know..to hold as your own..
instead..transparency please..
beeeeee with us..beeee with theeeee...

awe is inarticulate...
the most reverent of feelings-
one senses, when one is in awe..
that yes!..we are human..
our mind, our heart is dwarfed by what it meets,
we cannot capture it in a set of beliefs..
~ we had best keep our mouth shut..
our mind open..while awaiting further mysteries...

where does the time gooooooo?

slip-sliding away..
yet ..no where to go ~
still traveling the ribbon of hiway..
down to california..
from the 60's 'til this very now..
how many road trips south...?
back and here again..
again..