full moon ferlinghetti

 

the world is a beautiful place to be born into

it's late..

it's early..

it looks like noon outside..

noisy, too..

the geese are moving..

trolling for a place to catch forty

winks

i am up in a pool of brilliance..

the moon/

after much reflection says/ 

Sun is God

i've gone back to the beginning 

(of the blog..and this longstanding missive)

~ the walkabout from anacortes to california ~

attempting to traverse the usa

what is light what is air what is life so passing fair?

coming up on 14 years 

(march 10)   long live tibet

since we gathered at mt. erie school

and walked to deception pass together..

there are some gems of poetry tucked in..

many stories of random acts of kindness ..

hints of things to come..

(my hip was mentioned early on 

and lo! titanium 10 years later...)

i really could write a book

what dawns on me

in this dawn's early light

is the precariousness..

(mid 17th cent.: from Latin precarius ‘obtained by entreaty’ 

(from prex, prec- ‘prayer’) + -ous.

and the big-heartedness..

the far rockaway of the heart

placing myself at the feet 

of so many along the way 

the prayers volunteered for my safety ..

it was a trip to be out on the highways  -

such freedom and travail 

rolled into one long ribbon of road..

made of love and light and dung/ 

some great immortal song

what made me start?

what made me stop?

 a mysterious sooth-sayer 

within

giving me marching orders

pushing me to halt!

I am signaling you through the flames.

now the now is always here

the kindnesses persist

in the smallest and brightest and most baffling ways

we are made for each other

poets of life, liberty and the pursuiters of happiness

wooing and cooing our way along the Way

the moonglade that glides us toward our destiny

will we walk? will we run? 

far-seeing sybil,  forever hidden, 

come out of your cave at last 

and speak to us in the poet's voice 

the voice of the fourth person singular 

the voice of the inscrutable future 

the voice of the people mixed

with a wild soft laughter—

and give us new dreams to dream, 

give us new myths to live by!

lawrence ferlinghetti

1919-2021

RIP

holy wall of molies..

for everything that lives is holy ~

              -william blake-

a wing and a prayer yoga shala

was often graced with a holy "man" wall..

a holy person wall..these days..

vast numbers of push pins on cork 

held their numinous presences in place..

from  marilyn monroe, thomas merton,

the 14th dalai lama, bob dylan..

to yoda and ET 

jiddhu krishnamurti, my mother,

john and yoko..

the stretching cowboy,

ananadamayi ma  ..

neem karoli baba and baba hari dass,

bks iyengar and tkv desikachar..

pir vilayat inayat khan..hazrat inayat khan..

mother teresa and marcel marceau..

ramana maharshi, vivekananda, 

sri aurobindo and the mother,

saradha devi and sri ramakrishna..

dr. vasavada and babar..

on and on..

they will all be blessed 

on the burn pile

when the weather softens..

having been stashed away for  safe keeping..

it's time, yes! time to liberate them.. moksha!

however, dear friends of the dharma...

if you have a yen for one such holy moly,

send me a note and i'll send you the divine in photo..

please note :

some are tatty copies, newspaper clips..

lovers gather and give each other shade,

relief from the direct sun.

stay close by that community 

'til you become light like the moon,

then like the sun.

                ~ rumi

leave no trace

 

water birds 

go and come back

without leaving any trace behind.

even so, they do not forget

the path.

               ~ dogen zenji 

alexander khimushin wanders the world..

photographing indigenous people whose 

lifestyles and settlements may be on the 

edge of extinction.. saving the memory 

of these vanishing cultures..

cheque out : the world in faces..

his stated mission is to capture the faces of 

these last vestiges of ancient culture..

here at home sweet home, 

feeling the weight of stuff and such, 

knowing in my cells and bones 

the wisdom of impermanence 

i have been rummaging through files and papers

that i have been saving/collecting

pictures, newspapers clips, letters of gratitude

(even a psychedelic letter to my mama from the 60's  - o my o!)

and wonder.. as i wander through this past..

am i documenting my history and last

vestiges of some ancient karma?

and wonder further..

who cares?

not in some self-deprecating way

nor in any poor me mode..

simply..who will care?

i am not a prominent stateswoman..

nor a celebrated yogini or a legendary actress,

certainly not an illustrious politician..!

there is no progeny.. 

to pass along the modest history of me..

we know life is fleeting..

the 8th decade is unfolding for me..

rather, it is folding up around me..

the fetters of this incarnation are receding ..

there is now a boxload to purge and burn and liberate..

my past will not follow me to the grave..  **

no youthful pictures nor sentimental poetry

will weave my stories of love and loss

sketching me back into existence 

... like the flight of birds in the sky, 

the path of the selfless is hard to follow. 

they have no possessions, 

but live on alms in a world of freedom.

like the flight of birds in the sky, 

their path is hard to follow...

...freed from illusion and from personal ties,

they have renounced the world of appearance

to find reality.

                      ~ the dhammapada

REQUEST:

I AM LOOKING FOR A BURN RECEPTACLE

TO SET AFLAME TO THESE ENCUMBRANCES..

~ ANY FIREPIT OR FIREPLACE OR BURN CAN

WOULD BE MUCH APPRECIATED ~

** this blog..

when i get closer to the veil..

what to do?

pictures and epistles that are floating about..

what to do?

it will come to me..