arriving with the full moon ~ July 10, 11 2014

while camping near the Kagyu Mila Guru Stupa, north of Questa, NM

1. What Pause

We have our things

Even if we have very little

or essentially nothing

Not threadbare are any of us

And some semblance of things

is brought together, even if

just to drink this or eat that

 

We can sit on the ground

The body will sleep when it comes time

the preoccupation of belongings

is such a high order in our lives

that it is nearly invisible

 

I pause to think, as if thinking is

the way, how to live

on the land with no amenities

 

It seems preposterous

Just sit on the ground?

Rest under a tree?

Wait until batteries run out

and then be silent?

 

As if Silence was not there

all along

Everything we eat, drink, sleep

is there in the Silence

 

Everything we are

is that Silence

 

2. Doorway: Empty As

We love an entry into.

Leave an opening

And something will move thru

Even if just pretend.

So when we really go thru

What then?

 

Is there no going back?

We’ve moved between

And are never the same.

Something has passed

From here to there

And back again is only onward.

 

We pine for what was

Looking thru What Is

Trying to see something

Other than

What simply is, Just This.

 

And pining, things just look the same

But never are

Or are so inextricably

The same it would take

The widest open eyes

To see This

And not see something else.

 

Perhaps it is the putting aside

Of what the eyes see

And letting things be

As empty as they are

Each thing a doorway

To itself

Nothing more, nothing less.

 

In that entry

We move as all direction

Within and without

Leaving nothing aside

Going nowhere but everywhere

Without departure.

 

And the openings

Await nonetheless

Waiting as the perceivable

In the perceiving

As they are

As they are.

 

3. Do and Not Do

When there is nothing to do

Something seems to be found to do

It’s a circus we didn’t even

realize we had tickets for

and have been going to

all so regularly

 

It looks like life

And yet life isn’t doing

Life just happens

All on its own

No tickets necessary!

There is no grand entry, no backstage

 

Just ask the wind

the thunder

the rain

None of these need permission

And cannot be kept

Under lock and key

 

There is no one to pay

Even if that makes us

Feel more real somehow

 

We have so many wallets

all around and everywhere

Most of them hidden away

(what are we protecting, really?)

But there they are

What good would it be

if we didn’t find ways to fill them?

 

Is it a question of good?

Or is it a question of a day

yet upon us when all

bartering ceases

 

And something yet known,

however already conceived,

bursts forth taking us

as we are

as our most direct

Unfettered, alive beyond word

 

Nothing need be done

The question of do and not do

Too will cease