Tag Archives: doorway

3 poems from northern New Mexico

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

Giving Homage

Surprised and stunned, almost, I am this morning as I contemplate something ‘that happened’ recently. Funny thing this, as everything is happening now simultaneously, the organization of reality, the way the brain and awareness join together to display this view before and all around me, including within me. And yet there is something I’ve so commonly accepted as real, something called the past and the ordering of the past. I stand in pause here in relationship to the nature of this emerging consciousness.

What is memory but a dancing of consciousness related to and organized in a way that somehow feels familiar in that moment? Can it be said that the past is memory? Can it be said that we can access the past, as if to measure something of the now against it? I found myself stepping into that field and recognized a Ticket Taker there, wanting a fee for passage, an agreement that how I remember something is reliable enough to exchange against, as if it were a store house that had every protection against any of the contents changing, diminishing, or perishing, as all tangible things do.

How often have I left something ‘behind’ me thinking, assuming, believing that it would still be there to lean into another time when I might need it again? Such is the nature of the conditioned mind. And isn’t a wonder that we rely so heavily on something that is completely unreliable?

I find I’m drawn to this image of the Ticket Taker. The word ‘ticket’ had some energy for me and I looked it up to find that it came originally from the word etiquette or ‘a list of ceremonial observances of a court’, such that a ticket is a ‘permit’ issued by some body or a set of measures to uphold. I’m intrigued how readily that this ticket taker archetype resonates with the feel of the conditioned mind. It’s as if there is a doorway into the conditioned mind that I could pay my ceremonial observances to in order to get entry or not. Thanks to the Ticket Taker today, I chose to pause and not to appease the court, this particular court of the recent past, leaving what is and what was to simply commingle in their mutual simultaneity.