Sit down.
Shut up.
Meditate.
Cut the Crap.
Category: Buddha
Any Day Now
Nothing you were to think, feel, know, remains intact
The givens all gone, the body unravels
The soul does not exist: where spirit seemed to breathe
A great hole deepens, a sea of liquid sound spills in
Pure as God’s voice, moonlight-shoals and starry reefs
In vacancies of time too wide to navigate, the soul
A supreme fiction, a lost frame in an old film
Lightens out of being, a dream in pure color, sensation
Glittering the last hour, the lives that lived you
And left you to wonder, completely gone, directions
Collapse in light, light in all from all
Nothing to hold you, what you are dissolves in awe
A dreadful wonder of knowing all and nothing at all
But the jewel in the lotus, this, this moment.
What the Smiles of the Buddhas Mean
Buddhas, temples
Flowers, candles, incense
Outer symbols of inner realities!
The smile from the center
of the heart
Shines in all directions, outward…
The Poem appeared first in “The Fires of Spring” a book of poems
by Rayn Roberts 2002
Get a Grip
Easier it is to lift
a ten ton boulder
on a mountain
than to calmly sit
and put a collar
on an unruly mind.
Rayn Roberts 2017
Quasi Koan
When the sun goes down
and darkness deepens
when candles burn out
around a Buddha,
is a Buddha still a Buddha
if no light reveals a Buddha?
Rayn Roberts
If I Spoke
If I spoke from the heart and you could hear
You would ride the sound
Back to the beginning and see who you really are.
If I spoke from the heart, my tears would be a river
Running into the sea, an Ocean of sweetest water.
If I spoke from the heart, my joyful laughter
Would fill the universe
And ring the galaxies like a wind chime
If I spoke from the heart, you would hear my voice call
From time past, present and to come
All our wounded children– It would heal them, every last one
And the world, if ever it were, would be whole again.
Photo by Rayn Roberts
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A Forest Monk Speaks
If you find yourself in a Buddhist temple
You are not in a Buddhist temple.
Though you pray and chant for yourself
Night and day, you remain in Hell.
Living and dying, are the two not one
Happening at the same time?
A cobra lifts its head in your path.
Teach it to hiss, not bite. It is you.
Poem first appeared in “The Fires of Spring” by Rayn Roberts
