Esoteric

After all, as you lie in my arms knowing all
needing nothing but what is, the earth rolling away from the sun
Thunder rolling in the distance

Can you hear the thunder of death, my dear?
Yes, I hear it and more, I hear a sound
Not everyone can hear, I feel an energy not everyone can feel — a Sound

Birth                             a note, Love                                a song, Death

Spinning days into silk, connecting man to men, men to women
Woman to every child, weaving nights out of the past –
The Dead speak to me

They are not dead; they are here
And with the silk of souls our future is woven, all that is
that is humanly good, out of birth this note, out of love this song

Little worm               silken light             little word            OM

 

 

Terry Busch Photo

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Japanese  Garden Photo by Terry Busch

The Lesson

Today, ignoring the voice of memory: my mother saying, “Never,
Never stand on furniture to change a light bulb”…
I stood on a desk to change a light bulb

Slipped, fell… hit the floor

But before I did
The desk flipped
I hit the steel frame with all the force of gravity
On my side
Nearly cracked a rib!

I could barely stand.

The students were astounded.
The class was canceled.
The doctors were astonished
I didn’t break a bone, damage an organ —

I love the pain killers, ordered pizza
May stay home tomorrow,
It only hurts when I recall having sex five years ago
Or watch an action movie —

Someone saw a lesson in The Fall, Yes:
Follow the rules, abuse no tree or furniture
Cause no pain or injury, simple gravity
Is greater than man’s best balance, ignore not the ancient Mother Voice.

 

third eye

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.

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Poem first appeared in “The Fires of Spring” by Rayn Roberts

Forest Monks

The Monk & The Cobra Parable

download-1  kammatthana_yantra

Mantra

This may be nothing new nothing at all
or nothing now you need to take to heart,
whatever it is to you it will mean nothing
until realized: with billions of minds, hearts
savage wills pulling at the seams of reality
it’s a wonder the whole doesn’t tear open
spill out into riots, revolutions, war, chaos
far more often than it does which doesn’t mean
we stop tying to make life somewhat better
but rather it will never be what you want
That’s right, it will never be just as we want–
Say it often to yourself if you think it helps.

 

 

 

 

 

Poem first appeared in Of One & Many Worlds

 

Experiment with Time Travel

They led us to sunlight on the grass beside the school
Brought an extension cord and phonograph with a box
Of long silks of many colors, played Stravinsky’s Firebird
Ravel’s La Mer, Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake, and suddenly
We began to move like birds, like deer trailing scarves!
We began to come alive outside the classroom, the box.
We became human for the first time in our public school.
This was kindergarden, no thought, no conditioned response

We were happy to be in the light with melodies enchanting us
Inspiring wonder in motion as in many innocent moments
Unaware of gender or race, only a spontaneous urge to run
Dance in circles with colors glowing over our heads, sway
In time to leap and fly celebrating two or three colors,
Yes, simply being as children are, free to express and play.
We were fully alive for thirty minutes–  it felt like hours.

The teachers smiled when the experiment was over, they had
Done their best to evoke some creativity in us, but that
Was never needed, we needed only to be worry-free, fearless
Willing to listen, to laugh, and you know, I can’t tell you
How many yearless moments, I’ve wondered why this memory
Returns like a dream of an old love, time and again– Well
I don’t anymore, but fall, into a reverie and dance, dance again.

 

 

 

Poem appeared 1st in “Of One & Many Worlds” by Rayn Roberts Poetic Matrix Press