Bodhisattva’s View

Beyond the whimpering cry

Beyond the wounded soul

Through the cave of darkness

Where all seekers fear must go

Beyond the hollow shell

Beyond the echoed screams

Our pretenses they shall crumble

As we discover our very means

There is a true man and woman waiting

Not the ones who brought us tears

They are dressed in resplendent colors

Like the sunset after a storm has cleared

Find the wings of eagles

Fly and join them there

With the fish prize clasped in your talons

Let your freedom song fill the air

Eat the flesh that makes you human

Follow the urge that makes you fly

Know that your ultimate communion

Is also something that makes you cry

Two Salmon Two salmon met in a river one day. One was going upstream, The other was coming downstream. They stopped for a moment to talk. The first salmon was old and had a deformed jaw. He asked, “Why are you going downstream?” The second salmon, who was young and agile, Answered, “Well, it’s easy. The water is flowing downstream. I’m just going with the flow. So that’s the way I go. I’m on an adventure!” The first salmon thoughtfully considered these words While he held position in the current. The second salmon eyed the first salmon suspiciously And asked, “Why are you going upstream? It makes no sense. You’re going against the flow. You’ll die of exhaustion!” The first salmon gulped and responded sincerely. “I don’t know,” he said, “ but I have to go. It’s a feeling, an urge that I can’t deny. I’m heading for a quiet, shallow place Somewhere upriver, But I don’t know where exactly. I guess I’m on an adventure, too.” The two fish circled each other several times; One torn by the current; The other torn by instinct. Finally, they waved goodbye with their pectoral fins And continued on their separate journeys. After a while, the first salmon Was surprised to encounter other salmon Who were heading upstream, too. They seemed to be attempting the impossible. They fought the rapids, Hurtled up and over cascades And even over waterfalls And around huge boulders That were blocking their way. They were cut and bruised and silly looking, But they shared their enthusiasm And gained much strength as they swam fin to fin. The downstream salmon saw many wondrous things That he would never forget, But still he followed the river. Soon he was joined by many other comrades Who were also being carried by the river. They were headed for the salty water And a chance to swim in the deep ocean Where they would grow to be big and strong And have many experiences. When the older salmon finally made it To the gravelly shallows upstream, They were absolutely spent and near death. Only the truly brave and strong had made it. In the glow of their victory, They stayed together and released their eggs and seed. Soon the corpses of dead fish lay everywhere And many other hungry animals Like bear, coyote and eagle came to feast As the weather turned colder. Moral: What goes up, goes up so that others may come down.

The Poet

Wiyth

Pen in hand

Poised over paper

I am

Like a dart

Ready to stick the target

And release the venom

Of intoxication

I am hoping

To make you dizzy and drool

With hot flashes

And pounding heart

And all vital signs elevated

I want you to feel

The Elixir

Invade your veins

And incite rivers

Of your blooded Passion

Happy I am

To sweep away the congestion

Of your heart

And see you sweat salty beads

Of your own distilled Histories

Let my quill enter your nose

And find your brains

And pierce what you know

So that you can collapse

Upon the couch

Of the ultimate therapy

And in your confession

Be healed

Of your dimness

And your constant

Chafing concern

For security

Before the Mast

And what of our Nature?

What can we truly say of it?

Certainly we are more than dust.

Certainly more than the baser instincts.

And certainly deeper than inspiration.

Certainly we are more real than

Cheap exhortations to piousness.

But in the dark of night

Stumbling in blindness

We need the lamp that brings light.

It is elegant in its wholeness.

The ceramic bowl made from clay,

The oil contained within,

Squeezed from a fissure of the earth,

Or rendered from the blubber

Of the deepest diver.

Then the wick,

The stem,

The conduit,

That connects the dark reservoir

With the apex.

Here, the mystery of the sparking heavens

Leaps to ignite the saturated tip.

Suddenly the flame is there

And the light chases the darkness

Into the shadows.

Are we not just this?

Bearers of the light?

The celestial arc of stars

Meets in the maw

Of a dark and fertile place.

There is nothing left to do

But squeeze the slippery fuel

From its ancient rendered flesh

And light the way forward....

We are restless mariners

Captives of our dreams

Sailing for the far horizon.