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Kenshō 4d
There was a man who had been abandoned at an early age and left to be cared by a monk at a monastery.

In his early years of adult hood he was so depressed he decided he would climb a mountainous rock and from it, he would jump.

He would die, and the pain would be over.

As he was eyeing his rock and seeing there was no way, he sat defeated.

And then his eyes caught glance of a monkey, effortlessly climbing the rock, all the way up. And all the way back down.

He knew he could mimick that climbing style and make his way to the top as well.

Slowly he climbed, tracing every movement the monkey had made, perfect.

AS he reached the top, he cried from the pain of the physical.. and the emotional..

At that moment, that was a roar

A huge roar of cheering.

From below the people were cheering and saying "He is a world class rock climber!"

They thought he had decided to climb it for sport, his skill seemed to display.

Confused with emotion, pain and elation, he bowed and safely returned to the ground.

Where after his first climb on that precipitous rock, he decided to persue rock climbing from then on..
reserved
Juliana Jul 15
I opened the gifts one by one,
knowing that the softness I felt
under the antique Santa Claus paper
was yet another bundle of fabric,
more clothes to add
to my ever-expansive wardrobe.

One by one, the patterns were revealed to me:
some plain black cotton,
a Paris print with a sparkly pink tower,
paper cutouts the size of my favorite dolls,
and at last, a sewing machine.

I remember a roomless memory,
my mother and I hovered over the machine,
the internet failing to teach us
how to maneuver the thread.

“We’ll try again later,” she said.

Now, I open the drawer under my bed,
remove a dust-covered box,
running my fingers along the top of it.
I remove the as-new machine,
my failed future.
I walk to my computer, switch taps
from a Buddhism study guide
to an empty Google Docs.

I wonder if I was a seamstress in a past life.
Did I watch my family create the cave paintings
while I sat in the corner, hide on my lap
with a splinter of bone in my hand,
feeling nothing but bliss?

Did I live in the Edwardian era,
tailoring a perfect three-piece suit,
a walking skirt, my daughter’s chemise?

Did I ever pass my grandmother
in a secondhand store,
with my goal of finding a perfect neckline,
my favorite sleeves, a plaid pattern.

Did I find them among the stained and unloved,
did I make them into something beautiful?

Was this not a flashback, but a foreshadow?
Was this a hint at my next life?
Will I do the same with my daughter,
passing down the cotton and glittered tower,
hugging with triumph when the machine roars to life?

Will I be there at her first fashion show?

What if there is no past or future.
What if my soul is me, unchanging, stable.
What if I’m a butterfly,
every passing second another cocoon?

For I am a tree,
and these memories
are my branches.

My left arm holds the present,
the current reality. I fail to sew
even a button, but my dreams
reside content.

With my right arm,
I hold another present,
equally as real.

In this world, I made my doll a dress,
a bedspread with the leftover fabric.
In this world, I am not a poet,
and I don’t often dream.
In this world, my floor is my stage,
this fabric is my home.
In this world, I know not of other realities.
In this world, I live buried in my ignorant bliss.
mal frost May 11
the great war,
my war,

against my parents
and my family,

my culture,
and my heritage,

our religions,
and our God

has come to a screeching halt at the doors of the Ultimate Truth.
and thus I was transformed,
I feel like a child again, now,
impure in actions
but pure in belief

and my tattered past led me to it,
so to all my sins,

thank you.

to all my enemies,

thank you.

to all my friends and my lovers and my family

thank you .

and,
of course, last but not least,
to the Truth that hides beneath the illusion of our existence,
guiding us mercifully -- to where, we know not -- to the Absolute and the Negation of Nothingness, bringer of Unity and founder of the school of thought known as Logic and Reason

thank you.
I left high school feeling lost, searching desperately for something -- what , I knew not.
After many spiritual journeys (although I didn't realize they were spiritual at times) I have finally found it, and now I feel empowered to live my life in control instead of feeling like I was in the backseat.
Martin Boško Apr 18
Does fighting with myself to death
Qualify me for an entrance to Valhalla?
Will Valkyries take me after my final breath
For my life-long war efforts in the most vicious war of all?
Or is it not enough and to Helheim I’ll fall?

Does fighting with myself to death
Qualify me for the Elysian fields?
Will I be judged after my final breath
As having completed my heroic deeds?
Or will Fields of Asphodel be my destination after pomegranate seeds?

Does fighting with myself to death
Qualify me for standing before the heavenly gates?
Will I be greeted by St. Peter after my final breath
And given a halo for the battle between my two states?
Or will I taste hellish torture caused by the demonic blades?

Does fighting with myself to death
Qualify me for reincarnation as a divine being?
Will I achieve Nirvana with my final breath
And finally realise the true meaning?
Or will I be reborn as an animal unseeing?
MJL Mar 12
This branch is called home
Bumped by Lung Ta
The bow excuses itself forward for a clearer view
The misty windhorse holds the lucky pair up high
They shake their worn flags over the golden field
Painted butter, coral, pine, and snow chrysanthemum petals
Twirling like children, they sparkle exuberantly
It is a special day for the giddy lovers
They whisper their secret mantra in Mother Luna's ear
Shared pain, mindful freedom, renouncement of a broken path
And now they're poised for rebirth
Evergreen Hill holds hands with Blue Horizon
Swarmed by yesterday's, the burnt umber couple sees softer times
Dried edges curl inward offering brittle comfort against old fears
Grackles screech carving the crowd silent
All hear the heavy still as it rests upon them
Then the hooved white noise rises to announce a life-gust arrival
Pushed from behind, they jump together
Dancing briefly apart, they are nudged back for one more hug
Angels race in to twine the lovely soul stems with forever wishes
Freed from their anchored life, now together again... Imagine that
Spectators roar at the rare gift, neither left behind
Tomorrow they will be raked up together
Pressed hard against one another, one last time
Watch as poets fill parchment with their love
The **** beauty of proximity
Leaves will come again


© 2021 MJL
Two old leaves living a lifetime setting side by side together on a branch they call home...

Some references to Buddhism, Islam, mindfulness, the four truths, and Tibetan prayer flags...
Jude Quinn Mar 3
I'll write a poem and leave it on your door
so you have something to smile about.
I'l take my loaf of bread and cut it in half
so you have something to eat.
I'll give you a sip of my coffee
so you can greet the morning sun.

No one should be alone in the dark.

I'll give you my sneakers
if you give me yours
so you can show me your side of the story
and I can show you mine.

I know life can be pretty rough.
Angels use their wings
to cover each other from the rain.
I have a hoodie,
I hope that's enough.

Buddha told me to tell you:
"Hello, bonito.
This spring is going to have cielos azules."
I have a couple dollars in my pocket.

Let me buy you a Coca-Cola.
Share it with someone you love.
Who knows, maybe they need it more than you.
I'm just thankful we got to talk.
Joseph Miller Feb 22
The more enlightened
   you become
the more power
   you have

to create
a new mind
a new life
a new world!
Just Grace Jan 26
The day I understand what it feels like
to love,
embracing “empty”
as I do “empathy,”

when "compassion" breathes among
those who embody that space with "passion,"

that a dream realized can also mean
something else doesn't have to die,

will I welcome such miracle?
Jayaji Jan 16
The true artist does not paint pictures,
the true artists lends themselves to be and become
a paintbrush in the mysterious hand
of life.

The true musician does not play an instrument
but allows that self to be an instrument played
by the breathing space that encircles
all things.

In this way my darling
there is nothing you need to do,
or seek, or find, or become.

No fireworks, no flashing lights,
no grand awakening to understand
that you are not creative,
you are creation.

In this way my darling, wisdom
is the opening into that very vastness,
to be contained by that which has no edge,
and there find, there is no center.

It is to contemplate the Great
Mystery, and at the same time find
the Great Mystery contemplating
you.
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