ཆོས་ཀྱི་རྒྱ་མཚོ་

Bards of the bardo, hear my lay;
ye glacial Himalayas, sway.
Raise a warming toast in sake,
while my mystic muse gets cocky.

You who seek enlightenment
unto whom these lines are sent
open wide your spirit’s portal
(you – who are not yet immortal)

as we weigh a departed soul
and hurl a vajra – let it roll
with tantric thunderclap appeal
while startled Bodhisattvas reel.

Turn from the heights with sober eyes
and under less celestial skies
let us scrutinize the preacher,
pop-star and Tibetan teacher:

Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche
(born in a manger – so they say)
grew up deep in Eastern mountains,
fed by esoteric fountains.

Soon he became a monkish abbot
painting thankas, chanting sutra
in a saffron-colored habit
high above the Brahmaputra.

Later, the teacher headed west
suckling Maya‘s milky breast
selling used mantras on the way
to devas who came out to play.

Eventually, in Colorado
he rocked the Rockies, thrilled the Beats
Bringing to his own weird bardo
bolder moves and tipsy feats.

Crazy wisdom’s drunken master
clothed in smartly elegant style,
steered disciples toward disaster –
partying gleefully all the while.

He tantalized the Tantric flirts
by seeking Buddhahood up their skirts;
preaching, as their morals sunk
from The Tibetan Book of the Drunk

Meditating, glass in hand
life of the party (of the ******)
the master mingled with dakinis
deep in the bardo of red bikinis.

Leaving behind a score of tulkus
empty bottles, broken parts
books of empty words that fools choose
after charlatans steal their hearts,

Trungpa Rinpoche went down
shaman of shame, hung-over clown
and tried to mend his Karmic puncture
where the left-hand paths make juncture:

Axis of the All, he spoke
a massive Himalayan joke.
Chogyam’s sacred shambala
brought last laughs to the last hurrah.

When his Dharma-dream was ended
Trungpa woke in hell, a snowball;
karmic punctures still unmended
prisoner of the Bardo Thodol

Should you doubt the truths I tell,
the facts are documented well.
Crazy, isnt it? What we’ll take
from vajra-vendors on the make.

Almost almost
A thought n funny apple pie
Moving across the anxiety
Bridging the gap
Abridged
Un mending wall
.
.
.

From which old, cattle ****
my dearest child, you've found
the tongue that cried a silent entreat
on perilous miles, those perilous miles
peeled out from under your feet
your soul unmended and worn... gone
never coming home to reconcile

What indifference has time gifted?
that empty score you left...
...for the old hearted man
deafening him, with its silence.
He sobs for you, my child, he sobs
with battered old scars, so gray
...as he dreams of you
the child from whom he ran away

Air fills my lungs,
Though hollow they be.
Blood circles in cycles,
Sustaining the absence in me.

I had fire,
Life - I had passion.
But I stilled, what was once
Suspended fell and ended.

I hadn't initiative,
What dropped was left
Unmended.
Cracks snaking out
Before shards breaking out.

No marks on this Ivory
Though this Ivory hard to mar.

I reignite -
My Feilds of Fury:
I let the heat warp my mind,
I allow transformation,
May I transmute:
Let my blood become Gold,
My bones diamond, and my
Organs oil for all to feast.

burn all the study notes
smash the greenhouse windows
destroy the lab equipment
and flood the basement storage

shell anything personal
shuck any valuables
abandon this invested waste
become unpossessed
unburdenable
unpossessioned

you think your heart is broken ?
her token is silt in memory
take it to the streets at night
sully it thoroughly
and file off the organs remaining operations
make it un-abusable
and option-less

what about your face ?
bleed away
you recognize nothing
bleed actual jail from your eyes
and crawl from the fight that mauled you
claim your part in the background
a pant of the great huffin'
lose yourself in the noise
the trade
the interference
the indifference

find
you're a vile version
and drag this edition
to it's rotten point
the lowest style of limb
where you needn't fend
where you are securely unmended

a gentleman approaches...
- PEDDLE YOUR WORTH
  AFORE IT IS TAKEN ?

you peer from pinhole
- THANK YOU ; I AM DONE

he looks 'the you' over
- RIGHT YOU ARE

you pass the city border
beyond the last streetlight
you have earned ghost
now you may be of some use
now 'you' are not

                                        - canvas

.

erasing                                                       ­                   
  he rubbed and grubbed himself out  groinally
built up  with huffs and gummings of dead skin
                      all over his body
 in his mind  mothy thoughts                    
                                    became dust laden              
      and a glut of clay amassed in the gut
  all this in tomb   with his sole role  and room          

  tut-tut   he did it to himself
this is his wealth  and his jury
  peers back through time  into the wound
                              kick started it all
with excessive candy consumption   and aggressive firestarting
                     and compulsive theft   and blendlessness and obliving
ever worried    ever unmended
   arc back through the heart
         and refine the child
                as unfeigning          
                   and correctly naive