finalmente

Hola, España!

prolepsis

 I don't know 

If it has been 

my sanity taken 

away or if is 

the silence of 

God muting me --

the day goes away

evening comes

I haven't a thought

nor any desire

to move or speak

a corpse in a copse

gentle sway of branch

whisper of root beneath

earth welcoming home

eremitic pathway

 When I stayed

With the Trappists

Thirty years ago

I de-accessed books

From their library

In the silent room

Each removal took me

Into mined mind, near

flowing laura by Shenandoah

upon being, asked

Friend’s father dies

Some fire-light through

Night to clear his way

as medicine protects from poison

 Thinking of Nirvana (not the band; the quality.) It literally means the "blowing out," the extinguishing of the fires of greed, hatred, and ignorance.

Nirvana,^{[note 1]} in the Indian religions (Jainism, Hinduism, Buddhism, and Sikhism), is the concept of an individual's passions being extinguished as the ultimate state of salvation, release, or liberation from suffering (duḥkha) and from the cycle of birth and rebirth (saṃsāra).^[3][4][5]

In Indian religions, nirvana is sometimes used as a synonym of moksha and mukti.^{[note 2]} All Indian religions assert it to be a state of perfect quietude, freedom, and highest happiness; liberation from attachment and worldly suffering; and the ending of samsara, the cycle of existence.^[8][9] However, non-Buddhist and Buddhist traditions describe these terms for liberation differently.^[10] In Hindu philosophy, it is the union of or the realization of the identity of Atman with Brahman, depending on the Hindu tradition.^[11][12][13] In Jainism, nirvana is also the soteriological goal, representing the release of a soul from karmic bondage and samsara.^[14] The Buddhist concept of nirvana is the abandonment of the 10 fetters, marking the end of rebirth by stilling the "fires" that keep the process of rebirth going.^{[10][15][16] wikipedia}

This by Nagasena (c. 150BC): 

 "How good to hear that, Nagasena! Speak then, quickly, so that I may 

            have an explanation of even one of the aspects of Nirvana! Appease 

            the fever of my heart! Allay it with the cool sweet breezes of your 

            words!" 

            "Nirvana shares one quality with the lotus, two with water, three 

            with medicine, ten with space, three with the wishing jewel, and 

            five with a mountain peak. As the lotus is unstained by water, so is 

            Nirvana unstained by all the defilements.--As cool water allays 

            feverish heat, so also Nirvana is cool and allays the fever of the 

            passions. Moreover, as water removes the thirst of men and beasts 

            who are exhausted, parched, thirsty, and overpowered by heat, so 

            also Nirvana removes the craving for sensuous enjoyments, the 

            craving for further becoming [the craving for reincarnation], the 

            craving for the cessation of becoming [the craving for the end of 

            reincarnation]. --As medicine protects from poison, so Nirvana from 

            the torments of the poisonous passions. Moreover, as medicine puts 

            an end to sickness, so Nirvana to all sufferings. Finally, Nirvana 

            and medicine both give security.--And these are the ten qualities 

            which Nirvana shares with space. Neither is born, grows old, dies, 

            passes away, or is reborn; both are unconquerable, cannot be stolen, 

            are unsupported, are roads respectively for birds and Arhats 

            [Someone who is or is becoming a Buddha] to journey on, are 

            unobstructed and infinite.--Like the wishing jewel, Nirvana grants 

            all one can desire, brings joy, and sheds light.--As a mountain peak 

            is lofty and exalted, so is Nirvana. As a mountain peak is 

            unshakeable, so is Nirvana. As a mountain peak is inaccessible, so 

            is Nirvana inaccessible to all the passions. As no seeds can grow on 

            a mountain peak, so the seeds of all the passions cannot grow in 

            Nirvana. And finally, as a mountain peak is free from all desire to 

            please or displease, so is Nirvana." 

            "Well said, Nagasena! So it is, and as such I accept it." 

        (-- in The soul as an image of Nirvana: from 'The Questions of King Milinda.'  (excerpt from 'Buddhist Texts Throughout the Ages') (Peace issue) by Edward  Conze; I.B. Horner ; David Snellgrove; Arthur Haley, Parabola, Vol.21 No.3 ( Fall 1996), Pp.18-19

What would it feel like if the fires of greed, hatred, and ignorance were extinguished? 

Nirvana was a good name for a band. I wish its leader, Kurt Cobain, had not committed suicide.

It seems we all want to get out of the delusional allurements of an existence rampant with mental and physical poisons. We're often, or mostly, unsure how to approach or navigate such a journey.

It is the journey home. Literature is filled with such stories. History abounds with such tales.

Let us pray for one another that we find a caring, safe, and sane way to find ourselves on that road back home!

"shall the son of man be born again in the litter of scorn” (from ‘murder in the cathedral’)

The last temptation is the greatest treason:

To do the right deed for the wrong reason. 

—T.S.Eliot

Who will rid us of these meddlesome pests?

Ticks, secy of state, mosquitoes, secy of defence, 

Identity thiefs, el presidente, pickpockets, 

Secy OMB, spammers, acting attorney general, 

Moribund senators, yellowjackets, secy HHS, allegators,

VP, jellyfish, mindless devotees, black flies, DNI nominee —

These meddlesome pests! Our suffering flocks

Stand with mouths agape, wondering from

Where their next sane breath, their next sane hope

warum es selbst, für sich, unwissend

 I seem to have forgotten

why

everything is hidden within

itself

these days hiding out away

alone

how odd, how unusual, this

unknowing

ऋत ṛta

There is something, it is said,

Holds everything together 

 In the Vedic religion, Ṛta (/ɹ̩t̪ɐ/; Sanskrit ऋत ṛta “order, rhythm, rule; truth; logos”) is the principle of natural order which regulates and coordinates the operation of the universe and everything within it. [1] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/%E1%B9%9Ata

 So, we are held

Together, everything, it is said

from away

 She sits by bed her father occupies

His look of exhausted life by window

There’s nothing to do, hand on shoulder

Hand on hand, eyes on backyard flowers

Death is near, the day creeps slowly

No need to go anywhere, no task undone

No corrections to be made, no amends

Just daughter by father in quiet light

that men agree to call a heart

Fernando Pessoa, with his heteronyms, came to our attention at our bookshop/bakery in the late ‘90s through 2000s at Saturday poetry sessions. A colorful psychologist would make Pessoa a regular at the poetry sharing. One of the many characters presenting the points of view only poetry unveils.

Autopsychography

BY FERNANDO PESSOA

TRANSLATED BY EDOUARD RODITI

The poet is a man who feigns

And feigns so thoroughly, at last

He manages to feign as pain

The pain he really feels,

And those who read what once he wrote

Feel clearly, in the pain they read,

Neither of the pains he felt,

Only a pain they cannot sense.

And thus, around its jolting track

There runs, to keep our reason busy,

The circling clockwork train of ours

That men agree to call a heart.

 

Source: Poetry (October 1955)

it was easier, when drunk, to just fall into bed

 I sit and stare

after taking pills

wondering what

mischief throat

will make with them

it has to do with

getting old, ailments

arguing with each other

whose turn is it to grab

allegation poised at

brink of 'this is it'

and 'oh my God'

a nightly ritual noting

suspect heartbeat and breath

measure the presence

 I don’t want to smoke a cigar

I don’t want to drink whiskey

I don’t want to abuse young boys or

young girls, rape or enslave the unwary

I don’t want to cheat and steal

I refuse to respect evil people’s crimes

If all that makes me un-American

I'm content to be a Mainer from Brooklyn.

Leave me be, i'm trying to learn how to pray

one of these days God will learn how to assay

hide here too

My body is going away

nothing really wants to stay

so I sit and wait, wait and sit

for birdsong to sound and fade away 

 

Beating the heat is like hiding from guests: 

 

Just stay in the shade in the All, and keep quiet 

 

A few tall Wu-t’ung trees will ward off the sun. 

 

A winding stream will beckon the breeze. 

 

And if, in the heat, guests appear after all, 

 

They might just like to hide here too.

    --Yuan Mei (1716-1798)

When I stopped caring I wasn’t believed

 try to remember, they said, you were conceived

to earn heaven and God’s love, to flee from hell --

I wasn’t believed that I had nothing to tell

not anyone that said ‘believe me.’ 

It is a rare disease, this no belief

it begins with ’trust me’ and ends

with ’this will make you better’ 

it don’t

It won’t 

stay hidden,

you’re not bidden

in a small room with a low light

just this

instant I am

alive

when I am dead

I will not

say that

there will be

nothing said

or heard

I am good

with this as

I am now

om mane padme hum . . . ॐ मने पद्मे हम

 They shot and murdered him

Then pulled his dead body from his car

Handcuffed it, let it stay in the street for hours

His little girl was in the back seat

learning how to read

Thank you, Ikkyu! 

Every day, priests minutely examine the Dharma 

 

And endlessly chant complicated sutras. 

 

Before doing that, though, 

 

They should learn how to read the 

 

Love letters sent by the wind and rain, 

 

The snow and moon.

    --Ikkyu (1394-1481)

He lived his life, for a time, as a vagabond.  

 Ikkyū (一休宗純, Ikkyū Sōjun; February 1, 1394 – December 12, 1481) was a Japanese Zen Buddhist monk and poet who had a great impact on the infusion of Japanese art and literature with Zen attitudes and ideals.^[1] He is perhaps best known for his radical approach to Zen, which included breaking Buddhist monastic preceptsand his stance against celibacy.^{[2][note 1]} 

^wikipedia

Toward the end of his life, Ikkyū told his disciples:

After my death some of you will seclude yourselves in the forests and mountains to meditate, while others may drink saké and enjoy the company of women. Both kinds of Zen are fine, but if some become professional clerics, babbling about 'Zen as the way,' they are my enemies. I have never given an inka, and if anyone claims to have received such a thing from me, have him or her arrested!^{[9]. --ibid}

We seem to arrive in zen thought at the very obvious tension between rational thought and organized conceptual argument in contrast to felt experience and naturally arising instances of encounter and experience.

Here, between the mountains, the breeze has sat down to rest.

So does each leaf.

(Wait, wait -- it got up.)

Nah, it sat down again.

and for our absent brothers and sisters

 If I were to pray

It would be for kindness

To spring up somewhere

As ugly indecency shovels

 dirt on our faces and walks away

help me understand

 A list:

• Murderer
• Rapist
• Felonious corruptor with Supreme Court immunity

Once we had a way to get back home again.

Now, it seems, we have lost our way.

Tell me again about the value of cheerfulness.

terrorism on our streets

 ICE is murdering people in America

 ICE is murdering people in America

 ICE is murdering people in America

Mono no aware (物の哀れ)

When we thought once that we might want to be obvious we used mono, ie, monastics of no other.

Today I love that the Japanese phrase Mono no aware (物の哀れ) suggests, in english, that "a mono is not aware."

Astute criticism both soothes and crushes ambition. 

Mono no aware (物の哀れ),^[a] lit. 'the pathos of things', also translated as 'an empathy toward things', or 'a sensitivity to ephemera', is a Japanese idiom for the aesthetic appreciation of impermanence (無常, mujō), or transience of things, and both a transient gentle sadness (or wistfulness) at their passing as well as a longer, deeper gentle sadness about this state being the reality of life.^[2]

Japanese woodblock print showcasing transience, precarious beauty, and the passage of time, thus "mirroring" mono no aware^[1]

 I like the Japanese translation and explanation.

It captures my attention.

Then frees it.

interplay

 Breeze wavers trees across way

swaying upper branches against blue sky --

Bald Mountain, verdant elephant, doesn't move

be ordinary, say nothing to anyone

  This poem by Lisel Mueller from Doris this morning: 

Pillar of Salt

 

More and more I resemble

the woman turned stela,

whom I imagine standing

like a solitary cactus

at the edge of the desert.

 

By now I too have become

a storage tower of memory

that salty substance not absorbed

or sloughed off by the body.

 

Like her, I was rescued

(who knows why) for survival

and looked back at the destruction

of the place I had come from,

stunned by history’s genius

for punishing the guiltless.

 

Surely not all of her people were wicked.

Perhaps the ones who loved her

and whom she loved

were gentle, like my people,

whom I reprieve from their deaths

each time I remember my life

among them, my grandparents,

three guardian angels.

 

As a child I played

with Japanese paper flowers.

In the package they were

tiny, shriveled bits of confetti,

nearly weightless,

but when they were put in a bowl of water

they sprang open, transformed

into a splurge of lotus flowers,

amazing yellow, orchid, rose.

 

It’s like that when I think of them,

when I give them back brilliant moments

of family happiness

in random sunlit spaces.

The show is not for them.

 

It is for me. l set it up

so I can change the ending,

stop short of hell,

give them a bearable old age,

a decent death. It doesn’t work;

it hasn’t worked all these years;

history has taken nothing back.

 

Memory is the only 

afterlife I can understand,

and when it’s gone, they’re gone.

Soon I will betray them.

Think of it as the solid pillar

dissolving, all that salt

seeping back into the sea.

 

 

(--Poem by Lisel Mueller )

 

…

 

Lisel Mueller was born in Germany in 1924. ln 1935 she fled to the US  with her family to escape persecution after her father spoke out against the Nazi regime. In a recurrent theme, this poem reflects her struggle to reconcile the “brilliant moments of family happiness” of her German childhood with the  horror that came out of that same nation. In that, she speaks for me, also.

 

I enjoyed looking up “stela.”

Stela of Merneith from her tomb at Abydos, 1st dynasty

Photo: Lisa Saladino Haney (cf. https://arce.org/resource/stelae-ancient-egypts-versatile-monumental-form/ )

A stele (/ˈstiːli/ STEE-lee) or stela (/ˈstiːlə/ STEE-lə)^{[note 1]} is a stone or wooden slab, generally taller than it is wide, erected in the ancient world as a monument. The surface of the stele often has text, ornamentation, or both. These may be inscribed, carved in relief, or painted.

Stelae were created for many reasons.^[1] Grave stelae were used for funerary or commemorative purposes. Stelae as slabs of stone would also be used as ancient Greekand Roman government notices or as boundary markers to mark borders or property lines. Stelae were occasionally erected as memorials to battles. For example, along with other memorials, there are more than half-a-dozen steles erected on the battlefield of Waterloo at the locations of notable actions by participants in battle.^[2]

A traditional Western gravestone (headstone, tombstone, gravestone, or marker) may technically be considered the modern equivalent of ancient stelae, though the term is very rarely applied in this way. Equally, stele-like forms in non-Western cultures may be called by other terms, and the words "stele" and "stelae" are most consistently applied in archaeological contexts to objects from Europe, the ancient Near East and Egypt,^[3] China, and sometimes Pre-Columbian America. (wikipedia)

Lisel Mueller also words this poem which reminds me why poetry is so often so delicious: 

There Are Mornings

 

Even now, when the plot

calls for me to turn to stone,

the sun intervenes. Some mornings

in summer I step outside

and the sky opens

and pours itself into me

as if I were a saint

about to die. But the plot

calls for me to live,

be ordinary, say nothing

to anyone. Inside the house

the mirrors burn when I pass. 

 

(--Lisel Mueller from Alive Together (LSU Press, 1986)

 

I sometimes step out of my sarcophagus solitude into dooryard green, Adirondack plastic chair facing Bald Mountain, birdsong, leafy branches, cut grass, and Ensō dog burrowed under Yew. I sit there. I look over what is there. Everything is right where it is.

Near-stone.

Stela.

A boundary marker as yet unfixed.