Bell Strike

You don’t get to keep anything
Outside of these temporary configurations

The coil is always the coil, it’s the
Dispositions, born mortal, that shuffle off

We are bell-strikes with ears, clinging
To our own sound

Soothed in this melodious gestalt, let’s
Stay, just a while longer


The providence of light
honors the appetite of all things seen
knows the curvature of space
from the choreography of the red-shifted, to
the bent lamplight of the inner lanes.

In the headlights, opened eyes
a latent disorder is caught deer-sighted
and joining, we work the tantra of an
off-world insight, seeing in the rearview
landmarks, clutch-holds, and signifiers.

Hello, host of house-haunting neuroses
I so want to be gentle with you
the troublemakers who cast shadow puppets
onto appetites that are themselves shadows
in light that I myself provide.

Indra’s Net

One’s heart center may be seen
as a sphere of light-shine
composed of the accumulated reflections
of the heart-center-lights
of all the other beings.

As everything arises in complete interdependence
who can take credit or assign blame?

No Worries

What direction leads you home,
away from home you go, away from

Good night to möbius day, the
pitcher pours but empties what it

Tinder your worries, the blaze
of all concerns, the smoke of all

The heart and marrow, the callused
feet, the weary find their lotus

I will stack my own bones
at the feet of the universal worthy

The Primordial Buddha is called Samantabhadra (Tib. Kuntuzangpo) which means Universal Worthy. To meet this Buddha, look nowhere but directly at your own mind. They say your Buddha Nature is identical to Samantabhadra’s Buddha Nature. Wherever you go, there you are: you are already home so all directions lead away. Then night leads to day in a kind of endless möbius strip where a pitcher fills itself by emptying itself into itself. The dog chases its own tail. So let our worries be the tinder to the bonfire of our vanities. With concerted effort we find the effortless release, the lotus seat. We will accomplish the impossible as a service to beings, I pray at the feet of Kuntuzangpo.


I lift my glass to mental health
to mind: the source of matters

single pointed cache of wealth
when flesh and bone are tatters

I toast the peaceful, happy minds
of all you non-mad hatters

compassion’s light will loose the binds
of darkness as it scatters