Existendencies

I’m accused of believing in deities
like an irrational dummy, while
the material world in every direction
teases our intellects into a
puzzle-solving mania, clamoring
for the victories of knowing
and having known.

Happily, these elaborate conceptions
serve as a handy basis for making
offerings to the deities.

And they do supply the
handholds we’ll need, if we’re
determined to get a grip.

Beyond that, I don’t much bother
with ‘that is’ or ‘this isn’t’
unless I have to.

Every conclusion is a
leaf on the winds of inquiry.

Ephemeral as a raspy little fart.

Conveyor

thank you for the telling
all these things I didn’t know
how like the wind it ever is
to blow and blow and blow

the mind, so like a cup, is filled
with things to know and do
the brim of it is never reached
the murky depths, so too

so on we go, we never quite
see how this knowing queue
takes up the flow of intellect
exchanging old for new

that knowledge is impermanent
is one more thing to know
it really is no problem, friend
—relax and let it go

Making It

If thinking is what makes the world
then fish thought up the sea.
And earth worms thought about the soil
that’s how it came to be.

When monkeys put their minds to it
they thought up all the trees.
And flowers spread their pollen wide
by thinking up some bees.

The air itself, it drifted in when
lungs began to swell.
Then eardrums, bored with all the silence
thought us up a bell.

Then humans got their bellies full and
crafty, they construed:
They started thinking “what if we,” and
now we’re nearly screwed.

Fetch

“When you run after your thoughts, you are like a dog chasing a stick: every time a stick is thrown, you run after it. Instead, be like a lion who, rather than chasing after the stick, turns to face the thrower. One only throws a stick at a lion once.”—Milarepa

Source: Wildmind

Siri, Where is My Mind

Climbing stairs
my feet aren’t even beneath me
I am arguing with someone, or counting money.

I wash a cup
the suds don’t touch me
my hands are where they will be, upon her body.

I speak
claiming to be present
my own intentions in the shadows, hiding from me.

In the latrine
I pinch out two tiny turds
and deliver a rousing speech to a vast assembly.

This mind of mine
quite the mind of its own
it runs around like a damned unfaithful lover.

Amok with ideas
like intrigue in a house divided
will I even be here when they turn and cut my throat?