Same Old

an unattached hankering
comes eager to serve, any
purpose at all, what nerve

let be, it will christen
you’ll see, with too dear a name
take shape, like a camel in

a karmic drinking game, oh
that it not be just more
of the same

The Chameleon’s Dish

At Breakfast
I interrogate objects
for their hidden meanings
suspecting that everything is
a sham, though not to
the point of paranoia
I forget to eat

By Lunchtime
the objects no longer appear
as an organized effort to
accomplish existence, more
a plate tectonics masquerading
as real estate, a hint of confession
in the chaos yet not enough
to justify a declaration of suchness
I am, by now, very hungry

In Midday
my need for food is sounding
peculiar song-like drones
but there’s silence as well
like a cosigner to the deed
conspiring with a growling gut
this calling, this appetite is making
arguments that seem capricious
and I wonder if the eating
might not cause more problems
than it solves

At Dinner Bell
my stomach is a gust of craven mara
despot of my being, and I yield
ladle out some stew
sitting in the sand upwind
of the cook fire, where
all these elaborations dissolve
under waves of taste sensation
I know I must realize precisely
this, or I’ll have to get up
and do it all over again
probably, tomorrow

Come Evening
a pine branch pops
in the embers and the sparks fly
up, absorbed like nourishment
into the hungry black
belly of night

—

Title is from Shakespeare, Hamlet III.2 :

CLAUDIUS
How fares our cousin Hamlet?

HAMLET
Excellent, i’ faith, of the chameleon’s dish. I eat the air,
promise-crammed. You cannot feed capons so.

—

Alternate title: A Day in the Life of a Neophyte Yogin

Gnawing

Understanding is alright
as far as prisons go, though

not understanding is better
than misunderstanding.

One foot follows the other.
Once movement is begun

it is difficult to stop,
hence, the strange treasure,

the halting dissonance of
“I don’t know.”

Knowing things obviously is fine and necessary. The insight of the East is that attachment to knowledge as the vehicle of truth is an error. We gnaw at what we know. We can never leave well enough alone. Is truth something that would submit to such nonsense? Consensus maybe, but consensus is just an agreement to stop arguing. To stop gnawing.

Photo: my old bird-feeder, nay rat-feeder.

The New Illustrated Leaky Boat Itinerary

birth boat
draw your navel
life boat
flip-book animate
death boat
erase your face

there, there

they say I’m not all

t h e r e

but my part of here is
a drain of intemperate handholds

and I’m never sure which part
of this dodgy self / this misplaced map pin

I want to stick into this mess

You can’t have your fit and throw it too

the boundary is clear
between crazy and sane

on which side I stand
I can’t quite explain

you lose what you lose
and you gain what you gain

it’s a circular track
and my life is the train

An Abundance of Halves

half of samsara is talk

half is the action spurred on
by what was said

half is the view that
nirvana is safely removed
from all this turmoil

half again is the self
that clings for dear life to
the panorama of conceptions
fearing this and hoping for that

The Revenant

burning desire
for revenge
more ferocious
than a grizzly

(I have just read the book, but have not seen the film.)

[ -\- – – – – – ] Emptiness

The function of meditation is to release our addiction to ideas as being the vehicle of truth.

—James Low

Why Emptiness is Liberating Public Talk London 2016 HD – by James Low

This is an excellent talk on the subject. Don’t let him hypnotize you with his elaborate hand dance.

Click Bait

the greatest architect of all
the tallest church spire built to date
points to the sky, the heavens’ loft
where nervous angels fidget, wait

come and rest your weary mind
let impulse self-propelled, abate
when all is said and done you still
jump up to go, you’re always late

when resting, things aren’t getting done
this thought that teases as we wait
there’s always something in the queue
a deadline looming, what’s the date?

always one thing more to do
or entertain, a great debate
to argue, or some plan you made
this train of thought and all its freight

but everything you’ve seen and heard
the flowers smelled, the apples ate
one vast and empty matrix full
of clicks on shiny mental bait

attachment and its object rise
together in a spacious state
and dissipate as one together
where early is the same as late

the gap between before and later
where everything appears innate
defies the yearning grip of mind
so how you like them apples, mate?