Original Sin

the ghostly images stain
my memory with thoughts
foreign to my mind
they will not be washed away
indelible and poignant to me

the need is driven into the scene
by events that can not tolerate
the lack and stark clarity of loss
hollow of truth, brimmed with slag

hope becomes the key to survival
taking insanity caused by
fear and agony, and making a
haven for rest, among the clutter

here, within the space provided
my thoughts can be surrendered
let loose to explore on their own

forgotten and empty now
the scene is full of non-doing
a halting, a stand-still of will

so the ghosts fade, washed away
like sand melting into the tide
still there but unrecognizable
the change is sourced within
my original sin

Yoke

the admission comes from within
a place still and silent
no lies to cloud the truth
only an uncanny sense of honesty

no more facade to adorn
no longer driven to crave
held to account for it all
no easy back door exit

and how could it be otherwise
this life is no different than past
the same rules apply still
yet still I am struck by it

the stark revelation becomes all
encompassing all options to turn
trapped by self derived ideology
I only wait to surrender

these hands will never fail
to unknowingly create my hell
only myself to blame, to hate
with blame focused squarely
upon my shoulders

Dhammapada v. 153-154 "Udana Vatthu"

"How many lives, how many rounds of rebirth
have I experienced
without finding the builder of this house?
Now I see you, O builder,
all of your rafters are broken, your ridgepole is
shattered.
Never again need you build a house for me,
my mind has gone beyond the transitory, the
conditioned,
and has achieved the extinction of craving."

Builder = Craving
House = Body (five aggregates)
Rafters = Defilements
Ridgepole = Ignorance

"How many lives, how many rounds of rebirth
have I experienced
without finding the craving of this body?
Now I see you, O craving,
all of your defilements are broken, your ignorance is
shattered.
Never again need you build a body for me,
my mind has gone beyond the transitory, the
conditioned,
and has achieved the extinction of craving."

seminal

the face lingers through
the page's fabric and time
forever left to peer out
as though to ask us forgiveness

but I can not forgive, I hurt
still tied to the moment, the thing
stubborn and immovable, like stone
unable to release the anger, self-afflicted

cool, pristine mirror, reflects
against this back drop, the play
complicates the scene, the frame
laid out to be examined, with criticism

the non-doing is the constant task
so the everything dissolves under
an ever-present knowing until
the truth is all that is left

the hands will always work,
unknown, unwound, they create
as my will allows, they form and shape
grasping and yielding, ever-doing to make

tread smooth, move lightly
your pulse will ever tap out your time
your life, in rhythm with your heart
surrendered, your thoughts will survive