Wednesday, August 26, 2015

In Bhutan The Chilis Are Cheesed

Gut Sutra:


Daylight dreams beginning to become lucid
Nighttime dreams still dangling flaccid
In between sits a stone Buddha placid
The ones in flesh, blood and bones smell rancid
The view from here is still framed
From atop a mountain one doesn't see the peak
I'm looking at the wrong angle in the eternal triangle
(Where is the circle?)
Bangles on a woman's wrists are musical
How does one perform on a stage without an audience?
There's a rustic charm in the back alleys of neglect
There's an air of authenticity in high thinning altitudes
(You can breathe in the air for evidence and breathe it out for a witness)
In the world we invade and occupy such tangibles are still respected proof


(You get up in the morning with last night's dreams, of hopes and fears and think about it with tomorrow's screams. As we indulge in what's not here today's already slipping away. Not that you could ever grasp and hold it in your fists. Now look. Time's already dying passing away in endless momentary funerals. The cremation grounds are empty. Nobody comes. Nobody cares. Nobody knows. The ones who do don't wear watches. Keep clocks. Set alarms. Then we talk about the wonderful flight and passage of time, never having truly told time or kept a devoted watch when time was told, or asked. And then puff! Lights out! Time's up! Alarm bells are ringing! Its too late! It's finished! It's done! It's gone! Haha!)


So I tried to get hold of samsara before it got hold of me
Gripped by its claws
Clasped in its hooks
Skinned out
Boned in
Mind f******ed
More enslaved in shortened tight big chains and locks
With feasts of bountiful buffets and endless choices you cannot eat
Not a bad thing when you're watching from afar
Entertained
Amused
Saddened at such suchness
Trying to remember Bodhisattvas!
Rains been raining
Green Thimphu hills greening
Panoramic Paro is plentiful
Misty mists mystifying
Making my morning go grey with poverty
Drying the heart as it wets everything around
The rain could keep raining for a thousand monsoons
Yet the wetness would dry up
Leaving no trace
No color
No life
Upon one who is steadily drying
Bare upon the flood
Raw in the pool
The sinking body of a fool
Rich with
Signs
Signalling
Samsara

Dissolution:

Morning dew
Afternoon warmth
Evening vapor
Nightly condensation

Occupational Hazard:


A dragon flies in the air
In just a couple of inches
She carries a ton of majesty
Nothing much separates
The deep chants of monks
And the soft call of birds
Must relearn my lingo
Retaste my native tongue
Beg a morsel
Eat a crumb
This bounty from the Lotsawas
The planters maybe gone
But the white Darshing stands
Fluttering tall on the hill
Riding noble horse
Galloping hearts
Healing minds
Bringing home saddled jewels
With riderless riders
Met an old buddy
Seemingly a waster
A bum
Jobless
Useless
Talentless
Pointless
Flat broke
In the conventional sense
In the unconventional unseen unknown timeless pull and push
And curves and bends
And warps and wallows
And shrinks and expansions
Of a universe we barely know
Who knows
Who tells
Who yells
Who bells
Who sees
Who blinds
Who mutes
Who sells
Who buys
Who guts
Who cowards
Who groans
Who moans
Who screams
Who whispers
Who rebels
Who negotiates
Who judges
Who knows
Now lonesome apple tree hangs out in a forest of proud pines
Looking rather lost
Sticking out
Forlorn
Shorn of greenery
Leaf less
Branch less
Laden with fruit
Laughing with big red voluptuous apples
Haha

The Monsoon Has Been Delayed:


Clouds been gathering
Hanging thick
Blocking sky above
Blanking valley below
Winds cooler
Breeze chilling
It's getting weighty
It's getting heavy
Rains
Almost
Here
Way above Thimphu
Blue Mountain Hermitage sits serene
Sparkling when days are sunny
Glimmering when it rains
Sticking out
Harmonizing
Straying visions
The pine trees are tall
Healthy
Green with life
Wealthy with cones
And
Turtledoves
Do birds learn to sing?
I wanna get schooled
Go cooing
Reps and myths
Like discarded eggshells and shed old snake skins
Have become tell tell signs
Lying on the path you once trod
Fingering you
Mockingly

How Does The Sky Fit Into Your Eyes?


If you look
You'll see
A view
Laid out
Panning out
Scanning out
From flowers and pots
To dimming horizons
Accommodating your look
By the way
In the way
One looks
Monks chant the sutras from within the dzong
The breeze carries them along
A discerning ear receives them on a porch
Bewildered at such personal interpretations
Hanging out
Hanging in
By definition
Suspends
Yoyos
Unlike stillness
That sits
In moving expansion
There's a dread in things that are important
A solemnity about the people who do them
And premature judgment reeking out
Seeking comparisons
A spoon is not a fork
A fork is not a spoon
That's why they do the job on the plate
Cos they're forks and spoons
When you're eating noodles I'll tell you about chopsticks
Pointed questions
And crooked answers
Long winded conversations
Gotta get out of the cesspool
Go see the ocean
Have a marvelous heart attack
At the immensity of it all
And your silly presumptions
Never quite see a bee next to a turd
A shitfly about a flower
One's always in open meadows
The other in darkened loos
I still care
Just unbothered
When it comes to daylight nightmares and nighttime daydreams
May you make billions
Have a trillion houses
A gazillion cars
If it'll lead you back to simplicity
And
No
Thing
At
All
Both monks
And turtle doves
Have stopped chanting
The silence comes aloud
With good intentions
Being clever I got into a lot of busyness
Now I'm just dumb
Freeing time
Wearing a wristwatch for ornamentation
And the occasional date
Choiceless choices
Like freedomless freedoms
You're neck deep in the world of quicksands
I'm thrown about in a whirlpool
Let's kick the bucket in silence
Enjoying the moment
Gasping no more
Ceasing to and fro
If you look you'll see
If you listen you'll hear
Sounds of silence
Forms of emptiness
That disappear as soon as recognition sets in
Leaving you with nothing but a chit
A chatter
And a nagging natter
That somewhere somehow you experienced this elusive matter
So simple it confounds
Leaving you looking like a wheelbarrow
With a flat tyre
Everything in you is directed outward
From your physical features to your senses
Says something about the importance of recognizing whats apart
And that of looking inward
And pushing wheelbarrows
Convincing my self
Is taking
A lot longer than anticipated
It's ok I guess
It's the whole point
In a flattened landscape

Listening is Not Hearing:


Everyone's got a story
You've probably heard these stories
But you keep listening anyways
And hopefully you'll understand one of these days one of those stories

As It Is:


Went up the mountain
Came down the mountain
Intervals in the valley
Apples in the belly

Rose-Tinted-Mind:


One fine day is a myth
Happily ever after is a hitch
Even this moment is a snitch
Trying to conquer
That one desire
Lost
In
A
Thousand tastes
Of
Salted
Sugared
And
Sour
Tongues
Devouring whatever's unnecessary
The last time I was home it was like this
I'm not saying anything
If there's anything to be said at all
It's already been said
I've been coughing a lot
The lungs are working overtime
Smokescreens compete
Nothing happens my friend
It seems like a lot is happening
But nothing happens my friend
It looks like things are happening
But nothing happens my friend
Nothing empty
Nothing solid
Nothing good
Nothing bad
Just impressions
And your reflections upon them
There're people from around the seven continents
And the islands dotting the five oceans
I've not met them all
Not yet
But it's alright
I'm here
I'm alone
Nobody has heard my tongue
I'm here representing
I'm here being whoever I'm supposed to be
A Bhutanese on the outer shell
And lying inward
Stubborn nut
I went to the deity
It was rush hour at the palace of the mandala
Now I'm home
And the dogs need food
Rice and dried fish
No sun
No moon
Crooked forks and bent spoons
Homesick
I've been bedridden with old
And some new ailments
Guess its growing pangs
Familiar home
Now abounds
With strange happenings
I know this watering hole
And I know the animals that come to drink upon its well
Some of them are dead
Others are grown old
And there're a few stubbornly holding on
To vestiges of forlorn youth
Fighting the ravages of time
Drinking silly
Talking rubbish
Being charming old idiots

All That Glitters is Your Imagination:


You can go on polishing your diamonds
I'll keep collecting rocks
While you sparkle yours on necks and fingers
I'll skip mine over lakes and rivers
Yours will ring and bling
Mine will stone and sling
Yours will be priceless
Mine will be endless
Yours will shine and bind
Mine will free the mind

The Mechanic:

Wake up
Shake up
Hiccup
Pick up
Eat up
Drink up
Make up
Break up
Ache up
Tea cup
Coffee cup
Made up


Ps: YourLustForLifeStartsRightNow!

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