Namo Amitabha Meditation and Pure Land Talk, cause I want more people to talk to who want to know or who are on the same path, NOT ZEN.


This is an oh boy! or an oh hell not this….
It is a thirty minute meditation with morning singing bowls, a poem on highlights within a stream of light, Pure Land Amitabha meditation and explanation of what Mahayana and Amitabha Buddha teaching on three levels of heaven with the highest level being Pure Land. So many read really awful world religion texts, translations from 1900 and very prejudiced and unlearned expositions upon Mahayana Buddhism. I real Pali text translations and Sanskrit as they are closest to the 7th Buddha, our Shakyamuni Gautama Buddha who become the Enlightened One we mostly speak of when in reference to Buddhism. Being true to the teachings is not easy, as you progress over the years one begins to enter a stage of Bodhisattva where the supernatural nature of the noble truths, noble paths, and of attaining to a state of heightened knowledge and spiritual evolution, it is not to separate from others nor is it a substitute for Heaven. It just means that some of us work very very diligently to overcome our inner suffering and to attain right vision and and right action. Peace. Love. Charity. Hope. Compassion. Now there are differences, and throughout my life people have relished finding ways to stump me on the beauty and transitional nature of living life to feeling and knowing life as it is lived as an ascetic. I go on. Forgive me.

Because They Said That It Was


This is a less rambling lost and messy version than one earlier. I hope it is. After a while when I am working in several different mediums it is easy to get lost in God, in the third circle/level of beauty and ugliness beheld before the heart is given all to see and all to feel. I cut it in half and used wave form sound patterns as it progresses but it is still an angry work and anger is the target aimed at in dawn mists to shed this skin and bring myself back into the love of Tara, Buddha and Guan Shin Yi once again.

 

Because They Said


 

This is experimental noise poem. Me vox, 4 Tibetan singing bowls concentrating on two primarily and echo phase strings so there is a more ominous undercurrent throughout. This may be a download with book, I don’t know. It may still not be distorted enough as I passed out working on editing at the very end and lost all I had served as a movement between rooms of the vast to claustrophobic drone upon drone.

Cool Scene


Spring snow on the coastline
in a note in an illuminated night
she was there an episode opening
an episode on the way sea foam
Coagulates then bursts
Out into the flurries
White against a star burned
Night a night illuminated
Wander along dodging
Gulls crashing against
The sounds against the way
This singing night lights
Fire on the dawn
Dawn and spring snows
Coaxed back into the sea
This is a beauty
Pretty stars lighting Venus
Light shine light adored
This is how I remember you
A bright star in daylight
Will o’the heart
Willed away and I never
Had the chance to say
Please stay please cross
The dunes find wild roses
For me for you to stay

Athens Spleen ‘017


Prose Poem: Athens Spleen ‘017

“This is the greatest happiness –to subdue the selfish thought of ‘I’.” (Shakyumani Gautama Buddha)

I wish I could I speak of it in terms doctors office readers of Psychology Today could understand, but even in 800 BCE it was hard enough to open the oyster shell of selfhood Vedic Brahmans thought theirs alone.Still do they just cover themselves in mud and forget Obscured by Clouds was a Pink Floyd album. This ‘I’ that has never been theirs alone yet claim to see into as if inner clones of Rimbaud’s barnyard wizardry. Be gone. Your space is wasted enough already. Let us open a new life, one that has no claim and no need to steal and fear what is that most precious of things: the words, the sentences, the cadences of those much better just hidden away, the love of thought, the love tea wrought, the love suspended above while thieves ravage the house looking for what’s left to walk away with pretend he was never here at all; and like Howlin’ Wolf you whistle by this graveyard glad you were never found out, glad the first six months of ’17 are gone. So Buddha knew. He was devoted to over come this ‘I’. Why did it occupy him so much? Because it is the greatest weapon of the dark one left in that vein and vessel stitched bad of tricks.
“If only the thoughts he directed to that which is right, then happiness must necessarily follow.” (SGB*)
If only I could speak of those who see a smile and find it offensive and name them for who they are if not to say ‘hey, there you go there you jargon king,go take go and don’t forget to kill what grew higher than you ever could could out of struggles and open graves you were too afraid to go alone’

imma gonna


Told Imma shame
keep the self expression down
silence my mind
stop exposing the underbelly
pull away from helping others
don’t do it
not cool man
imma not gonna do it
i love all way
too much to close
doors just ’cause
someone is disgraced
by my being me
i’m all i got
i write things here i hafta
keep with us
cause if my friends
see it their discomfort
grows and creates
a me
that does not exist

AND I BURN THE ROOTS WAVE STEROID CURSE AND WISH THE PAIN BE FELT AS I


The buzz of nerve
A refrain of screaming nerve cells
Burning back to calves
Thinking it done
Another haze of militant
Steroids enters
I think this time
I will control it
They will not ruin my days
After two days realizing
They won
I fought and tried
But the way they ravage
Through the body and mind
Is a realization
That I do not want
To live like this forever
I tried I wish my body love
I loved my friends
But they just got tired
Of my illnesses and up down
Up down emotion with each
Set of steroid shots
Or new drugs gone wrong
Can’t blame them
I would avoid me too
I wish I could
Thinking I’m writing jazz mails
Turns out to be taken the wrong way
Hated and lectured to again
For dedication and thanks
In helping me with music
They hang and stroke the back of ego cat
Finding new ways to push away
New rules for me to live by
Learned my place
Is ashes across a wave
Or six feet underground
Just have to wait and figure
The best way this time
This time was too much
I thought I was joking
And each word was hated
Each call avoided
When all I wanted to do was
A short hey gotta talk fast
To burn the steroid fever
Eating me up let it find peace
Not a secret it hurts
Only to be told I’m nuts
And it inflames to say I hope one day
They go through same as I
The pain and uncontrollable
Nature that is a body full
Of steroids and nerve blockers
A curse every coal burning vessel
All so I can walk like what
Certainly not a man
Just a dust swirl In afternoon light
Waiting for a place to settle down
Then the winds rush across the room
And I know I am done
Nowhere to turn nowhere to die
Thanks for misunderstanding
And at heart hating me
I feel ashamed for happiness
When it comes at such a price
Self promotion is a shadow self
Mannerisms locked into small cities
Noses turned up at the sight
Of a man who survived
Guess I should have died
Dignity intact than suffer
The horror greater than
The steroid burn
The horror of every joke
Heard as self pity
The stain
Being the stain of sin
In the footsteps
Leaving the room
After telling me never
Dedicate a piece again
Never let the cherished name
Cross my lips of gratitude
Damned in quietude
The steroid flames subside
After five days of endless
Rush and collapse I think OK
Nope, gotta get that go away email
Knowing it’s the drug not me
But every word is taken wrong
Every poem a steam of self pity
And for a line or two yeah,
Walk in my shoes feel it
Feel the bitter, stinging push of needle
To spine and as it rushes through
Knowing this is going to be one
Hell of a week but worse
But really not knowing just how
Much hell and for how long

Milarepa Freeing Channa of his Demon


This is from a story from the 100,000 Song of Milarepa, a Buddhist mystic, poet. It is the third in a series I am writing in combining his works so they are understandable for the modern age. The repetitive nature is essential as it is a chant/song, that echoes the Diamond Sutra. Milarepa’s cave above Devils Lake was always being invaded by one thing or another and this time it was 3 demons. He understood their evil nature so he fed them, get them drunk and then chanted holy sutras to free the bodies of the demon. In this case it was a demon who became known as Channa. Channa, the man, built several altars and a Buddhist temple in the Tibetan to Nepal plateau in honor of Gautama and for Milarepa. Much was done to get his works out Tibet when China slaughtered and robbed their way into a friendly annexation with Tibet. So, I am rewriting some works for modern times staying with the story itself and in the manner of repetition and chant as used to remove the demon so that the man, Channa could live. The works are amazing, beautiful, are of a Buddhist prophet and posses great meaning throughout. I hope that it is not too boring but a good story sometimes takes time and this is about an hour at best, but I promise if you let the words and the meter do their thing you will feel the depth of Mahayana Buddhist devotion and beauty in love for one another for a better world.