soaks my beginngless body
and all the stores are closed
because everyone wants freedom here:
in Indestructible Country; no one
wants to be shut in, all those
want to be recognized.
I may as well dance on the mountains
with my mind’s reflections;
I may as well sink into the earth
and follow the raindrops
to the center of this world-system-in-a-dewdrop
where a copper palace beams
and the core of Being teems
— I may as well dwell at every point
in the middle of all connection, and
even in the nucleus of that middle itself — why
shouldn’t I lay back and gaze out
at the emanations of sun-rays
eating themselves : why not
bask in the cozy hand-made sofa
WITHOUT CENTER OR EDGE
You cannot refuse me that.
To the extent that flowers are
blooming for their own involvement in
self-reflexive magnificence, up
to the point where concepts like that
can have meaning, until then:
there is nothing here in these
galaxies within the palm of your hand
that can provide a logical
refutation of my lust, this
uncontrollable passion for embrace
w/ FIREY EMPTINESS
If my passion is dispersed
Ya’ll ain’t got a chance for my
compassionate involvement to
coming rising up like a
tornado of affectionate concern.
Today I cry for
because like a moon’s reflection
in water, that good old boy,
the efflulgence of expansiveness, that good old girl,
makes a pointed mockery
of all those trinkets I’ve been clinging
like a child with his fairground
candy, it comes to just a whiff, a sillouhette of a memory.
Palms of hands must be released from themselves.
They’ll starve themselves
for the big man to give them a name.
Would you starve yourself
so he’d give you some water?
When rays of sunlight devour themselves
They reveal themselves as moon-rays. Pristine.
They nimbly avoid the maw of existence
And like them, I skip along the crests of
Joy and Sorrow
Though I get wet
In the process.
That’s why you’ve got to
The players in your movie life
they play the character of space.
I can’t get to where I’m going
because it was never there.
But I keep on vibrating
at the frequency of where I
want to be, ’cause
even tho it’s all a dream
i’ve got to live with me.
You, my dear one,
Sometimes it’s good to think of your
spine as all the coins
ever hoarded by every king
stacked up on top of the other
climaxing at the base of yr. skull,
itself a treasure.
You don’t know how much
magic is in my vital organs.
It’s cooking up a barbeque of willful intent
and soups of bedazzlement.
You just don’t know. So I’ll have
to show you. You can see more as
time goes by. I don’t even know myself.
Let’s find out.
compassion must hang out
on top of yr. head, but perhaps you
knew that. On occassion it is a good thing
to take a kitten and put her on top
of your head also.
That is good.
The magic in my vital organs approves.
You thought those were just words.
Now the ships are coming in.
They dock inside our skulls.
They have important documents
For you to sign.
Let me hold you
when I tell you this:
My passion make each and every thing
glow like embers on a mission.
Always ever. So,
your spine, it can also be a mountain.
Your eyes, beautiful as they are, take
in even more beauty from the top of your
Projecting that mountain outward
like an imperialist aggressor
you might as well keep on dancing
on top of yourself
like an unpredictable goddess of devotion
prancing on her conquered ego.
Dzigar Gompa, Darjeeling, Gorkha Land of the Future, West Bengal in the Bardo, India