My teaching is a rolling out
over no fixed ground:
of no onward journey.

This way is of no way home;
of a sudden strange arrival
on a waterlogged raft of dreams.

With every dawn come the duties:
clear the jangled mess
of wires and hooks from the spine;
bale gurgling monologues out of the head;
breathe deep and breathe steady:
all around otherness is watching.

Everything buckles, talk gets leaky.
Texts won't listen to a thing.
Is there an image that doesn't see right through you?

All that can be here is the shining wish.

And into this I give my eye:
and for a giddy while we float,
and for a while there's a rhyme...

that lets the glitter of light and rain
that roars through our own wild country
say all the truth that can ever be said

about those distant sun-warmed hills;
about this deathless ocean.

From: Travels in the Middle Land, Dhamma Moon, 2013.

Posted: Tue 17 Nov, 2009