Blog Archives



I take refuge in the spirit that surrounds me
I take refuge in the spirit within me
I take refuge in the path I am travelling
I take refuge in my companions on the path

I take refuge in the spirit that surrounds me
I take refuge in the spirit within me
I take refuge in the path I am travelling
I take refuge in my companions on the path

I take refuge in the spirit that surrounds me
I take refuge in the spirit within me
I take refuge in the path I am travelling
I take refuge in my companions on the path



Not a word spoken
“Pick up flower, subtle smile”
Message clear enough



Without attachments
Who would remain to remain
Without attachments

Not Quite, Not Yet (20b)


Letting go
The gurus proclaim
Magic wand
Golden key
We let go, things let us go
We remain attached


Shadorma November

Just Words


They call it karma
Those who call themselves Buddhists
Yet love needs no name



Content or else left discontented.
Full of content or else empty; open to
A blossoming in contentedness.

Void and avoid after all, cousins;
It’s all about words and worlds
give or take a letter or two.

“You should stop words and letters,”
Says Dogen, “and learn to withdraw
and reflect on yourself.

“When you do so
your body and mind will naturally fall away,
and your original Buddha nature will appear.”

The Harlequin’s Lament


Dizzy dandy, prancing bear
Forever circling circus clown
Procrastinating Pollyanna
(And paid up part-time Buddhist)

How you wish upon a star
If you could only find, you know
A comfy place, retreat somewhere
A place to sit back, watch them prance

Their mad and merry dance
And not get drawn back in again
Until (upsetting your fragile balance
Of emotion, mind and body

Being no longer possible)
All three resolve themselves
Discover some kind of trove
A presence in the present

There to breathe, reflect
Devise a more viable plan
For the ever impending future
Yet as is – alas, alack – look here

Take a look, the notebook’s
Chockablock – each slot committed
Or where not then pencilled in at least
But maybe next week, next month

We’ll see …

The Middle Way


What’s there
I cannot discern
If I draw back too far

But then on the other hand
If I let myself be drawn in too far
I now can see only a meaningless blur

Recall, my friend … in all things … Balance
Recall, my friend … in all things … Avoid extremes
Recall, my friend … in all things … Find the middle way

Ohne Wörter (Flower Sermon Tanka)


I picked a flower
Twirled it between my fingers
Sat waiting, smiling
Till it divulged its secret
But it just withered and died

The Four Immeasurables


Like atoms whirling in the depths of space,
Impelled by mighty forces, powerless,
Infinite beings, sparks of consciousness,
Migrating ceaselessly from place to place,
Are driven by their cravings to embrace
The pleasures they mistake for happiness,
But desire brings them only more distress;
The very pain they fear they have to face.
To think: “Their sorrows come, not from Above,
Or whim of Fate, or cruel external facts,
Or others’ malice, but from their own acts;
I wish all creatures, though unknown to me,
Freed from unskillful acts, could happy be;”
This thought is called Immeasurable Love.

A creature in his time has many lives,
And now and then in blissful heaven dwells,
But just as soon may fall into the hells
Or, demi-god, be hacked to death with knives.
Now see him as, a hungry ghost, he strives
Without success to eat the food he smells,
Or squeals among the pigs a farmer sells.
The wisdom from these sufferings he derives
Is small indeed, or so we may surmise
To see him waste his few short years on Earth
In foolish deeds that lead to fresh rebirth.
Thinking: “All creatures share this misery.
I must find out the way to set them free,”
Immeasurable Compassion will arise.

If many pass their days in lust and hate
Some make attempt in virtue to abide
But we, half of the time, blinded by pride,
Give them no praise but merely denigrate.
Others find peace that seems to be innate
While we must struggle hard against the tide
And feel ourselves to be most sorely tried.
If we begrudge their carefree, happy state
What little peace we have we will destroy.
To feel resentment at a man’s good name,
His happiness or virtue is a shame;
When envy of his virtue we disown
And greet his happiness as if our own
Then we will find Immeasurable Joy.

We say we long to leave Samsara’s game;
Why is it then that we remain attached?
Each thing we fear seems by another matched
That keeps us circling, moths about a flame.
In seeking praise, we run the risk of blame;
Our gain becomes a loss if from us snatched;
And from the want of pleasure pain is hatched,
While envy soon breeds slander out of fame.
If we think well on this we need not be
Impaled upon the horns of hopes and fears,
Aversions and desires, joys and tears;
By leaving craving and dislike behind,
And by this means alone, a man may find
Immeasurable Equanimity.

This set of sonnets is a chunk of Buddhist theology which I wrote while studying Tibetan Buddhism in Northern India. Don’t begin jumping to conclusions, though. There’s more to the story. 🙂

%d bloggers like this: