Buddha Twirls a Flower

When Buddha was in Grdhrakuta mountain he turned a flower in his fingers and held it before his listeners. Every one was silent. Only Maha-Kashapa smiled at this revelation, although he tried to control the lines of his face.

Buddha said: “I have the eye of the true teaching, the heart of Nirvana, the true aspect of non-form, and the ineffable stride of Dharma. It is not expressed by words, but especially transmitted beyond teaching. This teaching I have given to Maha-Kashapa.”

    Mumon’s comment: Golden-faced Gautama thought he could cheat anyone. He made the good listeners as bad, and sold dog meat under the sign of mutton. And he himself thought it was wonderful. What if all the audience had laughed together? How could he have transmitted the teaching? And again, if Maha-Kashapa had not smiled, how could he have transmitted the teaching? If he says that realization can be transmitted, he is like the city slicker that cheats the country dub, and if he says it cannot be transmitted, why does he approve of Maha-Kashapa?

 

        At the turning of a flower

        His disguise was exposed.

        No one in heaven or earth can surpass

        Maha-Kashapa’s wrinkled face.

Windy Day “Haiku”

Storm Bella is passing by and I am reminded of another Windy Day

———————————————————-

Christmas lights tap

the bedroom window

with a breezy urgency

 

wet weather gear on

many layers in an onion,

the fresh smell of rain

 

two rivers on a road

brown muddy streams

they carry the stuff of dreams

 

the pylons play

their Aeolian harps

while consulting oracles

 

soft leafy carpets

so tender underfoot

hush the urgency out the world

 

the tenacious mud sucks

at the soles of boots

what a squelch!

 

white wool on a fence

a startled deer runs!

Tufty, the rain-deer

 

a squall blows water

into the hair

better than any shampoo

 

ruddy cheeks glow

now fresher than any mint

a hot soothing bath

 

Nature is Buddha

and it is we who sleep

or, do we?

 

the taste of rain

lingers on the tongue,

a drop of eternity

 

I love the rain

its water cleanses

a superlative most superb.


Bellatrix Lestrange (née Black) (1951 – 2 May, 1998) was a British witch, the eldest daughter of Cygnus and Druella Black, cousin of Regulus and Sirius Black, and the elder sister of Andromeda Tonks and Narcissa Malfoy. She was a member of the House of Black, an old wizarding family and one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Bellatrix started her education at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the early sixties (either 1962 or 1963), and was Sorted into Slytherin House.

Dharma of the Day #2

“He was so afraid of dying that he forgot to live…”

Herein is a truth.

 

fear not death

it is a friend

who if listened to, advises

 

death and birth

are two sides

of the same coin

and each a beginning

 

we are all simply hamburgers

sandwiched in bread

waiting to be eaten by time

 

the fear of death

makes cripples of us all

stand up, walk, run and dance

this is what Jesus said

 

inside each is Buddha nature

why not seek paranirvana

every day of your life?

 

all sentient beings experience

dis-incarnation

this is a better way to see things

it is the gold at the end of the rainbow of life

 

live now, always

seek new experience

and thrive upon its sweet nectar

 

don’t over associate with those

who worry about death incessantly

they have a virus which is catching

 

hunt your death in the shadows of your fears

bring it into the light of day

then shine the sun direct its eyes

watch it blush in shame

 

be not afraid of the macabre

for its dance speaks only of impermanence

laugh joyfully at its artifice

learn not to be so very earnest about it

 

from time to time

write your own epitaph

store them in a box

when you feel miserable, read them

and laugh at yourself

 

do not crave longevity

rather seek fulfilment

within your allotted span

 

allow not the grindstone of regret

to drown you

be fluid, move and improvise

 

be watchful ever for dawn

let each day be a fresh paper

onto which you inscribe your being

 

ponder on this

if you were to live forever

would it be a blessing or a curse?