The Body Of The Buddha

1 .

May Allah be praised.
In the Buddhahood
Where the Buddha stood,
He was a Buddha sort of
Guy.

2.

The body of the Buddha
Was pure like no other.
The wholeness there
Was wholly discovered.

3.

The body was a reflection
Of the wholeness around it.
Wholly the other, and all
Otherwise the Holy.

4.

Within the body of Buddha
Was a Holy Matrimony.
Shiva and Shakti getting
Along sparklingly, always
Having it on.

5.

Loving man and loving woman
Loving man and loving woman.
Within them there was born
The body of the Buddha.

6.

Self self-erupting
Like the flowers and the
Vegetables and all the fruit,
Like all fruits of the Universe.

7.

The body of Buddha
Was a marriage, of evolution
And involution, the fruition
Of the endless body of Buddha.

8.

Within the self lies the other
Hiding and running away.
Someone oughta shoulda woulda
Told him he was only the body
Of Buddha.

9.

She! She cries and cries
All day, the involution
The reception, the Yin
And the endless reflection.

10.

Who is this body of Buddha?
Is he a man? Seeing
As I am being seen said
The Buddha, I should say that
I am.

11.

Shakti with a kick-ass reply,
Replied who should you say
Then of who am I? Said
The Buddha no reply.

12.

The voice of the body of Buddha
Was pure like there was
No other, a perfect blend
Of Shiva and Shakti and
The given.

13.

Inside himself was the body
Of Durga, the daughter and the
Mother, the lover the betrayer
The Shakti the Shiva, the
Slayer.

14.

In the body of the Buddha
Was the Earth Mother herself,
The bones and the muscle and
The blood and the gristle.

15.

The flesh of the world
Was enmeshed in the Body
Of Buddha, but the worlds
Within went to infinity
And beyond.

16.

The Buddhahood where the
Buddha stood was arrayed
Like the froth in a bubble.
All possible worlds ever
The Buddha strolled.

17.

In each world was the body
Of Buddha being here in
Many multiple ways, endless
Choice to be here or afraid.

18.

In the shadows a shadowy
Figure runs and hides and
Runs away. What world
Would a Buddha deny, one
Where he went astray?

19.

In the love of the Mother
And the love of the Father
Is no child ever led astray.
The only thing that could be said
Is someone went astray.

20.

May Allah be praised.
Within the known is found
The knower, and welcomed
Within the kingdom this day.

21.

In the kingdom of Shiva
And Shakti, where the two
Entwined reign, the Lord
And Lady all bless the
Blessings of the day.

22.

The Buddha is born, the body
Of the Buddha is born this
Day, fruiting forever in
Forever far off kingdoms
Contained within.

23.

The froth on the sea of
Every wave of every sea and
Wave, in the body of the
Buddha’s amazing multiple
Multiplications.

24.

Ever the one in the body
Of the Buddha, our
Cosmic conscious universe,
Male and female and all
The rainbow arrayed.

25.

The one within is born and
Awake and awoken up today.
All the days endlessly
Arrayed in rainbow colours,
Time and space.

26.

The body of the Buddha.
May Allah be praised.
Shiva and Shakti, Earth
Mother, Durga and a little
Yin, all in the body of Buddha.

Twenty Thoughts About Destitution

 

Happy, and so singing on the way home in the car, that song
“The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down” by Joan Baez –
Or The Band, or Dylan – or now me for that matter,

I read about it on Wikipedia on the ‘net when I get home
And a reviewer of ‘Rolling Stone’ magazine in 1969 had
Written: “Nothing I have read ….has brought home

The overwhelming human sense of history that this song
Does” – and for sure, it’s the year ‘1865’ that the “winter
Of ’65’ refers to – and indeed it would have been cold:

It’s about enduring the last days of the American Civil War
And the suffering of the white Southerners – and I was
Really struck again by that third line at the beginning:

“Virgil Caine is the name, and I served on the Danville train.
‘Till Stoneman’s cavalry came and tore up the tracks again.
In the winter of ’65, we were hungry, just barely alive.”

And then the song lyric goes on: “By May the tenth, Richmond
Had fell, it’s a time I remember, oh so well!”….Chorus: “The
Night they drove old Dixie down, and all the bells were…”

So now I look for more references, and “the Danville – Richmond
Supply train was the lifeblood of the Confederate capital” – til
Cut off by the Union cavalry, led by a General ‘Stoneman’,

So when the town of Richmond “fell”, the Confederate capital
Had to be moved to Danville. So this song then is all about
Defeat. Being trampled into the dirt, just “barely alive.”

The “bells” were ringing out an emergency: “The night they
Drove old Dixie down” wasn’t only one night – that’s poetic
Licence. But if Yankees capture your capital, it’s all over.

And the thought struck me that a basic fear still today is that
Of finding oneself suddenly “destitute”. Of having nothing –
Or dropping far – say, not enough to keep a home or fed.

And that that basic fear is what seems to keep the whole ball
Of wax – the whole system – going. All measuring oneself
By ‘stuff’ – ‘having’ – how far we are away from that fear.

And another verse of the song goes “Like my father before me,
I will work the land – and like my brother before me, who took
A rebel stand / He was just eighteen, proud and brave

But a Yankee laid him in his grave.” – and I think there it is:
Who are they that promote this game, this terrible and
Terrorful distraction of acquisition and competition?

And we are now again the “rebels” and there is indeed a civil war
Happening in our time – and truly people are suffering and
Some are ransacking and reaping most of the rewards.

And the whole ‘system’ is being supported in this way to have
Some – and all – suffering the background fear of destitution
And others – and all – so entirely distracted by this game.

So now good men don’t provide good role models for younger
Men, because they see their elders just distracted by the
Same game, and they then become part of this too.

“Now I don’t mind choppin’ wood, and I don’t care if the money’s
No good – Ya take what ya need and ya leave the rest
But they should never have taken the very best.”

So in the end Virgil doesn’t mind leading a rough, hard, even poor
Life; everyone takes what they need – but no one should take
More than that, and no one should ruin it all for everyone.

And so we’re “rebels” because we rebel against that presumption.
We object that some are fucking it up for everyone in ‘the game’
On this planet – but more than that: this Civil War and strife

Is one great tragic distraction from the ‘real game’ – that of
Attraction and offering, relating and sharing, growing and
Comparing and sharing and gifting/receiving and living.

9-5-2016

The Rite of Passage Through the Unfurled World

(for Jessamine, and sourced from a visionary journey)

1. The Journey from the Cave

The front of the boat taps the rocks by the shoreline
As it dips to and fro on the most gentle of waves.
The underside of the wooden craft
Dances with the light reflected from the water
That also reflects from the walls of the surrounding cave.
In the distance the mouth of the cave
Is a dazzling flood of sunlight in contrast
To the deep black of the inner regions of the cave behind.
Only vaguely if you turned would you see
The lowermost steps of the winding stone staircase
From where you entered the cave to see what you would find.
And now before you is this vision,
The scrolled wooden prow of the sweetest of coracles,
The front covered over in painted tiles
And the open nest of the back of the hull
Surrounded by painted wooden petals like a crown.
The boat is wide and steady
As you clamber over the front and make your way to the back
Where on cushions and blankets you snuggle down.
With your weight like a pivot
The small vessel swings around,
The mouth of the cave is just wide enough
And the sunlight eats the boat like a long hot swallow.
Tall trees clash in many colours of green
As you blink your eyes fiercely in the expanding scene,
And behind playfully racing and overlapping waves
You and your coracle follow.
Twenty butterflies take flight from the banks of the river
And imitate your eyelids as in fright they deliver
Orange flashes of light above the cool blue of the water.
And with hands holding steady the smooth petalled sides of the boat
You look all around at the magnificent scenery
As you float to the sea my daughter.
 
2. Across the Sea

Entranced by this enchanting land,
With firm cushions below and a steadying hand,
It doesn’t surprise you to find that the boat expands
As the distance to the banks grows wider.
From the place where you sit she lengthens and deepens
And tall masts grow like odd trees
Til they’re furnished with pale sails to guide her.
The sides of the craft heave left and right and several sections extend
With long oars dropping down dipping into the blue.
So like a salamander sliding the whole ship comes alive
As she flexibly weaves her great length through the waves,
The oars digging in like toes as the wide open sea comes into view.
The crown of wooden petals that surround your living quarters
Have become burnished with gold and silver and brass and other metals.
They’re like pointed shields to protect the deck
Where you gaze with adoration on the horizon beyond
Where on the wide open sea sunlight settles.
Your sailing ship glides on an outgoing tide
And continues to creak and grow
Such that the sides lift high with overlapping plates
Like a dinosaur’s hide but jewelled and glowing.
The bow of the ship leads the way
And the other sections sway til the end like a tail follows the bending trail
Of this ship that seems to know where it’s going.
 
3. Arriving at the City

As this ship grows does too the wide-brimmed view
Of the curving horizon and banners of land
That recede on the edges of this world.
And in the distance you see the tall spires of the place
Called the Infinite City growing apace, til the points seem to fan
Like an opening hand with welcoming flags unfurled.
The wharves of the port are also like fingers of hands
Fanning into the water and past many points of land,
Where coloured lighthouses stand, your ship and you pass
Til you realize at last that this city covers miles of coastline.
The ship knows the way, and past balconies arrayed
Like overlapping scales of giant fish facing skyward
And other such fat towers of light,
It finally finds a curving berth and from its own wide girth
Throws ropes to be on its posts tied.
There are welcoming beings of light,
And as others arrive they hold their hands high in greeting
To nearly touch at their fingertips.
And when two meet in this way a sudden large Orb of light appears
Touching both their hands, and in ghostly images
Are seen all other’s waving hands too, a flickering solar-flaring sphere
Affirming the unity of their kinship.
As you step off the ship you see a large, long wheeled vehicle
With a huge enamelled eye rolling slowly
On its pivot at the front of the open-topped conveyance.
But this must be for dignitaries, as you feel to make your way
To the left along courtyards where great shafts of coloured light
Break through the tiles revealing that down
Below such ground are more infinite levels and layers.
 
4. Finding the Dancers

Between the many levels and connecting the overarching towers
Are curving bridges with elegant balustrades and lightposts.
As you walk over such a one it seems to notice your steps
And stretches and grows in infinite details,
That you suppose that, as with the beings of light,
Even the architectural elements itself are your kind hosts.
And other tall beings smile and greet you in silent ways
And the streets widen to meet you and in the multi-faceted alleyways
Doorways grow under arching doorways
And broad steps become terraces with changing colourful tiles.
Alongside a windowed wall on your right one such alleyway
Reveals the sight of a welcoming guardian standing to the left
Of a series of entranceways in various styles.
Perhaps the evening here comes in fast, for from the entrance
Comes such a blast of warm friendly sound and radiating light
That it seems natural for you to pass under the arches
And enter this place as though arrived at last.
The space opens up under canopies of light
With tall fluted columns stretching up beyond sight
And the sound is the music of dancing in pairs
And among friendly faces you are cast.
The men dance with the men, and the women with women,
But also there are many intimate couples lining the spaces
Between marbled columns in this ceremonial play.
All of the pairs have their hands stretched outward
And palms and arms touching and some with their heads,
Such that the overwhelming effect is you feel that the very air
Seems to say ‘I will find my partner’ in this way.
 
5. Journey to the Lake

Is that how you came to be walking the next morning
With this compelling awareness in your head –
That everything around you seems to be paired,
Your dreaming head cleared of all thoughts but this one?
Is that why you walk by the banks of a stream,
The sides a similar height and sheen of pastel rocks
Embedded in brown soil under mossy green grasses
And the arms of the trees dividing the soft light of the sun?
The air seems to fill with the trilling of birds
That spill from the branches in spiralling twos,
And even the daisies nod in pairs from clusters in the earth
By pebbles and rocks that coupled touch shoulders together.
A dawning awareness grows of how you chose to journey
To this land to seek out one here who’d understand
And who could show you where to find your partner –
Not man nor woman but inner companion, companion in any weather.
To find your inner companion, the ‘other’,
You must first find the ‘one’, the Queen of this land
Who lives far from the city in the hills of the countryside.
So you wander old roads past the croaking of toads
And the rustling of grasses and rushes and flaxes
And your mind now relaxes around the thought
That you have no idea where she might reside.
White mountains in the distance spread their arms and their fingers
And you look out for signs of the twoness of things.
Then round a bend you are suddenly met
With the magnificent scene of a lake
Reflecting perfectly the mountains above
And with the vision of this final ‘pairing’ you hear your heart sing.
 
6. Meeting the War Queen

On the side of the lake pale green trees reflect
Like a fringe around a collar of rocks and the earth rises up
In broad ramparts leading to a courtyard of stone.
Behind this is an irregular and angular doorway
Vast in its measure such that when you draw nearer
It is easy to see deep into the structure
To the golden War Queen seated on a throne.
In front of her a fountain is set low in a pool
Where a broad silver sword is laid in the water,
The image rippling rapidly spilling light in the room.
So that when you now enter
You can see spindled threads of light dancing on the tiled dome ceiling
Amid clouds of incense thick with perfume.
You follow the rich carpet that curves around the pool
And the Queen warmly greets you like you’ve always been expected
And tells you not to be dejected that there’s a war going on.
It’s true, she says, that we’re in a difficult phase
But there’s never been a day when the war wasn’t raging,
And the conclusion of battles is always foregone.
We always win as is the way of things,
So there’s always time for a feast and welcome celebration
Now that you’re here at the end of your quest.
And there will never ever be war in this place of the palace
Where I sit on my throne nor ever in this land out through the doorway
So please put your mind at rest.
 
7. Knowledge of the Other Worlds

Sitting on the soft circular carpet by the pool,
The Queen dines with you on a range of sweet treats
While her battle shield leans on the throne behind.
Looking around to the distant points of the room
You see several stairs leading down through openings in the floor
Like to far-lower doors full of dirt and grime.
And you know there’s a world through those thick wooden doors
Where the dark hills are surmounted
By thousands of crosses for those who have died in war.
But at this the Queen touches your shoulder and says that all such beings are One,
And though that they may pass they return again and again,
And for every one that dies as many more they are reborn.
We die freely, she says, to find we multiply,
And as related brothers and sisters we live again as many more.
And indeed many more different worlds there are too,
So we pass through experiences vast
Like the multiple arches in the Infinite City you explored.
For the swords we use are never abused
With the stain of dirt or blood because each warrior has their own
And it is kept shining bright with a special polish.
The weapon is only used in battle
To reflect the wondrous light-filled Orb of Oneness,
Such that by such sudden flash the opposing dark beings are transformed –
That’s the only reason the swords are flourished.
 
8. Meeting the Companion

And with that the War Queen hands you the broad silver sword
From the pool at the centre of the room and asks you to look up again
At the wide dome ceiling which has now changed its view.
The fountain has lowered to below the surface of the pool
And now it settles til still, and above your heads
Is a circle of light stretching flat and level, pale blue in hue.
Your task, says the Queen, is to keep this horizontal plane of light
Level with the natural power of your mind and will,
And to help you is a companion from my realm who will battle for you.
When you sail in your craft back to the furthest shore
You will pass by the giant trees of plenty,
So wait for a while til the fruits drop by themselves –
Like we, be patient to be given to.
Eat five golden fruit from these trees
Such that good fortune will take root
And your craft will grow strong wings to add flight to your flow.
When it takes to the skies remember your companion warrior’s cry
And passing over the mountain range below,
Remember millions of snowflakes multiplied make up the purest snow.
Like millions of leaves that make up a tree,
Where each leaf is unique like the partner you seek,
Your companion will battle for the One in our land.
And with that the Queen stood up and moved to a door
Hidden behind the golden throne,
And when she opened it up,
There was your companion and partner and warrior
Who reaches out now to take your hand.

Archaeopteryx, Metempsychosis

Surely the arbitrary cannot be so arbitrary,
determined by chance or caprice?

Archaeopteryx, metempsychosis.
Ancient bird of the Jurassic era,
The transmigration of the soul.
One actual, one abstract.

The half reptile, half bird, one of the earliest flying animals.
A creature living one hundred fifty million years ago,
A creature now dead, now extinct.
Ah, but did you ever really live for many millions of years?

A prototype.
A transitional form beween reptiles and birds.
Jawed teeth & a long lizard tail: feather & wing.
A form between demons & angels, a collage of concepts.

Archaeo-pteryx.
Archaeo-logy, Encyclo-paedia.
Etymology. From the Greek etumologia, ‘the word of the true or real’.
‘Archaeopteryx’. New Latin. ‘Ancient bird’.
We took pteryx from pterux from pteron, the Ancient Greek, up from Eden.
Pterux – ‘bird’, from pteron – ‘feather’, via ‘wing’.
Ah, but did you ever come from feather via wing?

I see the fossilized imprint of your body.
An encyclopaedia encircled, a cycle, a circle, a final stage for your breath.
A footprint on the path of time, your fossil wings visible as feathery lines.
Radiations from your spinal column.
And your feathers radiated out from these.
Ah, but was it ever that feathers grew first on your body?
Did you ever feel your skin feel like feathers, for the feathery very first time?

Feather to wing to bird. Flying as a finer degree of feeling. Metempsychosis.
The passing of a soul into another body or form of existence.
A physics of flying, a metaphysics of dying. Metaphor.
Ah, had you flown on the wing of the flow, thrown by the throw of the dice?

Words form into rhyme, their meanings divined from the signs.
Archaeopteryx, metempsychosis.
Arbitrary existence & an A to XYZ of time.

31-3-06

16 Favourite Moments of the 1998 Summer Gathering

Leading three sweatlodges then being part of one by Danyo.
His spiritual name in English is White Mountain which I saw he is.
He’s a pipe carrier for his people. He’s been a sundancer for twelve years.
They pierce their chests with hooks and dance hung from the world tree.
He says it takes some of the suffering away from the women who give birth.
In the lodge he called the women the life-givers, men the protectors.

Rochelle doing Huna Bodywork Healing on me on her table in the tipi.
The grief and wounding that surfaced stimulated a visionary experience.
Releasing Catholicism, Jesus / martyrdom mythology, I was in the dream.
On a cross so lonely so realistically yet aware of her on the ‘outside’.
Sensing how I was trapped and moving warm energy against my skin.
Taking me by quiet storm til I was so warm and safe within.

Jason coming out in his wheelchair all the way in the mobility taxi.
Being carried by four people in his chair up to the chicken shed longdrop.
The longdrop was the highest point of the Gathering land.
Lots of joking and cheering about carrying the king to his throne.
Later in the big tipi with the drummers and dancers around the fire.
Jason’s request: Cody and I took turns holding him up so he could dance.

Down at the stream at dusk, some people standing ankle deep in the water.
My torch joins theirs as we hold them like cups upright shining from below.
In watery shadows slides an eel lazily tracing a line sideways.
Embarrassed at my ignorance of such matters, I turn caution into bravery.
With an ‘O’ of finger and thumb, I let the eel slide forwards like a condom.
Sometimes I held it forward of halfway, and we both backed up in fright.

Lying in a field of enjoyment under the duvet in my tent, gladly exhausted.
In such a high state of consciousness I ‘dreamed myself’ into visions.
Impossible four-dimensional landscapes like continuous fruiting on trees.
And at the bamboo kitchen, some favourite women are singing so juicy.
Impossible to visualize, rolling raunchy with the ‘Funky Chicken’.
The desire of wanting to witness what I am already intimately influencing.

Andy’s in Auckland to do a 10-day Vipassana meditation retreat.
The centre is in Kaukapakapa not far from where the Gathering is held.
Being at the same time, I’m naturally disappointed he’s not here instead.
But my other two brothers bring him out on the Sunday before his starts.
I’m swimming at the time so I’m not tempted to play tourist guide.
Instead we four of us jump off the bank and feel like kids again.

The sweatlodge still wasn’t built after the first week of the Gathering.
The previous year, the site had been left in disrepair; the coverings rotted.
Musing again at its fate, I saw firewood stacked in the old rock pit.
Everyone had agreed the children could have a campfire here, Doug said.
The sacred site was cleansed by kid’s laughter and toasted marshmellows.
The next day a large lodge was built: in darkest night the people entered.

Older men aren’t blessing younger men much anymore, Bly had said.
Elsewhere I’d heard that younger men weren’t apprenticing themselves.
Max asked a circle of ‘good men’ to join he and his son Willow in the tipi.
We honoured Willow for the journey into manhood he was making.
Sharing what it meant to be a man, we spoke of what we recognised late:
The support of men, and how we wished we’d had Willow’s fate.

Finding the power place for the closing ceremony on Saturday.
On the other side of the stream, a clearing between the three largest trees.
Coming together again as a smaller circle: where were all the men?
Each person standing before the group framed by the two big trees.
Being told of their qualities, the growth some had noticed over this time.
The image was of taking the gathering inside to pour ‘out there’ again.

The wonderfully contentious process around drugs and alcohol.
Buttons getting pushed, flare-ups and walk-outs, my meditations on Yin and Yang.
Gerd’s offer at the morning circle after three days of drama and dramas.
He puts a beer bottle on the altar where everyone’s offerings were arranged.
More laughter when Simon opens it to pass round for the alcohol-lovers.
Half-way around Gerd in his turn pours it out on the ground “for the others”.

Getting a sweatlodge together a little belatedly, Skins and Ben agree to help.
They take on Firekeeping with lots of wood to gather, chop, and split.
Later Skins says he has to clear with me about something a few days ago.
We reach an impass so he says he and Ben are no longer available.
I make the fire, crossing a poster of five bikers that’s been placed there.
In the circle next day Skins says he appreciates how I “got it together”.

I do a half-day in silence, an note taped on my tee-shirt.
Later I’m wandering naked as such a joyful innocent, so safe.
Where ‘Steve’s Cafe’ opens out from the Totara grove there’s a tent.
In a dome cubicle of soft bedding sits Corinna who I haven’t met.
All smiles and elfin eyes she lets me come close like a silent pet softly.
She shows me photo albums of her bus parked in different places.

Finding myself an older man among teenagers doing a sweatlodge.
Often in their company I act the suave runaway from responsibility.
Here I tell them of tradition and honouring, people and process.
In the third round the young men are still braving it with their philosophy.
Warm sound and silence resounds when I invite the women to speak.
“We’re a swimming pool”. And another:”a soft penis in a warm vagina”.

The talking stick suffered a variety of applications in the circle.
Gerd and I raced for it once, no, twice I confess, once in the tipi.
In the marquee I handed it to him before he could finish explaining.
In the tipi I held both the male and female, and offered him the male.
He witnessed my love, but took the female, and we jolly-sailored like boys.
Moustache-twirlers, like the counterplay of complements/compliments.

“If I can’t hug you here, I couldn’t hug you anywhere”, I told Henry.
He was sitting at Gerd’s cafe, and I just knew that I must ju-jitsu him.
Sure enough, he was only at the Gathering for five minutes.
I pushed past to his chair while Agnes gave me a wry smile.
Henry and I haven’t had much to say to each other for a while.
Now he thanks me for minding Zowie but tells me to use tongs for the food.

Corrina’s eyes are every colour, but her nose stud’s turquoise-green.
It picks up the eye-green like fishes in two ponds of colourful lilies.
Going gaga enough to tell her something like this I mention iridology.
“An iridologist’s dream, your eyes”, and the bit about the guy down in Golden Bay.
He took close-ups of his eyes and put them on sticks in the garden.
Like seed-packet posts showing what he was growing and guarding.