But, damn! The moon!

From my Inbox to you 
(or what I get for not going to Temple this morning)

When Tired & Lonely

by Ven. Samu Sunim

When you’re tired and disappointed,

Write a poem.

If you can’t write a poem,

Be silent.

If your feelings are painful,

Go to the park.

Watch the vibrant eyes of squirrels

Listen to the chat of sparrows

And Stand in Line with the Homeless.

“There shall be no outcasts in the world!”

When you’re full of complaints,

Write a poem.

If you can’t write a poem,

Have a glass of cold water.

Go for a run

Watch your steps

Look up to the sky.

Complaints are but a taint,

They are uninvited guests.

When you’re angry and hateful,

Write a poem.

If you can’t write a poem,

Do 365 prostrations invoking compassion*

Lower your body-mind with each bow

and rise again as a true person.

Surrender yourself to the Buddha within

Empower yourself with love and compassion.

There shall be no scumbags in the world!

When you’re poor and miserable,

Write a poem.

If you can’t write a poem,

Remember you’re still among the living.

Be grateful!

Learn to be content with what is available.

Being poor hurts

It is a blessing in disguise if you don’t mind.

There shall be no poor and lost souls in the world!

When you lose hope and are in despair,

Write a poem.

If you can’t write a poem,

Watch your mind.

Plains and streams play together to entertain all beings.

Is this not good enough,

Is this not good enough?

Wake up early tomorrow

Go for the sunrise.

There shall be no helplessly abandoned in the world!

*If you don’t like to perform prostrations, then climb up a mountain.

_____________

And this:

Enlightenment is a Bitch
by Dane Cervine

At first it isn’t so bad — a taste of ecstasy,
the world covered in honey. Even snails
scrawl the names of buddhas with their silvery trails.

But then, too much. Pears become unbearable,
wet white flesh so tender one could perish
contemplating the first taste.

Meditation becomes oddly redundant,
attention now like water, absorbed in tree root,
plumbing; even fire hydrants with their red

stubby arms become mandalas, and, worse,
the police siren revving its wail behind
my slow-moving car sounds like a mantra.

Even my wife’s complaints about me finally
sound true. I just bow. Kiss her slender hands.
Carry the garbage outside, but, damn! The moon!

_____________

And this:

Dreaming of Long Ago
by Po Chu-i (China, 794-815 C.E.)

I've grown old since our farewell,
bitterly cultivating the Tao,
refining this irreconcilable heart
all the way into dead ash.

I thought I'd polished the memories
of a lifetime clean away —
so how is it you come stealing
into my dreams again last night?

_____________

I made a veggie lasagna this evening. It is good for the heart and for the things that ache. Love in comfort, and in sticking one's foot in one's mouth. Always.

Be good to one another, and be good to yourself.