profound experience |
wind of suchness the wind of suchness, lifting its eye turning to the faintness which to us is the noise the seed is not mysterious but grows under grand design which has no creator make this frenzy blow away let this wind find in me another home where i no longer clutch at petty mercies but reach rather for tremendous heights the wind of suchness blows just beyond reach and tempers the ignorant and savage towards its transcendence of any idea at all a tear drops in the midst of a sad song a reminder that all is lost by never having been let the lostness drown us in sad beauty even as the wind blows it away something sails into the bright and brilliant alone into the light, clear and powerful beyond healing and harm only spoken of by the brave but not described even by them nothing can describe the sweet breeze of our shared experience the wind we feel on our face how could a handful of words ever tell the eventless history of the blowing light which penetrates all there never was anyone or anything the wind of suchness dries the skin cooling and warming at the same time blending itself through folds of experience imagined through the pretended vigor and saintly artifice we portray always there rife with meaning pregnant with actuality filling us inside and scattering our world about without nothing can symbolize what is the perfect flash of the real perpetually unfolds dividing us from clutching as we perceive separating us from the ignorance of knowing too much it does not care it is not indifferent know what is bring it to the inward gaze and flow it back out touching itself beyond itself let this flash uncreate you ever again step back into it borrow skin and bones away into futures that need no name the wind is a web suchness is a light taking itself back it fulfills the deep longing buried forever ignored, but always at hand the simple clean wish to be free of ourselves the heartbreaking and understandable desire to drift away into goodness to slip off into brilliant wisdom to step away from the ancient, ceaseless round of meaningless recurrence to open past the idea of opening to wash through and beyond like a river mouthing on the ocean its tide an objectless symphony where silence is profound music where one note may sound in a thousand years painful to hear the queen of desire has arisen from nowhere something with no face form or name springs full blown pushing aside our imagined being by seeing it was never there all earth is seen as a burning circle splendid in understated glory in mask of finite details in its backward symbol reminding us that nothing is there in evanescent flow which we mistake for solid stone the wind is no stranger to malice malice is but the hard and mistaken edge of the wind the wind is no stranger to desperation desperation is just the sound it makes as it tears through the trees the wind is no stranger to dumbness dumbness is but the thought that the wind is real tiny rainbows form a strange star folding back into itself like the currents of a river behind the paddle of a canoe secret messages leap from the yearning being writing themselves in the sky under the brave tutelage of no mind may each of us discover ourselves under the glare and seeming dementia of profound wisdom may the wind of suchness tear our clinging away like flesh from bone in a sandstorm the deeper the pain the sweeter the release the harder the blowing sand the cleaner the bone left behind and if it blows hard enough even the bones are taken away bit by bit leaving us no more illusions to clutch at no more lies to hide behind could we ask a greater favor than to be destroyed beyond illusion’s grip could we ask greater mercy than to suffer so deeply that it makes us free suffering embraced without regret or resentment is the ground of fertile power it instructs us that we direct ourselves wrong moving ever and always to small, measurable joys our joy and happiness bewilder as they spin into pain which is their seeming contrast but their true defining measure pain equals joy for one has no meaning without the other our pain is a messenger telling us that we are nothing at all and by being so far more than we ever imagined the wind blows its message which no one can know which each must hear for themselves what is your message this wind wants to speak to you it is always speaking to you why do we turn away as we open a door or dress ourselves feed our children; take a walk there in each act suchness pervades suchness has slipped in like a draft in an old building it leaks all over and everywhere coming through any movement its message abundant overflowing the myriad tiny gestures of body and mind wrapped around each word is the profound truth so present so always so everywhere that the only way we can hold ourselves intact is ignorance at all costs this will never make us happy this will never make us free ignorance is not bliss it is poison it is against what is we could dispel it with one courageous smile cease knocking against the wall of lies never return if we dared by talking and acting and thinking ourselves away from suchness we have placed ourselves in a puddle pinched away our promise and promised ourselves only pain like filling saltwater into a balloon and naming it the ocean we accept smallness which is not who we are we subscribe to believing we are beggars but that is wrong we are kings we have delivered ourselves from glory this deliberate unknowing makes all things backward to themselves like a clown giving a sermon or a wet rock in the desert the point cannot be proved now the wind of suchness seems to be the background of all experience if we look and hope and yearn but if we continue looking something in our stare will sunder angels from their mission if we continue deepening the wind will sweep and rage through us so powerful that we will be forced to hide it couching it back out of kindness releasing it in measured doses we should know we are just a gate or a lens for focusing the uncreated power of the empty storm turning our mind towards the great face of suchness again and again soon the wind will stream from our eyes and fingertips and heart and mouth and our pores the wind will rip out through the tidy world blowing it to brilliant chaos teaching us and all the unbewildered certainty of no fixed idea of setting the air on fire with quiet presence just by sitting just by seeing what is |