wind of suchness (poem)

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