Behold and See
Wondrous! Wondrous! Wondrous!
Homage to the Lord.
Tathagata, who knows all,
Tathagata, in an eagle's flight....
Boudha. A
place like Mewlana's slaughterhouse,
graced with forgotten whirls of ancient ragas. Its sattvic invitation attracts the purification of blood and flesh.
The human race of consequential strategies, traveling through the ganges of life – I have smelled it here.
Feeling it in
the bones, the shimmering of the pure, experiencing the flux, out of circumambulations, like ebb and flow, we go -- round and
round, hopping like sparrows in between, round and round again, we go on, while
getting by, we go on. And Now!
Of our hunger,
here we are,with contempt
towards the food,having forgotten
how to eat,stumbling over one anotherin an illusion of queues!
(we) Unlike
Ananda-- who drove into an equipoise while narrating how Buddha stood in the
lap of chaos to beg, like a deep rooted tree wearing robes as bark. The
illumination remains, Buddha still begging, but the great Ananda, who repeated
the very beauty of the chaos which Buddha tendered, is forgotten. Every
movement of Buddha's body was framed in the gallery of Ananda's mind--
concealed and honorary in its gracious beauty. Some eyes still hold the baton
of those galleries-- galleries unseen and unheard but which resemble every
corridors of mind. Eyes empty like those of Ananda, whose cup only receives the
sun of the illumined panorama. Panorama: the epithet of Avalokiteshwara.
Meanwhile, shunyata is in a rendezvous with karman. Mysteriously enough, we are in
both of their cups.
The grammar of history tells us that it combines the
three practices of communion, the heart with its prajna, the pineal offered to the lotus where the mud around its stem
remains “pure mud.” This moment is to be dedicated to contemplate those
constellations of wisdom.
Dharma beholding rtú, the seasons,
are the union with this flux-- The Vairocanalinga.
Watch it happening!
Contemplate the “progress of
shunyata.”
Chokyi Nyima Rinpoche, a forerunner of
inspiration, has made a garden in Boudha for the wish fulfilling tree to
manifest in our realm. Out of his unfathomable compassion he points at our
karma's tiredness and instructs us to follow the translations of our very life
itself. We missed it then, still are missing, and the very point of our
celebration is being delayed. But our prana
is tender and allows us to forget in its hidden mist of transmissions. At
the hilltop even the bourgeois fog passes. It is still difficult to put anything
regarding Rinpoche's motivation into words, and in our very attempt with words
we make hopeless desires of their inertness. Departing from dvaita, the duality inherent to intellect, we arrive to the advaita. Still, beyond words the dvaita lingers. Once this duality
resides, compassion is poured into the stream of consciousness and we see the
gate of Maha Yana... Open!
Compassion, the purification-- Bodhisattvas’ only
desire.
Bodhisattvas, the jewels
of Maha Yana,
once seen on sravasti roads
where the wind stayed
calm,
listening to their
chariot wheels
roar like thunder!
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