Heads up pride
Earth down humble
Not bought by money and fame
To you, ever eternal Guru Rinpoche
I give my fickle heart
And sing: Diamonds.
HOT CHEMISTRYView Post
A SONG OF LONGING TO THE GURUView Post
ROSE GARDENView Post
We began by viewing each other as enemies and ended up holding hands—a young college student and a broken soldier holding hands together in the brightness of early winter. I give his story to you now because it’s all I can do to relieve the heavy tenderness I still feel for him to this day.
Uncover your true self, why are you so disheartened? Even this endless time is looking, for your essence! Chains of perceptions, preconceived ideas, that have bounded you as garments. Melt and make them swords. You are unshakable as a mountain. Vast as a sky. Still, why you are in such a state? All this time you clung to ideas, fears, worry. Made them anchor, attached to belief of others. Saw yourself from their eyes, wanting them to like you.
Article about the painter Yayoi Kusama: Each part of the cosmos is reflective of the whole, like the sparkling jewels in Indra’s Net, our capacity to experience this infinitude eventually becomes exceedingly clear and unhindered. Connecting the dots, from Indra’s Net to the Infinity Nets, the fabric of the universe can be perceived and experienced as one and the same.
My teacher, Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche, a Tibetan Buddhist Mahamudra, Dzogchen meditation master and artist, was the most profound teacher of life, art, and mind. I received pointing out instructions from him which brings the investigation and recognition of mind’s flawless nature into personal experience cutting through conceptual obscurations, that is our endless, dualistic thoughts and emotions. My abstract contemplative art practice is completely informed by these realizations.
ABIDE AND MOVEView Post
MILAREPA: SONG OF MEETING AND PARTINGView Post
As fuming smoke whirls around their faces, it takes on the flickering shapes of a myriad of demons who brush against them leaving slimy traces of spit and mucus. Black demons with crows’ heads, human bodies and iron wings fly nearby past, carrying naked writhing corpses in their iron beaks. Phosphorescent green owls with the faces of old women and talons of bronze hoot as they rip brains out of skulls. Vultures red as embers with bloody claws at the end of their muscular human arms pull the entrails from screaming people not yet dead.
LOOK OUT FOR HIDDEN TREASURESView Post
Most of it is forever now, an emptying, recovering, trust to be…
I arrived in this ancient venture I’ve no where to go but to where I am already.
They call it crazy and they are… You don’t have other place to be
but here, to complete.
FORGOTTEN OCEANView Post
THE THREE YANASView Post
This poem is written by the contemporary Tibetan poet Sangdor and is part of a forthcoming book of his poetry in English translation. Sangdor was born in the Lake Regions of Amdo and recognized as a highly revered reincarnated master. However, in his 20’s announced that he was not actually this master nor was he a monk any longer and thereby returned his robes.
SYLVAN DROPSView Post
As my meditations and contemplations deepened, I noticed a shift in my writing. I began to experience what felt like direct transmissions from the Source. Wisdom, uncluttered and unfiltered by my ego, began pouring out of me and onto the page. I imagine that all Gnostics or mystics throughout time have written from these deep meditative states.
Better to buy a book than to buy weed! Sit, and do your meditation. Go, go, to the cemetery, practice there!’ So I did, for many, many years, night and day. Even though I was diagnosed with bi-polar disorder aged twenty-five after many hospital admissions, only my practice kept me well. My faith grew exponentially as a result of this. Even though people mocked me, laughed at me and called me a madman, I continued practicing.
I am facing the loss of an old friend and she is, by turns, weak and failing and then blooming with renewed energy. The spark in her eyes returned as bright as ever. The ebb and flow so remarkable and yet so sudden as to question my role in this play. Who am I to decide when pain and suffering is too much to bear?