No guru, no church, no dependency.
Beyond the farmyard the wind in the trees.
The fool by the signless signpost
Stands pointing out the way.
Here on the mountain where the path stops
You go on into the snow alone.
Hell’s gate is open and Heaven shimmers in the mirage.
The Great Sky is totally devoid of cloud.
Only as nobody can I make the start
walking the street, merely the street's images
Only as nobody can I respond
to the face suddenly before me
Only as nobody am I free
from the chains that forge me
Only as nobody can I reach the bottom
of the sea without ropes
Only as nobody do I die happy.
Only as nobody can I truly live
with you – and you – and you.
The man in the park
stabbing bits of paper
with a pointed stick
on behalf of the UDC
has the freedom
I would like to spend my day among waste papers.
my own bilge
he doesn't know
somebody is grateful
Tapping on a fence post with a hillside stone –
suddenly she came
sunbeam through cloud.
Look about you now
maybe you'll catch a glimpse
flitting behind grey rocks
or among the grouse chuckling in the heather.
Never far away about she roams.
Listen and she'll come to you
catch her silhouette upon the crest.
Sleeping in the heather
she caresses your cheek with flying mist.
The old Welsh certainly knew her name,
no one hereabouts can say it anymore.
Tap tap, stone on wood,
accidentally discovering the secret sign,
knocking on the door of the old king's cave.
Wordless presences, manifestations
Soft summer sounds and sparrow chirp
murmuration of a voice and fleeting cloud,
unfathomed blue, space upon distant space,
so moves the afternoon apace.
Insistent tapping, harsh metallic sound
reverberates, the world’s at work,
siesta past, the silence cleaved
the birches are yet barely leaved.
Let silence be the way and no digression
stir the mind from higher sleeps –
contemplate upon the bracken slope
whether it’s death, whether it’s hope.
The silent room interweaves
creative light with solitude of sky
immeasurable, not understood at all
I sit and beat upon a wall.
But is it hope or desolation’s end
that waits when passage past is done?
The wake astern my craft is streaked with sodden straws.
Do I weep or laugh?
Pausing at the front door
turning back into the garden
for another look
in the gaze of the moon.
beyond silhouetted twigs
grandly she rises.
Black light empowers
the onset of frost
fading sunlight filtering
a line of dark oaks.
The Old lady climbs above bleak hills
presence of place
meeting on limestone nights.
From the beginning
there is nothing to be sought. Already within
is the complete solution.
There is no sense in travelling.
No sense in seeking to get
from a learned teacher
the wisdom you already possess.
No sense in austerity
sifting and searching
for another’s insights.
No sense in adopting ceremonies,
doing good just to feel good
trying to reach a destination hidden in the heart.
No sense in walking
to reach a goal that isn’t there.
No sense in thinking
to solve a problem that doesn’t exist in thought.
All you have to do
This minute is to stop –
turn the mind upon itself.
Draw your sense within
Turn yourself inside out:
Gazing into the lake of awareness
Let what is there emerge from its lair.
Let what is there
invade your breathing.
Let what is there
pulsate in your heart.
Let what is there
warm your loins, spin in your skull.
What is this anguish of seeking in the future
that which is already lying in the palms of your hands?
Right now – you have it. Hold it close.
Look directly behind your own face.
Grasping the monster firm let him be
or he’ll ride you out again along the paths of time.
And let it all go!
Gone gone altogether gone!
See within the Universe ringing in your ears.
Time and space
are simply the ring
through which the Tiger