A Poem


Everything is uncaused; yet nothing exists without reason.
And to be unseemly is never allowed by the formalities;
So each keeps to what is possible — 
Even if the current perspective on events make it seem that it is not so.

A flower emerges when the choicest moment arrives.
But just when that is, the timekeeper can never say;
Especially when arising from cracks in the pavement — 
Such an unlikely place to be, and yet, it be’s just so.

Note the spontaneous in-activity and how the curtain rises.
Backstage isn’t where the action is, and no actors ever entered the house;
The curtain is a liminal horizon where the formalities are set
For all the forms that are to be — nothing doing and noticing it’s so.

Those who think they know, know not.
But are filled with magical inventions of evanescent soda-pops;
Frail links in their chains of becauses attached to some unseen — 
For not all becauses connect the dots; some just disappear the distance between.

But for those who think they know, there is no need to search out the unseen.
Hail Mary’s rule their roost, a blindness conjured by the furious popping;
Giving names to nothing, when there is nothing to name — 
Assured that a name is needed; confusing haughty titles for formal redress.

It’s all a simple tune, which minds away at play.
Noticing it is so being the only goal, while the tune hums along alone;
Solivagant in the field of all there can be — 
Being being only a show; a formal dance, and so it is so: all reasonable incausality.

ཨེ་མ་ཧོ། ཕན་ནོ་ཕན་ནོ་སྭཱཧཱ།
Share this post