Grace and Strength

 
Grace and Strength

The rogues and rascals rise and rule.
Some cheer—as others weep.
Some say, “It's always been this way.”
Some search for reasons deep,
And others say that might is right—
And so enjoy their sleep.

We watch the scenes, on TV screens, 
Of horrors far away,
And wonder when these things will end—
And lo—it’s break of day—
But not the dawn of hope that brings
The peace for which we pray.

And here, and where I first saw light,
The time for polls is close.
Some lead the others by a mile
And others by a nose.
But whom to choose, among the rogues,
Is something no one knows,

Who’s taken time to see, to read—
To delve a little deep.
The more we learn, the worse we feel,
The more we’d like to weep!
But never fear—and persevere—
Until the final sleep!

For every three steps forwards, there
Are two steps back again.
And so we struggle now, as did
The ones who struggled when
The generations past had fought 
Their battles—but in Zen—

For when we lose that inner sight,
We also lose our way,
And so are led where rascals lead 
Us—more and more astray.
Inhale, exhale, and smile to greet—
The grace and strength of day.

2024 March 27th, Wed.
Berkeley, California 

When Insight Is Not in Sight

When Insight Is Not in Sight

When old ambitions all are shed and newer ones not grown,
We then are naked and exposed, with each pretension known.
And then, in painful clarity, we might perceive the ground
In which we each are rooted, till we cease to be around.

We still can savor pleasures and our satisfactions small,
Enduring pains and those frustrations that afflict us all.
Our sorrows bring humility and also give us depth,
And so, to these, as to our joys, we all remain in debt.

With all the past departed and the future yet to come,
This moment of experience and of action is the sum
Of all that we can live in—or can alter just a bit.
So even for ambition, the realm must be it.

The air that’s breathed is taken in and then it is released,
And all in a continuous stream, whose flow has never ceased,
Except when we have held the breath—and only for a while.
Let’s dwell within this stream—whose flow is cause enough to smile.

The old has died, the new is born—and yet it is the same.
The revolutions come and go, with never ending blame.
The empires rise, the empires fall, the spills are red and bright,
And then they clot and darken.  Day returns at end to night.

So should we hope for dawn or wait for dusk, forgetting this—
That deep within despair there dwells the silence that is bliss?
There is yin within the yang and there is yang within the yin,
And blessed grace is present in the savage heart of sin.

High upon the mountaintop or down along the beach,
The center of the universe is there beside us each.
It flutters by the butterfly, it wallows with the whale.
It dances in the ocean waves, it howls amidst the gale.

In the well within the galaxy, we find ourselves again,
And even in inversion, encounter pleasure-pain.
“So is there right and wrong?” we ask, “And is there truth and sense?”
As meaning is unwoven and then threaded back as tense.

Let’s shake our heads to clear them and then jointly mouth a mantra.
It doesn’t matter if it’s from the rishis or the tantra.
Let’s end with aoung and amen and a shantih that is triple,
Or mouth “Shalom, salaam.” and ask the goddess for her nipple.

2018 July 17th, Tue.
Brooklyn, New York