Prescription / Come sit with me / But still be gentle on yourself

.
Prescription / Come Sit with Me / But still be gentle on yourself
.
You say that you are troubled, weary—worn 
By all that you have borne and others bear.
You seek advice—and yet I fumble, since
I too am often lost in grief and fear.
.
But come and sit beside me. I am old
And yet no wiser now than in my youth.
So what can I prescribe that would suffice
To cure your ailments in a world in which
So much is broken and has gone amiss?
.
******
.
Impatience is a marker of our times,
Yet patience is what's often needed most.
Attention that is deep and is sustained
Can see beneath the surface and divine
The truths that words alone cannot express—
And so can serve to heal our sundry plagues.
.
Beware of lords and kings and autocrats
And those who always need to puff themselves.
Embrace the truly humble. Seek them out.
Appoint such men and women to the roles
Most critical, including in the home,
If possible, or else where needed most.
.
******
.
The self impedes, where duty beckons most.
So try to leave the self and all its weight 
Behind. Attend to work at hand. Rejoice
When you have found a chance to be of use.
.
But still be gentle on yourself. You are
As much in need of love and caring now
As when you were an infant. So it is
With all of us, however tough we seem.
.
So leave a little time for care for self,
So you can care for others with a will.
.
******
.
Value virtues old and tested, true—
Like patience, kindness, tact, and diligence.
The human world is built on care and love.
No infant would survive, no child would learn
Without at least a being who had cared.
.
Beware of “high and low”. Eschew the pomp
That so pollutes the public offices.
.
Along with virtues, vices still abound.
So greeds and lusts compound our negligence,
As apathy and hatred vie with these
To quell the conscience, breeding cruelties.
.
******
.
Be clear of sight—and sound of head and heart.
Amid the clamor, labor quietly.
Remember, work delivers its reward
In satisfaction, not in praise or cash.
.
Be grateful for the things that you receive,
However small, and count each blessing twice.
Forgive the ones who’ve hurt you. Mind them not,
For they distract you from the kinder acts
Of others. Try to pay your daily dues,
And sleep contented. Be at peace within.
.
What more is there to say? I trust you know,
Within yourself, what’s true and what is false.
Be open-hearted, minded. Listen, see.
Be undeterred by human frailties,
Remain at peace and persevere.
May all the buddhas guide you through your days.
.
******
. 
I’m done. So come, let’s walk a little while
And even here, amidst the rubble, smile,
As does that orphan, there, who limps and plays,
With memories of those who’ve left—and grief,
And hope remaining still, for brighter days
That may not ever come, except in dreams,
In which he still can hear his siblings’ screams.
.
2025 August 29, Fri.
Berkeley, California
.

The Salts of the Earth

  
The Salts of the Earth
 
The oceans, they are one, we know,
Though known by various names.
And when their currents meet, they mix 
And mingle over time.
 
But one may sink, the other rise,
Or travel side by side
For quite a while. Their colors,  shades
May vary widely, while
Reflecting, each, its history 
And so its current state—
Its temperature, its density, 
And all it carries. So,
Our races and our cultures—these 
Are varied, yet are one—
And so is all of sentience,
In all its forms diverse.
 
This summarizes all I know—
So here I'll end this verse.
 
2024 April 25th, Thu.
Berkeley, California
.

Be Open

 

Be Open

We’re driven not by reason but

By instincts and by feelings, yet

Our reason helps us on our way

And guards us from the snare and net.

And how can instincts, feelings work

When hearts have hardened or are dead,

And eyes and ears are closed to all

Except the comfort-views we're fed?

******

And how can caring, justice thrive

When hatred makes us deaf and blind,

Ignoring pleas, believing lies,

And shutting down the heart and mind?

Question, question what you know,

And turn away from comfort-news.

Resist the laziness of mind.

Be open, yes, to facts and views.

******

Beware the call, resist the urge

To demonize or deify—

To make supreme a god, a race,

A culture or to glorify

A nation or a class, or lift 

On high religion, custom, creed, 

A system of economy,

Or justify the wars of greed.

******

Do recognize what evil is.

Resist the call to turn to hate,

To cast the others down, despise,

Subdue, oppress, exterminate.

No god needs help from humans and

No creed needs other views suppressed,

Except the god or creed that fears

What might, by humans, be expressed.

******

We tend to worship those “above”

And spit upon the ones “below”.

Beware the virus that infects 

And leads to thoughts of “high” and “low”.

Beware of leaders! Be not led

Except by sanity of head

And purity of heart. Be open.

Live, until you're truly dead.

2024 March 14th, Thu.

Berkeley, California

Freedom-2022-05-05

Freedom
 
Freedom is a vital thing
That’s dear to young and old.
Freedom is a precious thing
That can’t be bought or sold.
Yet freedom can be snatched away—
Or taken bit by bit.
When freedom’s lost or threatened, then
It’s time for actions bold.
 
There’s servitude, to those who wield
The whip, the rod, the gun;
Indenture, too—to those with snares
And webs of debt they’ve spun—
And labor, for the wage that’s earned
On terms befitting serfs.
And then there is dependence on
The beneficent one.
 
These all are forms of slavery.
To varying degrees,
We each are captives, happenstance,
Or humbled, on our knees,
To those adept at trickery
Or playing on our fears.
Arise, arise—to liberty,
So tyrannies may cease!
 
The tyranny of masters, be
They private or the states;
The tyranny of lenders, who
Extract usurious rates;
The tyranny of doctrines,
Administered by “priests”—
It matters not. Beware of those
Who “own” the others’ fates.
 

If Fortune gives you fortune, friend,
Or if you're fortune's earned—
Do use it humbly, kindly—
So your fortune then is turned
To that of others. If instead
Your fate is that of labor,
Then give, to others, service that
Will surely not be spurned.
 

The “owners” and the “workers”: both

Have rights—and both have faults.
Be fair, be just, in what you do—
With service—as with vaults.
Open up your eyes and heart.
Be wary—yet be kind.
Be neither slave nor master. Taste
Of freedom’s vital salts.
 
But wait! Beware, my patient friend,
Of those who say they act
In freedom’s name—and boast of this,
When what they do, in fact,
Is in pursuit of power, wealth—
But cloaked in freedom's garb.
Do not be fooled by merchants. Keep
Your soul—and sense—intact.
 
2022, May 5^th, Thu.
Brooklyn, New York
 

Peace / A Buddha of Our Times

Peace / A Buddha of Our Times

I say, “the soul” but mean “the mind”.
Perhaps I am confused.
My soul (or mind) had lost its peace
From being much abused.

And who abused it? Could it be
Itself that should be blamed—
Or circumstance—or others, who
Had better stay unnamed?

If I had found the answer,
It could well have been a lie.
The scab was made for healing, not
For picking for the “why?”

I cannot claim I healed myself
Or found the peace within.
And yet I did find solace, though
This world is steeped in sin.

And what I found, I’ll summarize
By saying only this:
By stepping out of madness, one
May find a bit of bliss.

There’s body-mind and then perhaps
The soul—or is this mind?
I do not know. In everything,
I know we should be kind.

But life may often be unkind.
It’s rarely only fun.
We get our depth from suffering—
Unless it’s overdone.

Too often, we encounter pain
And grief we can’t endure.
And then we seek and hope for that
Which might enact a cure.

And if this comes, we then are blessed.
But though we hope and pray,
There may be times when night prevails,
Without the hope of day.

Amidst the pain and misery,
When hope itself is gone,
We ask ourselves what lies ahead
And why we’re going on.

What answer can we give ourselves
Or those who are in need,
Except that life is precious, so
We walk where it may lead.

We live and so we taste of joy
And equally of grief.
So pain and pleasure come and go,
And worry and relief.

And when it’s time to leave behind
This life and those we love,
We cast our eyes towards the earth
Or the sky that waits above.

From earth and air and water, we
Were born—and when we leave,
To these again we all return,
Whatever we believe.

But that’s the body. Does the soul
Endure—or does it die?
I do not know, and those who say
They do—perhaps they lie.

We came with nothing, never knowing
The reason why we came.
We go with nothing, still not knowing
The reason for this game.

So each of us is humbled, in
That death as in this life.
And all that each can hope for is
The peace that ends the strife—

For conflict, in the world we see
And in the world within,
Is at the root of misery
And much of human sin.

And when that conflict ceases (if
At least within the soul),
We savor then that peace that heals
And makes our beings whole.

The Buddhas say, “Let go, let go—
Of fear and of desire.
Then see their waves—that rise, subside…
Be freed, by this, from fire.”

We cling and so we suffer. Yet
We cannot cling to that
Which is by nature passing. Do
We see that that is that?

I wish upon you happiness—
A long and happy life.
But more than that, I wish that peace.
May free your soul from strife.

There’s body-mind and then perhaps—
That soul. I do not know.
Be kind to others. Be at peace
Within—by letting go.

And who am I to give advice?
A Buddha of our times?
If only it were so. Alas!
I’m only good at rhymes.

2018 November 25th, Sun.
Brooklyn, New York

Wisdom-II

Wisdom-II 

When I was young, l always yearned
For knowledge.  Now I understand
That knowledge, needed though it is,
Needs wisdom as its guiding hand.

Around us, we can plainly see
That knowledge is a needed tool.
And yet, what use is knowledge when
It’s used in service to a fool?

And even if our bosses had
The knowledge that they often lack,
Without the needed wisdom, they
Can act in ways that set us back.

If wealth and power are the aims
Of those who buy the knowledge needed,
Then wars and famines are their games,
As those who’re dying go unheeded.

Our primal goals are always set
By instincts and by feelings, so
Our knowledge and our logic then
Can merely tell us how to go.

But where and why?  Such questions need
Some wisdom and humility.
If hubris and expedience reign,
The harvest is futility.

There is a wisdom of the heart—
An organ that is in the mind—
That balances what’s in the head
And steers us towards being kind.

Is wisdom knowledge in gestalt?
That could be so.  It cannot be
Divided into parts, no more
Than that which tethers you to me.

There are more things, as Shakespeare wrote,
Than in our neat philosophies.
The mess that can’t be analyzed
Is life itself, not just disease.

Get rid of it, and life will end.
Analysis has a rightful place,
But when we love, we do not wait
To analyze the heart or face.

There is a balance that is sensed
Between our logic and our heart.
And that’s a thing that can’t be taught
As science.  It’s a deeper art.

To err is being.  Our ideal
Might be a thing that does not err.
But such a thing cannot create.
And that’s a theorem I infer.

2018 July 19th, Thu.
Brooklyn, New York
------------------------------------------
 
Related:
https://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2018/04/for-me-and-you.html

https://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2015/11/ignorance.html

The Darkness of Noon

The Darkness of Noon

Bow to the ones who are rich, my friends!
Kneel for the ones who have goons on call.
These are the gods of our times, my friends.
Toil at the feet of our Pharaohs tall.

The human race is a servile one,
For those who had pride are dead and gone,
Except for the ones who have clearly won.
They straddle the land that we are on.

******

Gone are the ones who had striven and died.
Lost are the causes for which they fought.
Rich are the ones who had stolen and lied.
Poor are the sons of the men who rot.

The mothers had wailed and the daughters had wept,
But who can remember the reason they did?
The truths are forgotten, the falsehoods are left.
The darkness has gathered, the moon has been hid.

******

When will the clouds and the dark be dispersed?
Where is the courage and where is the truth?
Where is the learning with which we were versed?
When will the trodden be rid of the boot?

The ones who are workers can gather and rise,
And bring down the ones who have risen on high,
But first they should strive to be wary and wise,
To sift what is left of the truth from the lie.

******

Strive then, oh worker, to question and learn!
Learn to distinguish the fine from the dross.
Then you will see that your sense will return.
Then there’s a chance you’ll recover your loss.

You never will bow then to those who are rich.
Your knee will not bend for the lord or his goon.
The humble will smile, as you know which is which.
The Pharaohs will see then the darkness of noon.

2018 May 19th, Sat.
Brooklyn, New York
 

Futility-II

Futility-II

When sense and nonsense are so intermixed
That their untangling isn't worth our while,
We either then can make yet more of knots,
Or else can shake our heads and sadly smile.

So wisdom here resides in prudence, yet,
Too often, we attempt such tasks in vain—
For being mortals, we in time forget
And so repeat our errors once again.

And so it is with much that dogs our days,
As lessons we should earlier have learned
Appear to us as new, and so we make
The same mistakes and yet again are burned.

So some are not content with peace and try
To then procure such things as lead to war.
And those of wisdom and of heart may cry
Out loud—but cannot change how humans are.

Futility!  We meet you, by and by,
No matter what our gifts or fortunes be.
And some may meet you early, others late,
But you are always there, for those who see.

******

And yet, too easily, your children turn
To refuge in your bosom, spurning those
Who seek redress or cure for all the things
That need addressing in this world of woes.

They might have found, instead of you, that Hope
Or Faith or Courage that have given birth
To all endeavors that had sought for light
Amidst the darkness of afflicted Earth.

And let us pray that there's a balance still
Between that prudence that might save our lives
And that rebellion that is needed when
We find ourselves constrained in manmade hives.

You are the earth to which we all descend—
The dust that fills the mouths of those who die
As they are felled in battlefields or beds.
And yet, I draw my breath and say, “You lie.”

2017 November 26th, Sun.
Brooklyn, New York
  

Not Made for Me and You

Not Made for Me and You  
 

Did King Philip's Class Order Five Giant Spiders?
Taxonomy of Ursus americanus
https://www.pinterest.com/sarahrenee1067/science/

We have left the wells of wisdom.
We have thirsted long instead.
Let us quench the fires of madness—
be free of greed and dread.
 
******
  
There are places in the forests
where we humans haven't been,
who are caught in nets so tangled
or are spiders spinning webs.
  
There are places in the mountains
that have kept their beauty still—
where the mists caress the cedars
and the peaks are kissed by dawn.

There are places on the planet
that are not in Mammon's realm,
though he hungers to possess them—
so his serfs can till and reap.

There are places sans an “owner”
that are sacred to the few
who remember that this planet
wasn't made for me and you.

There are humans, in those places,
who are free of Mammon's yoke.
But their songs are near their endings—
as their bondage now is due.

******

Arise and hear their singing;
relearn the gentler dance.
Let us rid ourselves of Mammon—
be free of him—at last!

The grain he craves is silver—
its value gauged in sweat.
He kills the things of beauty
and steels our hearts to dread.

The beings of this planet
have made this wondrous world.
Together, we can make it
so beauty has a chance.

There's a beauty that's around us;
there's a beauty in the heart.
Let us turn towards that beauty—
let ugliness depart.

How much of woe and sorrow
has Mammon wrought on Earth,
with the “word of God” proclaiming
that this world was made for us?

******

There's a wisdom that's around us;
there's a wisdom in the heart.
Let us drink again of wisdom—
let greed and fear depart.

2017 January 24th, Tue.
Brooklyn, New York  
----------------------------------------------------------------
   

Note: Two sets, of eight images each, follow below.

Stream in a tropical forest
http://assets.climatecentral.org/images/made/12_31_14_Bobby_TropicalForestStream_720_492_s_c1_c_c.jpg

Morning fog in dense tropical forest
http://www.loe.org/content/2013-10-25/25-bigstock-morning-fog-in-dense-tropical--27061052.jpg

Kanchenjuga at dawn, eastern Himalaya
https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5010/5370734563_5c4069d4e2_b.jpg

Boreal forest, Alberta, Canada.
Source: http://hikingwithbarry.com
https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/20140714113743-51802806-why-the-boreal-forest-peatlands-may-soon-be-earth-s-main-lungs

Named for Boreas, the Greek god of the north wind, the boreal forest is a critically important breeding ground for North American birds. The Albany River (shown here) divides the partially protected northern boreal from the imperiled south. Photo: Per Breiehagen
http://www.audubon.org/magazine/january-february-2009/paper-chase

San Bushman father hugging his children
http://kwekudee-tripdownmemorylane.blogspot.com/2013/06/san-bushmen-people-world-most-ancient.html

The Bushmen Tribe of Tsumkwe
http://kwekudee-tripdownmemorylane.blogspot.com/2013/06/san-bushmen-people-world-most-ancient.html

San woman holding her beautiful baby boy
http://kwekudee-tripdownmemorylane.blogspot.com/2013/06/san-bushmen-people-world-most-ancient.html

******

Halifax Mill Chimneys
https://diamondenv.files.wordpress.com/2015/01/halifaxmillchimneys.jpg

Factories, in what was once woods and farmland
https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrMXwd8Y6f3ubMQFu6dE-LI3ZjKIAza4Xx5qqbqMLE6YBgGNvJHkKf__bJzcS93g7NnFF_buiMgNHiI_RmD6pIKmN7xsfNl5dNX2jvHosUfxiuKXC8E4L6ok9iE83kPGwikwagO2LMvUHU/s1600/William+Blake+Jerusalem+Dark+Satanic+Mills+Poem.png

Horst Faas: Images of Vietnam War
http://justiceghana.com/blog/research/books/horrors-of-war-in-a-long-long-way/

A child clings to his bound father who was rounded up as suspected Viet Cong guerilla
https://image.slidesharecdn.com/vietnamwarbyassociatedpressphotographers-150504154330-conversion-gate02/95/vietnam-war-by-associated-press-photographers-51-638.jpg?cb=1430772430

The Death of an Iraqi soldier, Highway of Death, 1991

In the 1991 Gulf War, American pilots bombed a retreating Iraqi convoy. Most US media declined to publish this photo, taken by Ken Jarecke.  His quote: “If I don’t photograph this, people like my mom will think war is what they see on TV.”

http://rarehistoricalphotos.com/dont-photograph-people-like-mom-will-think-war-see-tv-gulf-war-1991/ 

ISIS Hanging & Burning Alive Four Iraqi Men
https://www.zerocensorship.com/uncensored/isis/hanging-burning-alive-four-iraqi-men-graphic-video-201668

Tibetan mother and child
https://www.pinterest.com/joyclown/i-ll-luv-u-4ever-i-ll-like-u-4-always/

Amerindian mother and child, 1905, Oregon
https://www.pinterest.com/joyclown/i-ll-luv-u-4ever-i-ll-like-u-4-always/

Mother and child, Namibia
https://www.pinterest.com/joyclown/i-ll-luv-u-4ever-i-ll-like-u-4-always/

Limits

Limits

I can try and bear your weaknesses—
your frailties of birth,
the ones that come from circumstance
or the choices that you made.

But I might not bear your meannesses—
your judgments that are harsh,
your prejudice, impatience and
the coldness in your heart.

I will not bear the consequence
of your actions that are rash.
You’ll take your risks and bear the costs,
without my time or cash.

There are limits to my empathy
that you should recognize.
An accomplice, I will never be,
in all your acts unwise.

I'll give of love and not expect
return—except in this:
you will not snare me more with lies
or ignorance that's bliss.

2016 October 30th, Sun.
Brooklyn, New York
  

Ignorance

 
This is dedicated to the memory of my late friend, Dr. Kenneth E. Rich.  I think he would have appreciated some of the things I write about here.

Ken was the antithesis of the person shown in several of the images below.  (Some wiser folk are also depicted.)
 
Could these two--Kenneth Rich and Donald Trump--belong to the same species?  I am sure that questions such as this have arisen in the minds of other beings through the eons.
  
-- Arjun
-----------------------------------------------------------------
  
Ignorance
 
There’s ignorance that comes from circumstance,
and then there’s ignorance from lack of caring or
from shutting out the things we neither know
nor want to know.  The first is curable,
by effort or by change of circumstance.
The other is, it seems, incurable,
unless there is a genuine change of heart.
 
 

Donald Trump, real estate heir and Republican Presidential front-runner, U.S.A., 2015

 
The ills that plague the “nations”—all the wars
they wage against the others or within,
and also all the conflicts in our lives,
arise, in part or totally, from this—
those darknesses which fate may serve to us
or those with which we choose to be content,
while damning all who dare to point towards light.
   
 

 
The senses, heart and mind can lead us each
to liberation or to bondage deep.
Gotama and so many others past had seen,
in quietude, the ills that work within.
And by observing these, they found that all
that rises also crests—and ebbs and fades,
unless we feed it, through our ignorance.
   

 
How easy it can be to fall in sin—
to add yet more and more to endless grief.
How hard it is to turn away from this—
to face the dreaded emptiness and be
aware of all that soils the space within
that only can be cleansed when we release
accumulations gathered through our lives.
 



 
The virtues old remain our virtues still—
compassion, courage, patience, honesty—
and all the vices that we celebrate
are still the vices that can lead to grief.
And chief among these vices still remains
that ignorance that blinds the heart and mind—
for which we even are content to kill.
   

    

Humility, when learned by those that pride
has led astray, can serve to check its reach.
But ignorance and hubris, hand in hand,
breed havoc, as they kiss and copulate.
The times we’re in, like others past, have carved
these two as idols, intertwined, to which
we sacrifice, while shouting foolishness.
   

When tossed upon the storms that roil the sea,
it seems that we are helpless.  Yet we find
that we can still observe our plight and breathe—
releasing, as we breathe, the pain we feel.
And knowing that the ones who wound have lost
that sight, for which we then may pray for them,
we might regain that calm and peace that is.

   

The wise have learned—how little, what they know,
how vast, that ocean dark of ignorance!
So when they find a piece of light, they smile
and hold it up to see, for just a while,
before they let it float upon its way.
The ignorant persist in ignorance,
insisting that the “others” go away.
 

  

To answer noise with noise, and violence
with violence, may seem the only way.
For see—the quiet ones are silent still,
and those who shied from arms are buried deep.
And yet, aggression—that of speech and deed,
and even in defense, can only lead
to more of this—and more of ignorance.
 

 
So let us pause, or slow, amidst the haste.
How many lives were saved by only this?
Defend yourself and others, who cannot
defend themselves—but know, that path can lead
to more and more and even more of grief.
So be aware of what you do, and see—
the one you strike has eyes and heart as you.
 

   
I saw a frog that sat beside a lake.
I looked at him and he looked back at me.
I’d heard him croaking.  Now that frog was mute.
I saw his muscles tense, as if to leap.
And so I froze—and breathing, looked at him.
We stayed there quite a while, that frog and I.
It seemed we talked—of truth and ignorance.
 

Does Wisdom Come With Age?
http://news.discovery.com/animals/videos/why-cant-chimps-speak-video-140919.htm

    
2015 November 29th, Sat.
Skyway dhaba, Bath Avenue
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn
 

Our Greatest Enemies

    
Our Greatest Enemies 

I conferred with a local sage, to whom
I made complaints about the threats we face
from enemies.  But this is what he said.

“At times, our greatest enemies might be
ourselves.  And this is true of beings and
communities, of cities, nation states…

“A family can tear itself apart,
a neighborhood descend towards a hell,
an institution crumble from its weight.

“In civil wars, we murder neighbors, friends.
And our addictions are our lifelong jails,
in which we turn to mutilating selves.
   
“An entity that’s self-destructing can’t
withstand another’s blows that speed its death.
Defense begins with healing, first, ourselves.
 
“Oppression breeds resentments.  These will turn
to rubble every fort that serfdom builds.
So those who’re slavers might in time be slaves.
 
“Be vigilant towards yourself, far more
than towards another—yet be gentle, kind.
Who treats a being poorly must be blind.
 
“Reserve contempt for those whose evil is
unchecked by reason or remorse, but spare
the ones who err—as every being does.
 
“Look not abroad, nor look above for hope.
There’s hope in those around, though well concealed.
Begin with self—and nurture well that plant.

“And also do not judge, while ignorant,
the other tribes or nations.  Let them be.
Take care of what’s amiss, in where you live.”
  
******

I thanked him for his wisdom and I left.
But walking home I wondered why I’d gone
to hear this softie tell me all this shit.

Our enemies were real—Russia, China and Iran,
aligned to trick us and to do us in,
with dolts like Mr. Wise in government.

The current pope was none but Antichrist.
And Mexico was sending us their trash
that joined with Blacks to murder and to rape.

And I had enemies enough—at work,
among the neighbors—even family.
It’s best, I thought, to buy another gun.

*******

Our greatest enemies, I’d say, are those
who make believe we really haven’t any—
except, of course, our own benighted selves.

But those like me will keep their basements stocked
with ammunition, guns and more supplies
we'll need to deal with all our enemies.

They all are jealous of the things we have.
They hate our freedoms and despise our faith.
And that is why we've got to bomb Iran.

We need to exercise our force abroad
Before they get a chance to come at us.
We've nukes enough that we should put to use.

******

We've got to show the world that we are tough
And will protect our global interests,
So they had better never mess with us.

I'm hearing now the tape of his "advice".
The more I hear, the angrier I get.
I'll put the bastard's name and more online.

2015 July 21st Tue & 23rd Thu
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York
---------------------------------------------------
  
Given the times we live in, I should state that the second half of this piece is satire.  Of course, some readers might say that of the first half.

Also, like all poems, this one, despite its imperfections, does need more than one quick reading.  Poems need some amount of reflection—not necessarily agreement, but comprehension and consideration.  I do realize that the times and pressures we live in may not be conducive to that.  
    
To some degree, poetry, like nature, by requiring or inducing this slowing down and reflection, can serve as an antidote to the speeding up we have been experiencing.  
  
This acceleration is a hallmark of commerce, especially of industry, which requires the worker to work at speed to produce maximum profit.  This attitude has been internalized by many of us, and shows itself in the impatience that often marks those who live or work in the cities.  I see this in myself and in those around me at work.
   
This hurry is, I believe, contrary to our own deeper nature and is detrimental to our survival and tranquility.  The mantra "Speed up. Time is money." perhaps needs replacing with "Slow down.  Life needs to be savored.  Attention needs to be paid."  
  
If more of us would follow this alternative, many of the unnecessary problems we face—from conflicts at home and in the workplace to those between nations, might be greatly reduced, along with all the suffering these bring about.  
  
Of course, it is difficult to stop in the midst of a stampede without getting trampled.  But if sufficient numbers slow down around us, beginning, perhaps, with ourselves, we might be able to enjoy a bit of sanity and attend more to the things that really need attending to.  

The lecture ends here.  ;-) You don't have to re-read my stuff.  Thanks for reading till here.  
  
Go in peace.  Shaantih.  Salaam.  Shalom.
        

Maya – Illusion and Attachment

 
Maya – Illusion and Attachment
 
When praise comes by, then know that scorn is next.
When scorn arrives, do not, by that, be vexed.
As winds may blow from east and then from west,
So also, chasing worst, there comes the best.
 
But you could quibble, “No, it isn’t so.
Of woe and sorrow, I have more and more.”
You might be right.  The winds that blow, of chance,
Bring clouds and sun, within the cosmic dance.
 
And those, who’re lucky, they may bask in sun
For quite awhile, with share and more of fun,
While others may be drenched, through years and years,
And shiver as they shed, forlorn, their tears.
 
The Stoics, Buddhists, Jains, they all agree –
From woe undue, by this, we could be free –
On circumstance, put no or little weight –
Let praises go – and scorn, as so much freight.

It’s easier said than done, as all may know.
How many mortals, such forbearance show,
Both outwardly and also deep within,
When beaten down with woe and human sin?
 
How many more have puffed themselves with pride
And on achievements or on praises ride...
And when their small balloons, perchance, are burst,
How much, for what they’ve lost, they strive and thirst…
 
“Observe,” it’s said, “the world – without, within.
Observe the pleasure and the pain you’re in.
See fear arise – and anger, greed and lust,
And see these then subside, as all things must.
 
“Observe the breath, and let it gently flow.
As you exhale, so let your worries go –
Your fears and cravings are like ripples.  They
Will dance across the pond and fade away.”
 
And all of this is well and good.  And yet,
When caught in tempests strong – or in the net,
We struggle, struggle, even when we’re free,
For on this freedom we might not agree.
  
We cling to pleasure and we cling to pain.
And from this clinging, these arise again.
We crave the pleasure but we fear its loss.
We fear the pain – and in our angst, we toss.
 
The ones we love – and all we might have built,
We’ll leave them all – with peace of mind or guilt.
And some may leave before or after.  Naught
Remains – and yet we're still, in dreamings, caught.
 
There’s woe of circumstance and then there’s woe
That we create or worsen.  “Let that go.”
Is what the seers, in their wisdom, said.
Enough!  Let’s practice, now, the things we've read.
 
For one could write and write, and one could read –
But mount again upon the usual steed.
To practice what I teach, I now should knuckle
Down to do, and at my preaching chuckle.
 
Upon our mortal paths, we each must go,
But none of us is here alone in woe.
Compassion is a thing that all might feel –
But truly learn, when caught beneath the wheel.
 
2014  November 29th, Sat.
Brooklyn, New York
   

Reflections -- II

          
Reflections – II
    
There is a current deep that we can sense.
We cannot speak about it with our words.
But with that current, we can mutely flow –
Or lose our sense of it and loudly splash.

The one surrendering to the water feels
That fluid lift her surely up again.
But he, who seeks to raise himself above
The surface, finds his struggle is in vain.

We all have fights we cannot, should not shirk,
Unless we choose to still our consciences.
And each of us must fend for selves and those
Who may depend on us to live and breathe.

But there are conflicts which we make ourselves
And which we then inflict on others ‘round.
Ambition, pride, our selfishness and greed,
Our misperceptions – make this turbulence.

So let us yield our petty jealousies,
Our envies, our ambitions small and great.
And let us breathe, resolve to do what’s right
And turn, from darkness, gently back towards light.
  
Our sight is clouded and our hearing dulled.
We cannot feel, with skin or heart – or think.
Our reason and our wisdom, we have lost.
And why is it that we have lost these things?

The demons that afflict this world abound.
They prey on us and so we do not see.
Our child is ailing or our mother's ill,
But we are sightless or are deafened still.

What form of madness may afflict us each,
We only know for sure when it has passed,
And some of us may never know or care.
So drunkards do their damage – and forget.

There’s fear that drives us into little hells.
We wonder how we can escape from this.
We feel we cannot change the world ourselves.
Yet each can breathe – and then can gently try.

There’s much that three can do that one cannot.
But there’s a concord needed, so that three
May find that common purpose. This can be,
When each is open and is listening.

A trust betrayed can rarely be regained.
And so, we should be careful in our deeds.
For how can there be confluence, when distrust
Has built the barriers needed for defense?

A vessel, filled with water, makes, when thumped,
A softer sound than one that’s partly full.
And much of noise and violence abates,
When all have drunk enough to fill their souls.

And here, we’re speaking, not of alcohol
And other things that have their merits yet
Have also faults that plague imbibers, but
Of essence – joy and deepest suffering.

But when we’re emptied by an ebbing tide,
Then thoughts arise, like sounds within our head,
And we attempt to fill ourselves again,
With silent essence – or with nonsense loud.

So all the verses that I write arise
From discontent and from that loneliness,
To which our disconnection leads our selves,
Those fictions that can gain in strength from strife.

What’s self, what’s not, is fixed by such a line
As is imagined, yet does not exist.
It dissipates to porous nothingness,
Whenever we examine it up close.

We’re made of this and that, in interflows.
And our perception, of ourselves and things
As separate from all around and what
Was there before or will be there, is false.

But who, except the sainted, yields the self,
That last illusion, stronger than the rest,
Whose shattering or dissolution comes
As pain or joy, as torture or relief?

So beings such as you and I arise
As do the nations – and we struggle, fight
When self is threatened, fortifying self –
And so are doomed to our imprisonments.

The humbled, stripped of wisdom too, may seek
To gain their stature back and then take pride
In stupid things – and so are fooled again.
Within an emperor?  A troubled child.

How often have the tantrums of the "great"
Or all their shrewdness caused the rest such grief
That men and women, lifting arms to skies,
Have sought, from infants such, deliverance?

But there are things in which we may take pride,
But quietly – no need, that others know...
Our wee successes give us nourishment,
And so we live on satisfactions small.

When some achievement, in the human sphere,
Gives confidence and strength to us again,
We should remember then our losses past
And so regain our precious humbleness.

Some things we all may know, some other things
A few of us discern. But then there are
The things that men and ants may never ken.
And those could be the most of all there is.

So if we're like the whorls an oar may make,
We're born in pairs and dissipate with time.
But who and where our whirling twin may be,
We do not know.  We turn until we fade.

But we could also be like summer storms
That rise and rage and then are swiftly gone.
They leave behind the wreckage of the trees
As well as blessings that give life again.

What ruin have we wrought – or blessing brought?
We do not know, we live and do and die.
And all our work appears as ashes, yet
From ashes rise the firebirds once again.

Ah, love – that blessing that the heart that sees
Confers on what is sighted – what compares
With you, except that wonder that we feel
On watching, being – as the dance proceeds?

This world, of wonders and of horrors mixed,
Of loves and hatreds – who has sense enough
To know its purpose – or has wisdom still
To live a life, whose damage is the least?

Oh let us breathe once more of this, the air
That others past have breathed, that yet remained
As fresh as when the ancients breathed of it,
Until we fouled it with our devil-mills.

And let us drink of that, which others drank,
Which yet remained as pure as it was then,
Until we poured, within those waters clear,
Those effluents that now have poisoned it.

And let us softly walk upon this earth,
On which so many past have walked, which yet
Remained as fertile, till we made that earth
Ingest the toxins that our mills emit.

And let’s resolve that when we leave there’s naught
We leave behind to let another know
That we were here, except a whispering,
A fragrance or a glimmer in the dust...

The foolish seek achievement and create
The horrors that have made, of life, a hell.
The wiser seek effacement, as they work
To heal the wounds ambition always wreaks.

Who seems, to most of us, to be a fool,
Could well be wiser than we'll ever be.
And he, or she, who's worshiped now as wise,
May do, in hubris, what no fool has dared.

When all around are rushing, slow a bit.
The sun and moon appear to take their time.
The seasons take their turns, the babies grow
With all our nurturing – and then they age.

This was – and is – and will forever be.
Within this dance, we move in rhythm, rhyme
That yet allow for breaks and runs and twists.
The moment is – in which we all are free.

2014 May 17th, Sat.
Brooklyn, New York
 

Why Think Ahead?

Why Think Ahead?
    
Now Sunday ends.  From mostly sleeping through it,
I find that nothing I had planned is done.
So I could stay up late and try to do it,
Or I could sleep.  Now which would be more fun?

If only I had made my life’s decisions
On this criterion, I might happier be.
But other things, like duty, diligence
Had interfered – as I can finally see.

And so, with insight, I will now retire
And try to sleep.  My lids are drooping low.
And if I can’t?  Well then, I’ll lie awake.
Why think ahead?  For soon enough, I’ll know.

If only I had lived my life this way,
Not thinking of the morrow, till tomorrow,
My life and that of others might have had
Some more of joy – and less, perhaps, of sorrow.
   
2014 January 20th, Mon., 12:56 am
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York   
   

Transience – II

 
Transience – II                                                       \1
        
We cling to life and to possessions, yet
We come with nothing and we go with naught.
The things we think we have are passing through
And so are we – for dust returns to dust.

The things we live for, all the things we do,
May blossom for a little while or not.
But like the blooms that toss upon the breeze,
They'll fade away in time and then be lost.

And all our pride, resentments, anger are
Like storms that roil the surface of a sea,
With waves that wreak their vengeance and are gone.
Let love, compassion work their ways in calm,

For kinder thoughts and words and actions may
Have less of force and yet have more of depth.
Why add to all the suffering, yet more?
Let our remembrance be a brighter one.

We are but mortals and we all are weak,
And some are blinded more than others are.
Forgive the ones who seem to wrong you, so
You may, in turn, from some, forgiveness seek.

The ones that rouse our anger, feel our wrath,
Tomorrow may be gone, like yesterday.
That turning of the cheek, we'll rarely rue,
But should we leave with debts of wronging due?

****** 
             
And even those we love and those, who give
Us of their love, are ripples on the lake.
So who can stop them, as they go their way
And leave us with our grief and memories?

So while they live, let's give to those, who're dear,
And even to the ones we might neglect,
Their due, before they leave or we depart,
Of our attention and our care, respect.

So many live today within a rush,
With constant stress and pressure from around,
And so forgetting, as the madness mounts,
What sanity and life are all about.

We came from naught and will, to nothing, go.
Let's pause from rushing, for a little while,
And ponder this and see absurdity,
So we can savor then a laugh or smile.

To laugh at others, all of us can do.
To laugh at self is truly freedom true.
If you feel sorry for your present state,
Then shed a tear for those less fortunate.

******
            
And if we're overcome or paralyzed,
Let's take a breath and do what needs be done.
Our lives are passing and our time is brief,
And yet there's time for life and for belief.

There's true and false and even right and wrong.
And though we've no reward on heaven, earth,
We still can will to do what's honest, right,
And till the end, for love and reason, fight.

However much the woe, there still is joy,               \2
And in our laughter, we can hear the grief.
This world will be, when you and I are gone.
Let's leave the self awhile, to breathe and be.

Like waves at sea and like the clouds above,
Are you and I, and all the changing world.
The hills are waving in their rhythms slow,
The empires rise and then, in time, they go...

Our days are numbered and our nights are few.
As night and day are mortal, so are we.
For all that's born lives out its life and dies,
From stars to ants, including you and me...

Behold, at night, the starry sky and see
The galaxies that gyre like whirlpools 'round.
We are no more than motes on motes and yet
We have this life to live and not regret.

2013 August 11th, Sun. & 12th, Mon.
Brooklyn, New York  
    
Notes:
  
1.  Please see also:  Transience
   
2.  This stanza was probably influenced by the quote from William
Blake that my friend Amitabha Sen sent me from Chicago.  This
was in response to my last sending, Nature's Nature:
   
Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know
Through the world we safely go.
Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine;
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.

-- William Blake
   
See http://www.bartleby.com/41/356.html
to get Blake's poem, Auguries of Innocence.

Then (from Edit-->Find) look for:

man was made for joy and woe

The first 4 lines of that poem, by the way,
may be among the most remarkable in the
English language.  Do take a look.  They may
be very familiar to some of you.  But, if you
have the patience, it may be worth your while
to read Blake's long poem in its entirety.

-- Babui / Arjun
 

Cadences – Part I

Cadences – Part I  
         
A summer sky of blue and glowing white,
An evening breeze, with waving leaves – and I
Am as fulfilled or more, as those with wealth,
Who'd rarely find, in these, their hearts' content.

How simple are our basic needs, and yet
We find ourselves entrapped.  The endless race
To nowhere picks up speed, or faltering,
Creates conditions for yet more of stress.

So autumn, with its drifting leaves, will see
The students and their teachers crawl to schools,
And there, their labors, which could be of love,
Will turn to joyless tasks, as madness rules.

Then winter – with its chilling winds and snows,
A season for reflection and reserve,
But subject now to more of lunacy,
With silent solstice turned to loud bazaar.

And spring will come, with all its hope and lust –
And even these, in turn, will turn to dust,
Unless, perhaps, as pole inclines to sun,
Our souls awake – and nightmares end at last.

The seasons come and go – and each delights
If only we would dance with seasons' flow.
But how can we, until we're frenzy-free?
We then can move in cadence joyful, slow.

The drums of war, the pipes of finance sound,
As masses march yet faster to their deaths.
Oh pause, we say, and see the ocean, sky,
The land with all its beings...  Question why.

2013 August 6th, Tue. Evening
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn

With Gentle Feet

     
With Gentle Feet
                    
There are so many things that a man can do.
And a woman can do some more.
But when we have done these things, we see
We're still as we were before.

So the one, who thinks she'll do this and that
And so become another –
To her, I say, if that's your end,
It isn't worth the bother.

******
 
So do whatever you desire
Or what you have to do,
And savor thus your duty, pleasure,
While still remaining you.

For your body and your spirit are
As waves upon the sea,
And let's observe that wavelet, that
As cloud aspires to be.

It might forsake the ocean vast
And wash upon the land,
Or warmed by sun, as vapor rise –
And yet not understand.

For even if it rises high
Above the rolling plain,
Its nature is of water and,
As water, will remain.

And though it fall as snow upon
The lofty mountain peaks,
In time enough it will return,
As water, level seeks...

And though the sights that we may see
While mounting on ambition,
May serve to feed the dreams of age,
They will not give us vision.

For vision that is not of eyes
Alone is what is needed,
And when the heart is riven, then
Its vision isn't heeded.

And when ambition blinds our soul
Or we reject our parts,
Then all around us, shattered, lie
The bodies, minds and hearts...

So let the ones, who're driven, rise.
Observe them rise and fall.
Go carefully, with gentle feet,
With love for one and all.

******
 
There are so many things that a man can do.
And a woman can do some more.
But when we have done these things, we see
We're still as we were before.

So the one, who thinks he'll do this and that
And so become another –
To him, I say, if that's your end,
It isn't worth the bother.

2013 July 28th, Sun.
Brooklyn
  

Love and Zen

Love and Zen
  
When there is caring, there is also sight
That sees what's wrong as well as what is right.
And if there's power, there is action then,
And if there's not, the old familiar plight...

In each tradition, seers prophesied,
To draw attention to the problems tried...
A few succeeded and were honored men,
But most were laughed at, shunned or vilified.

There is compassion and there's cruelty.
And both of these, so many will not see.
And those who do, no matter how or when,
Are then accused of lacking sanity...

We're born and live and love and wonder why
Our fellow men embrace the easy lie.
The truth is there for those who care to ken.
Some care and try – but then it's time to die...

But this is not a paradise, this Earth,
In which, in pain, we each are given birth.
Yet there is love and there is also Zen.
Let's practice both – and then return to dirt.

We've some who only see in black and white.
They swing from love to hate, from ease to spite.
But others note the shades of gray and then
In brightness see the dark – in darkness, light.

2013 July 17th, Wed.
Brooklyn
Notes: 

1. The word “men” is used as shorthand here
for “men and women”, to keep the rhyme and
meter.

2.  The Japanese word zen (Chinese chan)
derives from the Sanskrt dhyana, which may
be translated in English, depending on the
context, either as attention or as meditation
(deep, relaxed attention, especially the quiet
observation of one's own body-mind in the
present moment, beginning, for example,
with the breath).