"Pieces everywhere. The perfectly formed, slab stone altar of who you and others thought you were, imagined you’d become, dreamed your legacy would be,...the remains of all of that lies before you with everything you'd laid on it and the hammer you used to break it."
Each vertebra of a burdened slumping spine
had a distinct chain tied to something.
A false belief.
Someone else's expectation.
Other people's ideas and stories of who you are.
Some personal narrative inseparable from a road that doesn't lead anywhere.
A scaffolding of "visions of success" that you yourself had been propping up.
Now...falling through space,
you give up the chase.
Though the spine can become ossified,
let us give thanks
the sea-salt stardust-infused Watercourse Way
that flows up and down our spines.
They are our constant reminders
there is something beyond
becoming human fortresses.
I held an all-night vigil for a dying friend.
Not "dying" in the bodily sense.
We only do that once each life, if we're lucky.
Rather, the kind of "dying"
when the Light-Body of the True-Self
grows too large for a Coffin-Like Existence.
The kind of "dying"
that leads to a sloughing-off of skins
like water dragons
that have suddenly developed
a taste for mountain wine.
About that vigil.
Did I happen to mention
that the friend
I reach into my bag of words and come up empty.
I've reached the end.
I cannot speak clearly
of this Blue Mountain Spirit
renewing itself inside this soul of mine.
The whole journey has been one of walking back through time;
shifting through innumerable shapes
moving from forms to formlessness
until there is nothing left
but the silhouette of a man
sitting on a cloud-pine platform
overlooking the mountains.
What else can a Man or Woman of The Way say?
What a relief
to pour all of this ink
back into the river of the void!
This child of samsara is leaving the world of red dust,
moving beyond the ephemeral realms of human praise and blame.
Where I am going
there is only
the gray-green days of rain.