The Business of the Recluse



The recluse is he who
loves nature more than man
for man is arrogant
and nature is natural

the recluse cares not for
the politics of civilization
and the inflated idea of

a currency that is not real
the dollar of this or that country
and imaginary territory
of this or that people

and imaginary Gods of this or that
origin, that is innovated
by this or that gestures
and who gets credit when

the credit is due to nature
the recluse not understanding
man’s self-importance
lives a life of contemplation

not only breeding for man’s dominance
not only mating for pleasure
but with an eye for the universe

and looking for signs of the cosmos
in nature and the history of man
and for the future that has yet

to be born, the recluse
has an internal being made for
not only for her personal affairs

but for wisdom, art, knowledge
and the formula of love that
could one day save humanity.



I am too lazy to be ambitious
My unconditional surrender too full to act
I let the world take care of itself
I let my fate weave its roads
I can get along with good books
One friend, one meal of rice a day
Why chatter about the news or enlightenment?
We are all deluded in our own ways
With our familiar dull frames of reference
I write instead, poems that are not my poems
These poems are not my poems
This way we can begin to speak
About the poems that touch everybody
The seers wrote poems like putting twigs
Into the fireplace, the fire that keeps all beings warm
It is not important to be famous, but to be comfortable
I am too lazy to be ambitious
I am too free to believe in particulars.

The Intangible

Experience is not what happens to you; it’s what
you do with what happens to you. – Aldous Huxley


I’ve experienced what
I was meant to experience
I’ve seen and heard and met
All that I was meant to see, hear, meet
And I have loved
That which I was preordained to love
So why do I fret, all is as it should be
Experience is not what happens to you
It’s what you do with what happens to you
I’ve perceived my own perception change
Into a subjectivity of quantum possibility
There I meditated on the great ends
The release from knowing and a
Finality of loving everything
Reality is merely an illusion
Albeit a very persistent one
The end of the soul is energy
Everything is a bridge to that state of being
That lives invisible behind all sensation
Experience, fate, free-will, identity
Are merely the teachers of the wise
Who end up knowing nothing quite justly
Danger and opportunity is but the gathering
Of the ‘crisis’ of being, that is
In the last regard, quite unimportant.

Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one – Albert Einstein


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Of Things we Might call the Touch of Spring


My mind is filled with Spring’s torrents
I bear it all again, like love
Or grief, budding maple boughs

Awake me from my mood
The first clean air, the sweet-smelling rain
O’ I am but a rock in a rising river

Pushed like a flood
Washed like a cry of the waters
Am I spring or me, I cannot tell

I am night and fog, I am veiled
Like drowsy light on my path
Where my footsteps dim and pearled
I come to the trance of empty streets
Why so hushed in morning before mirrored lights?
Glimmer and shake, here is majesty

I follow the current of beauty
And my throat knows it is not enough
That I should ache, and I should praise

Why am I crying so after love?
Instinct’s wonder and surprise
Has me caught again

I bear it all again, like love
Or gratitude, unsatisfied from above
I was not made to be satisfied

I was not made to be forever young
Spring is thus so quiet, spice and still
My head in white and topaz

Gets chills in the misty green
That aeons cannot fix
The stately dome of heaven

Inside of me, part witness, part doer
Beneath my restless stars
The cosmos pours into my gaping spring.

Photography Courtesy:

On Buddha’s Birthday


I let go of all purses
All errors, all formulations
To recharge myself with
Non-duality, I go back
To the frequency of nature
I will to turn transparent
A sexless equanimity
Where all thoughts are exhausted
In the no-mind of flower-bliss
That land where the supreme
Is my front and back door
There, from the Divine’s heart
I will not know others and their
Trials, but I will smile back at them
With light of the butterfly’s arrival
With the knowing smile of the flower opening
I let go of all sights and desires
All attempts to possess escape me
To recharge myself I unhinge myself
From all that is not pure, so what is then left?
Nature’s course will allow me to
Melt into the stars I’ve studied alone
I have been too lazy to be ambitious
I throw the bundle of twigs in the fireplace
All that was once my life, I retire it
To the croaking solitude of the hermit life
The moonlit nights of early spring
Will have room for me to stretch out my legs
I always craved the ultimate reality
Where Buddha died in Ananda.

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