Wesak Offering

[taijasi]

Cruel master of fear, Evil father of hate,
Demon of pain, Author of lies,
Taunting us with God's Fate:
Each of us knows that all suffer,
Only the coward denies,
Sooner or later all of us must
Look into God's Loving Eyes.

Trusting, we come to sow Hope
Pardoning, we come to know Pardon
While dying, yes dying, we Come into Life

It's High time, Cymbaline
Thus Buddha we pray that ye Wake us
​

Namaskar Devatma

 

[Amergin]

Creation

(for the discoverer of the Grotte de Lascaux: Marcel Ravidat)

On all the living walls
of this dim cave,
soot and ochre, acts of will,
come down to us to say:

This is who we were.
We foraged here in an age of ice,
and, warmed by the fur of wolves,
felt the pride of predators
going for game.
Here we painted the strength of bulls,
the grace of deer, turned life into art,
and left this testimony on our walls.
Explorers of the future, see how,
when our dreams reach forward,
your wonder reaches back, and we embrace.
When we are long since dust,
and false prophets come,
then don't forget that we were your creators.
So build your days
on what you know is real, and remember
that nothing will keep your lives alive
but art--the black and ochre visions
you draw inside your cave
will honor your lost tribe,
when explorers in some far future
marvel at the paintings on your walls.

© Philip Appleman
New and Selected Poems

 

[Amergin]

The Joy of Freedom


When I became convinced
that the Universe is natural,
that all the ghosts and gods are myths,
there entered into my brain, into my soul,
into every drop of my blood, the sense,
the feeling, the joy of Freedom.

The walls of my prison crumbled and fell.
The dungeon was flooded with light
and all the bolts, bars
and manacles became dust.
I was no longer a servant, a serf, or a slave.
There was for me no master in all of the wide world,
not even in the infinite space. I was free.

Free to think, to express my thoughts,
Free to live to my own ideal,
Free to live for myself and those I loved,
Free to use my faculties, all my senses,
Free to spread imagination's wings,
Free to investigate, to guess and dream, and hope;
Free to judge and determine for myself,
Free to reject all ignorant and cruel creeds,
all the "inspired" books
that savages have produced,
and all the barbarous legends of the past.

Free from popes and priests,
Free from all the "called" and the "set apart,"
Free from the sanctified mistakes and holy lies,
Free from the fear of eternal pain,
Free from the winged monsters of the night,
Free from devils, ghosts and gods.

For the first time I was free.
There were no prohibited places
in all the realms of my thought:
no air, no space,
where fancy could not spread her painted wings.
No chains for my limbs,
No lashes for my back,
No fires for my flesh,
No master's frown or threat,
No following another's steps;
No need to bow, or cringe, or crawl,
or utter lying words.

I was free.
I stood erect and fearlessly, joyously,
faced all worlds;
And my heart was filled with gratitude,
with thankfulness, and went out in love
To all the heroes
and the thinkers who gave their lives
for the Liberty of hand and brain,
for the freedom of labor and thought;
To those who fell on the fierce fields of war,
To those who died in the dungeons with chains,
To those who proudly mounted scaffold's stairs,
To those whose bones were crushed,
whose flesh was scarred and torn,
To those by fire consumed;
To all the wise, the good, the brave of every land,
whose thoughts and deeds have given freedom
to the sons and daughters of men and women.

And I vowed to grasp the torch that they held,
and hold it high,
that light might conquer darkness still.

--Robert G. Ingersoll (1833-1899)

 

[Amergin]

The Evil in the Stone Cross

The Sun sinks lower in the western sky
And shadows creep from where the dead now lie.
Dread and darkness drape the damp hanging moss
On stark trees of the path to the stone cross.

The cross stands in a long neglected glade
Grown wild in this old grave yard’s dismal shade.
Patches of lichen and moss seem to trace
On the front of the cross a demon face.

Why I walk toward it I can’t explain.
I can see the shadows writhing in pain
In the darkness along the damp stone trail.
My fear screams, “run back,” but to no avail.

I am close enough to feel the cold air
And see the face and its malignant glare
In pent up evil millions of years old.
Of this ancient place the stories were told.

An ancient demon was fused into stone
And in a deep pool the demon was thrown.
After many eons of time Raven made
The first people in the sacred green glade.
.
The stone lay on the bottom of the lake
Until the White eyes raised the stone to make
A cross for the God-man Jesus of the East
Not knowing they raised a dread evil beast.

The White eyes went mad in a killing rage
Slaying all in sight, no respect for age.
Later all were buried by a Cree Band
Who left the strange cross in that evil land.

The Shaman told me of the evil cross
In the dreaded dark grove of graves and moss.
But I did not heed his warning appeal
I entered the dark grove, a glimpse to steal.

The stone face opened its evil red eyes
With malignant hate so ancient yet wise.
I felt cold stiffness and despairing doom.
Locked in stone, I could see the demon loom.

Centuries have passed since that terrible day
That for seeking evil my life did pay.
Terrible wars did follow the release
Of ancient horror to the end of peace.

The ancient demon now rules the land
Heads of state obey his evil command.
The Demon brings death and malignant hate.
In the cold stone cross I bemoan my fate.

Amergin (**** Mc*********)©

 

[Amergin]

The Appeal of God

He is a vast limitless being,
without form or shape.
He is not material.
Damn, he's not even energy.
He has neither brain
nor a pair of eyes;
No umbilicus, anus, or nipples?
And there are no Jacobs
under the missing todger.


But He designed all matter,
five ministrings and two quarks,
protons, neutrons, and electrons.
He made galaxies by the billions
each with billions of stars
to become trillions and trillions
of possible worlds and beings.
He made reproducing molecules.

In a rush of divine genius,
He hooked nucleotides together
in a double helix spiral.
His invention of mutation led to
millions of different species
on this planet alone and
maybe a billion more on others.
But he cares about my sex life.

Amergin (**** Mc********)©

 

[murugan]

 

[jamesd1]

Cruel master of fear, Evil father of hate,
Demon of pain, Author of lies,
Taunting us with God's Fate:
Each of us knows that all suffer,
Only the coward denies,
Sooner or later all of us must
Look into God's Loving Eyes.

Trusting, we come to sow Hope
Pardoning, we come to know Pardon
While dying, yes dying, we Come into Life

It's High time, Cymbaline
Thus Buddha we pray that ye Wake us
​

Namaskar Devatma

The Long View of Life and Death

The ground shakes and a thousand deaths mark the violence. It has been so since the beginning. Now, we take each tremor as the first, not marking the long history of Earth, or the longer history of exploding stars. Floods, bombs, plagues, wars, cycle in history. And finally the burning questions, and wonder at the vast solemn array of nature's austere visitations. I think in this the crucible of pain and time is laid mysterious compassionate lessons of life and death.
We have always been free to die and free to live, and die we have down the ages by the thousands and millions--but not alone, rather in waves of life and death. We die at home and in far places, in good company and bad; we have died well and poorly. Our deaths and lives are personal and cosmic; it is our way.

We live beneath a canopy of life and death. Our sky is adorned with ancient records; luminous ghosts that ceased shining long before humans peopled Earth. We may wonder what civilizations rose and fell around those lost points of light. Yet, life being one, it is our sky, our record, and our life. And I see that no point is lost, for every point of seeming loss is ours, is beginning also, and every bloom of new life is ours.

Life, near and far touches us, rouses to action, and death rouses to action. The old dark holds of tears and death have been ours, and will be ours yet with more open eyes. Tomorrow's life and light are also ours, and close upon us today. Looking up, all the lost points are gathered in wondrous constellations; future patterns warm with promise, laid out beyond the beauty of today's best dreams.

Are we then from the night only, from the dark womb of earth, of time, of tears and pain? I say we are as well from bright beginnings and unspeakable joy. History shows and will show dark, yet further back still, back through creation to the first bright blooms of universes, we were infinite then as now.

James