Longing for the lounging days of responsibility to meditation
timetables only; clean robes and the unity of structure in
kindred spirits' joy.
Lounging in the longing and watching it fade into the simple
gestures of the marketplace; give and receive.
Feeding yourself; touching the shoulder of an aging parent with
words of wisdom, Osho's Love.
Apparent in every couple's pull to harmony and graciousness,
in every child's intensity, flame burning bright and full
of hope and despair.
In every woman's heart and womb and every man's dream
of what longing spirits know is there
and marketplace buddhas sell signposts to.
Ma Prem Neeraj
A cut-mark from a bow saw in my thumbnail
is growing out.
The nail is attached so fiercely to the nailbed
(try pulling it off)
it's hard to believe
it is thrusting along so fast, detaching
from one cell, glomming onto the next.
the cut-mark is just appearing to move,
dying here, reborn there.
Sw Deva Sarlo
Lake of silence
a white feather
pushed by a wave
to this shore
Ma Anand Shantam