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Note 76: To My Animal-Eating Sangha, with Love

Emaho!

My understanding is superficial.
Conceptually, I know that all things
And beings are empty and without self,
That samsara and nirvana are of one taste,
That apparent suffering is actual bliss —
I’ve even experienced suchness.

Yet…
Because of my obscurations,
When I’m threatened with death, I fear;
When hungry, I hope for food;
When thirsty, I want to drink;
When someone strikes me, I get angry;
Violence toward me makes me despondent;
The chance of losing an arm or an eye scares me;
When left standing hungry in the heat I complain;
Being packed in shoulder to shoulder infuriates me;
Even the threat of being shot makes me nervous;
I will fight you if you try to cut my throat;
When I’m hit on the head with a hammer, I cry.

O, how I aspire to be like you,
To have realized emptiness
With such intensity and depth
That to give a finger to a starving badger
on any day without warning would please me,
To be brutally slaughtered for a fat rich man’s exotic meal
Would only make me happy to have given pleasure,
To be eaten alive by ants only bring me
a more profound realization of emptiness.

Oh, you Buddhist, so far along the path
That you’ve realized
Your own inseparability from emptiness,
That your own pain is without essence,
That your own suffering is an illusion,
That your imputed self is a mirage,
You, who realize this so deeply
That you even experience
This emptiness in the minds of other beings,
The bliss that they think is their pain,
So that you can see them killed and eat them
Without the slightest perturbation of regret.

Oh, how deeply I aspire to be 
As enlightened as you are,
To have stepped past the 10th Bhumi,
To experience continuously
The equality of samsara and nirvana.

(Such are my thoughts when told by Buddhist friends that it’s ok to eat animals because everything is empty. Please don’t take offense at my play.)

Note 70: Loathing (short story)

He couldn’t breathe. He brimmed and overflowed with self-loathing

(a sudden release from Jackson Lake dam, the lake itself a glacial remnant.

His groin was tight and knotted from the center down the thighs.

(a Santa Barbara Moreton Bay fig tree, planted in 1874 by a little girl, who got the seed from an Australian sailor

He knew there was no escape. He wanted to die.

He let the attention rest on a point, deeper in than the nose is.

(behind the Glabella,
above the point
where breath enters the skull
above the nasal cavity
behind the eyes
between them
above:
the third eye

When his breathing was blocked in the sinuses, resting his attention there would clear it. His breath would become calm and easy, his sinus passages would open.

(calm mind

It had been so long since he discovered how to do this he couldn’t remember ever not knowing how. When first learning to meditate it had been an obstacle. “Let your attention rest on the breath.”

His mind wasn’t calm. Didn’t become suddenly calm. He wanted to ask for help. There was nobody to ask. He was alone.

(a kind of dying
fear and desire united
toward one object: cessation.
how could he?
how could he allow himself?
how could he allow himself to attach?
how could he allow himself to cling
to what he knew was ephemeral
to what he knew could never love back?
he should have known better

He was completely overwhelmed with disgust for himself. It isn’t my purpose here to convey that feeling to you. You don’t need it. If you’ve never felt it, you won’t anyway. If it’s a feeling you know, you don’t need to be led into it to know how it feels: nothing in the future; the past merely validation of your worthlessness, stupidity, inadequacy. You know the drill.

(no escape

Could he change these feelings? Yes. Should he? No. He felt them. He allowed them to be. He thought, “if I just let them be, they will change.” Then he realized that they don’t need to change. He had forgotten. These feelings are just there. They are what they are. There is no point in changing them.

(the mind is a process

He allowed them to fill his consciousness. He looked directly into them. He felt them. He watched them.

(planning actions
I’ll do this
I’ll do that
I’ll change this
I’ll modify that

He let the reactions go. Didn’t stop them. Just let them go. Decided not to indulge any of them. Not to react to the feelings. To do nothing at all.

(very close to weeping
would weep
but tired of weeping
over these things

This mental state became just another mental state. The mental states continued to fluctuate. Now there is a different mental state. The other is nearly forgotten in the fascination for the now one.

(a cat curled up next to him
he stroked her fur
she purred.

Note 68: Construction Under a Walnut Tree

i.

This raven up in the walnut
tree, (hidden by the first burst of its leaves)
just goes on and on
and on and on….One of his friends
must have  told him he could sing.

ii.

Once again
turn away from the scene -
even the blue jay
was put off by that raven’s crowing,
nevermind that light trucks and SUVs
rumble in a steady parade
celebrating nothing.

The scene musn’t hold
the attention, rather the object
under construction –
yes, in fact, being formed by ink for
convenience and simplicity of apparatus –

is what demands the attention
not the music of the wind
against a broad spectrum of densities
organized and controlled by invisible laws

to be sonorous
to the apparatus that was developed
to hear them,
but the object derived
from a small subset of fragments

from the earth
and sky not even mentioned
from the light
and a medium for sound neither
one with nor separate from the wind.

  
iii.

And even then only
two out of five. The sixth
constructing
an object while being pulled at
by the body, the aromas, the flavors.

Note 47: ‘<'the title blew away'>‘

Wind casts light things into wild disarray
changing the very meaning of lightness
it rises up and blows Bending the Bow
off my table, plunk, and even jangles
the heavy bronze-slat Tibetan chimes
while it sends the pretty little gamelan bells
into paroxysms of symphonic dismay
and newly gathered piles of leaves
spring suddenly up into the air, then
after a chaotic and dust-storm like dance
suddenly drops a register so that
all the blown fragments precipitate out
the gamelan becomes merely lively
and the austere Tibetan nearly mute.

#twitpoem #pmppd (poetry month poem per day) poem 14

Note 14: The Gift of the Muses

Ruling classes descend from Zeus.
But one whom the Muses love
is lord of all the world’s beauty,
His tongue is smooth and sweet.
Even when fresh turbulence
shakes him and shivers
the pulse of his blood,
the poet, cheerful concierge to the Muses,
sings about ancient men and their prowess,
and of the always happy Gods
who live on Olympus, the ultimate acropolis.

This singing, this consonance of cunning
vibration frees him from the vortex
and cleans out the infection of sorrow
when the vivacious daughters of Mnemosyne,
with their infinite charms,
compel him to new beauty and thought.

— Hesiod, Theogony, my very free adaptation.

Cat Fragment 17

Mimi, bengal symmetric ginger
striped tabby tail long as her
body longer than her long legs
balance better than Saturn V
gyroscope trajectory precise.

Cruelty to Kittens

The ASPCA posted an article today about a teen and an adult who had committed acts of cruelty to kittens in separate incidents. http://www.aspca.org/site/PageServer?pagename=media_newsalert071808#1

Regarding the teenage girl (15): I hope she can get help. If she is being abused by her family, her family needs to be dealt with. At the very least let’s hope she gets some good counselling.

But the 38 yr old adult? He deserves the maximum sentence – probably more than the maximum. But maybe he really needs help, too. He needs to understand that it’s a serious thing to do, but we should also help him. Do prisons really need to just be revolving doors? If he doesn’t get help, who will be his next victim after this episode is in the past? Will it be another kitten? A puppy? A teenager? A toddler?

Homer RIP

Today I heard a loud report next door. Could have been a couple of M-90s tied together, but it was a single shot from a deer rifle. Homer the wild hog, whom my neighbor has been caring for and feeding for the past few months, met his end at 10:28 a.m. PDT today. He died instantly at the hand of said neighbor. He had a good life for a hog. They really treated him well until they shot him.

The slaughter of animals is not something that pleases me. But, most people, and most people I know, eat animals. But most of the animals that are slaughtered for food don’t die instantly, the way Homer did. And most of them live in merciless circumstances from birth only to be killed in an even more cruel fashion.

I mourn the passing of Homer, whom I met when he first moved into his pen next door. He was a character, very playful, with obvious intelligence in his every move. But I must give kudos to my neighbors for treating him well while he was alive and for dispatching him quickly when the time came. Would that all animal husbandry were so humane.

At the moment they have him strung up on a backhoe and are hacking him up (butchering him). When I’m dead, you can hack my corpse up if you like. Hell, if you want to you can even eat it, I really don’t care. In fact, I prefer sky burial to even cremation. Alas, sky burial is illegal. Nevertheless, when I’m dead, please hack my corpse up and feed it to the vultures, crows, and ravens.

But I don’t eat animals, from land, air, or sea. Most people seem to be worried about what will happen to their corpse after they die. It’s particularly amusing when people seem to be more horrified by a killer chopping up a corpse than they are by the murder of the person who became the corpse. C’mon, folks, the murder is the heinous act, not the chopping up. But these same folks eat animal corpses.

Go figure. Check out farm sanctuary: http://www.farmsanctuary.org/

the cows

On oak and grass hillsides
heifers graze in warm sun
a stray cloud cooling the hide
in a rural northwest afternoon.

As I pull out at 4 am
cattle trucks sneak by in the dark
empty
to neighboring farms.

Oak and grass meander
to sharp hammers and guns
in one sheet metal rattle
of a 50 foot truck.