Sunday 6 July 2014

Excerpts from "The Way of Chuang Tzu" (translated by Thomas Merton)


THE TRUE MAN

What is meant by a "true man"?
The true men of old were not afraid
When they stood alone in their views.
No great exploits. No plans.
If they failed, no sorrow.
No self-congratulation in success.
They scaled cliffs, never dizzy,
Plunged in water, never wet,
Walked through fire and were not burnt.
Thus their knowledge reached all the way
To Tao.
The true men of old
Slept without dreams,
Woke without worries.
Their food was plain.
They breathed deep.
True men breathe from their heels.
Others breathe with their gullets,
Half-strangled. In dispute
They heave up arguments
Like vomit.
Where the fountains of passion
Lie deep
The heavenly springs
Are soon dry.
6o The true men of old
Knew no lust for life,
No dread of death.
Their entrance was without gladness,
Their exit, yonder,
Without resistance.
Easy come, easy go.
They did not forget where from,
Nor ask where to,
Nor drive grimly forward
Fighting their way through life.
They took life as it came, gladly;
Took death as it came, without care;
And went away, yonder,
Yonder!
They had no mind to fight Tao.
They did not try, by their own contriving,
To help Tao along.
These are the ones we call true men.
Minds free, thoughts gone
Brows clear, faces serene.
Were they cool? Only cool as autumn.
Were they hot? No hotter than spring.
All that came out of them
Came quiet, like the four seasons.


THE EMPTY BOAT

He who rules men lives in confusion;
He who is ruled by men lives in sorrow.
Yao therefore desired
Neither to influence others
Nor to be influenced by them.
The way to get clear of confusion
And free of sorrow
Is to live with Tao
In the land of the great Void.
If a man is crossing a river
And an empty boat collides with his own skiff,
Even though he be a bad-tempered man
He will not become very angry.
But if he sees a man in the boat,
He will shout at him to steer clear.
If the shout is not heard, he will shout again,
And yet again, and begin cursing.
And all because there is somebody in the boat.
Yet if the boat were empty,
He would not be shouting, and not angry.
If you can empty your own boat
Crossing the river of the world,
No one will oppose you,
No one will seek to harm you.

The straight tree is the first to be cut down,
The spring of clear water is the first to be drained dry.
If you wish to improve your wisdom
And shame the ignorant,
To cultivate your character
And outshine others;
A light will shine around you
As if you had swallowed the sun and the moon:
You will not avoid calamity.
A wise man has said:
"He who is content with himself
Has done a worthless work.
Achievement is the beginning of failure.
Fame is the beginning of disgrace."
Who can free himself from achievement
And from fame, descend and be lost
Amid the masses of men?
He will flow like Tao, unseen,
He will go about like Life itself
With no name and no home.
Simple is he, without distinction.
To all appearances he is a fool.
His steps leave no trace. He has no power.
He achieves nothing, has no reputation.
Since he judges no one
No one judges him.
Such is the perfect man:
His boat is empty.




ACTIVE LIFE

If an expert does not have some problem to vex him,
he is unhappy!
If a philosopher's teaching is never attacked, he pines
away!
If critics have no one on whom to exercise their spite,
they are unhappy.
All such men are prisoners in the world of objects.
He who wants followers, seeks political power.
He who wants reputation, holds an office.
The strong man looks for weights to lift.
The brave man looks for an emergency in which he
can show bravery.
The swordsman wants a battle in which he can swing
his sword.
Men past their prime prefer a dignified retirement,
in which they may seem profound.
Men experienced in law seek difficult cases to extend
the application of laws.
Liturgists and musicians like festivals in which they
parade their ceremonious talents.
The benevolent, the dutiful, are always looking for
chances to display virtue.
Where would the gardener be if there were no more
weeds?
What would become of business without a market of
fools?
Where would the masses be if there were no pretext
for getting jammed together and making noise?
What would become of labor if there were no super-­
fluous objects to be made?
Produce! Get results! Make money! Make friends!
Make changes!
Or you will die of despair!
Those who are caught in the machinery of power take no
joy except in activity and change-the whirring of the ma­
chine! Whenever an occasion for action presents itself, they
are compelled to act; they cannot help themselves. They are
inexorably moved, like the machine of which they are a part.
Prisoners in the world of objects, they have no choice but to
submit to the demands of matter! They are pressed down and
crushed by external forces, fashion, the market, events, public
opinion. Never in a whole lifetime do they recover their right
mind! The active life! What a pity!


full text: http://terebess.hu/zen/mesterek/MertonChuangTzu.pdf

Dreams....

Still Dreamin....


Strange Dreams....


Only When I'm Dreaming....



All a Dream.....




Don't Like to Dream....




Secret Dreams.......




Talkin in my Sleep....




Thursday 3 April 2014

Bliss Carman and Richard Hovey - Songs from Vagabondia

Vagabondia

Off with the fetters
That chafe and restrain!
Off with the chain!
Here Art and Letters,
Music and wine,
And Myrtle and Wanda,
The winsome witches,
Blithely combine.
Here are true riches,
Here is Golconda,
Here are the Indies,
Here we are free,
Free as the wind is,
Free as the sea,
Free!

Houp-la!

What have we
To do with the way
Of the Pharisee?
We go or we stay
At our own sweet will;
We think as we say,
And we say or keep still
At our own sweet will,
At our own sweet will.

Here we are free,
To be good or bad,
Sane or mad,
Merry or grim
As the mood may be,—
Free as the whim
Of a spook on a spree,—
Free to be oddities,
Not mere commodities,
Stupid and salable,
Wholly available,
Ranged upon shelves;
Each with his puny form
In the same uniform,
Cramped and disabled;
We are not labelled,
We are ourselves.

Here is the real,
Here is the ideal;
Laughable hardship
Met and forgot,
Glory of bardship
World's bloom and world's blot;
The shock and the jostle,
The mock and the push,
But hearts like the throstle
A-joy in the bush;
Wits that would merrily
Laugh away wrong,
Throats that would verily
Melt Hell in Song.

What though the dimes be
Elusive as rhymes be,
And Bessie, with finger
Uplifted, is warning
That breakfast next morning
(A subject she's scorning)
Is mighty uncertain!
What care we? Linger
A moment to kiss—
No time's amiss
To a vagabond's ardor—
Then finish the larder
And pull down the curtain.

Unless ere the kiss come,
Black Richard or Bliss come,
Or Tom with a flagon,
Or Karl with a jag on—
Then up and after
The joy of the night
With the hounds of laughter
To follow the flight
Of the fox-foot hours
That double and run
Through brakes and bowers
Of folly and fun.

With the comrade heart
For a moment's play,
And the comrade heart
For a heavier day,
And the comrade heart
Forever and aye.

For the joy of wine
Is not for long;
And the joy of song
Is a dream of shine;
But the comrade heart
Shall outlast art
And a woman's love
The fame thereof.

But wine for a sign
Of the love we bring!
And song for an oath
That Love is king!
And both, and both
For his worshipping!

Then up and away
Till the break of day,
With a heart that's merry,
And a Tom-and-Jerry,
And a derry-down-derry—
What's that you say,
You highly respectable
Buyers and sellers?
We should be decenter?
Not as we please inter
Custom, frugality,
Use and morality
In the delectable
Depths of wine-cellars?

Midnights of revel,
And noondays of song!
Is it so wrong?
Go to the Devil!

I tell you that we,
While you are smirking
And lying and shirking
Life's duty of duties,
Honest sincerity,
We are in verity
Free!
Free to rejoice
In blisses and beauties!
Free as the voice
Of the wind as it passes!
Free as the bird
In the weft of the grasses!
Free as the word
Of the sun to the sea—
Free!

Friday 31 January 2014

"Resume"


I got my first false kiss
from cold indifferent ignorance
but she quickly pulled away
and ran upstairs.
So I drew a hot bath
Like a roman suicide
but no blood in the water
only gentle virgin's tears.

I got my first real kiss
from unexpected big heart bliss
leaping over boundaries
clutching tight, kissing right
whispered teachings in the car
I almost learned
but couldn’t quite.

I lost my virginity
to an enormous rolling sea
of acceptance and affection
pulling me in her direction
and just begging for five seconds
of my hurried ecstasy.
Oh I tried my best to love her
but my heart could never cover
the ugly sharp disdain
of my hated haughty mind.

How come they only love you
when your serotonin's high?
How come they only see you
when you fit in, when you hide?
How come they never love you
when your just your lonely self?
Because you only love them

when you try.

Saturday 4 January 2014

"King Charlamine, the Dumbass"


King Charlamine, the dumbass.
First of his name
I wear the crown that starts the reign
of King Charlamine, the dumbass,
walking in the rain
I hear the echo of the shame
of King Charlamine, the dumbass,
speaking to himself
of cold lost memories and what else
belongs to Charlamine, the dumbass,
Imagined golden crown
and his sceptre hanging down
down to dead days, the dumbass,
holding on so tight
won't give in without a fight
so he squeals and so he slaps
runs away until collapse
but King Charlamine, the dumbass
can't be killed so easily,
beneath his burning bodhi tree
he realizes emptiness
so when you swing you always miss,
King Charlamine, the dumbass,
with nothing much to say
so he pours out every day
down the drain of pages white
with a coward's meek delight
its King Charlamine, the dumbass
with his fingers in his ass
dreaming of a loving lass
can't be learned and can't be taught
always sold but never bought
is King Charlamine, the dumbass
pretending not to care
till he weeps and tears his hair,
in the bucket of despair
you will always find him there,
face reflected in the slops
madly laughing till he drops
and fades away....
To return another day
and continue on the reign
of the poor tormented brain

of King Charlamine, the dumbass.