by Richard Denner

Everything Is Peace

I enter the quiet where flies buzz
and leaves rustle in their immortality.

The silence ends at a yellow bird,
a Western Tanager - I looked him up -
atop a stalk of last year's mullein.

Each moment has its own climax.

 

A Floating Reflection

I drift in infinite space,
or no space,
an illusion of myself
in an obscure place -

Emptiness holds me up.


Hum of an Insect

During pointing out instructions
a fly flies in my mouth,
and I wonder if I will ever get it.

Stabilize in rigpa, that is.

I'm sitting, and then the fly flies in,
and I sit with this fly in my mouth,
all revved up, but I'm sitting still,
and the fly walks out of my mouth
and along my upper lip and onto my nose
and then buzzes off into the limpid, blue sky
and I am left feeling empty
and a trifle confused.

During the question and answer period,
I ask Rinpoche, "If I am sitting in rigpa
and the fly is insdie me, is the fly in rigpa?"

Tsok Nyi says, "We'll have to ask the fly."

 

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