Here is a poem which I chiseled out of the word infested wind which whirls through the air waiting for someone to reach out & clutch it into their hand...

This poem is a follow up to my poem BUDDHA & THE BLUE HORSES

Waiting in the snow (1989-2004)
Lessons In The Dharma


seven-thirty in the morning

at the doors of the Buddhist Centre

snow falls the wind swirls the snow around

waiting for someone with a key

to be let in breathe again

some young guy comes up the steps

asks if I've been here long

a few minutes I say

though in this weather

it is 'fucking cold'

thousands of hours meditating

waiting filled with expectation

trying to sit with no expectation

the room feels warm & cozy

students of the Dharma

complaining their minds wandering

always wandering no end to wandering

sitting so hard to sit still

to quiet the jumpy neurotic mind-


our minds jumping frogs

jumping from one lily pad to another

images words side-tracks

a thousand distractions

writing stories to fill in the gaps

sitting on hot coals

going in & out of daydreams

fantasies stray thoughts & visions

remembering a Tibetan Dharma teacher

working in slow motion

pruning a tree

a diamond piercing through

fog-soaked visions taking a breath

chanting in a sing along

reciting the Mahamudra

the teacher's vision in a cave

remembering poems he wrote

writing close to the bone

in the mountains of Cape Breton

on the shores of Pleasant Bay

I feel the wet snow on my face

breathe come back to your breath

voices chanting " OM "

striking the gong

we descend from the clouds

all those fuzzy cuddly colours

stripped away by the precise light rays

through the thousand reflections

of Shangri-la of the Kingdom of Shambalah

of compassion of ever-lasting Nirvana

cutting the thousand lines

of hope of delusions of dreams

no longer sailing through the skies

no longer fog-bound

no longer adrift on the cold grey
Atlantic sea

overwhelmed with waves of sadness

overwhelmed with waves of hope

the teacher's death a wake-up call

a hard punch to the gut

a swift Zen kick in the ass

our collective gut

our collective ass

his Mahamudra no longer comforting

I stand waiting in the snow

did you know the Rinpoche well

this guy asked or did I

or was it just in my head

where do I end & you or he begin

no longer certain of anything

I take out my cigarettes & offer him one

he takes it & I add I know he smoked

a hell of a lot & I return to the "OMING"

of the night before with a glorious

full moon reflected on the fields of snow

walking home after 2am

through the Halifax commons

after hearing another Tibetan sharing the Dharma

in the midst of the solemn "OMING"

someone chortles or giggles

unable to stop myself laughing

seeing the teacher's car crashing

into a Joke-Shop in England

giving him another stab at it all

his body broken his spirit renewed

having visions of America & Colorado

no longer a wandering Tibetan refugee

but a laughing giddy teacher

sometimes angry

surrounded by dark clouds

sometimes surrounded by a thousand rainbows

sometimes surrounded by drug-drenched

needy neurotics & other lost souls

who've forgotten how to breathe

always needing to be busy

slowly he says breathe in & out

holding clippers in his hands

see only this branch on this bush

hold it snip it

move to the next one --breathe

bring the mind back from distractions

I hear his voice as I trim & tidy up

the rose bushes in my yard a dozen years later

this too is meditating

& I practice one-pointed awareness

in my days of solitude

a celibate all too sober monk

& I think of Thoreau in the woods

at Walden Pond plumbing his own depths

the mystery of Nature & God

Jack Kerouac on Desolation Peak

at Big Sur discovering the sound of the sea

the voice of Nature & Brahma

the Karmic wheel turns again & again

pruning teaching letting go

dying going into the next realm

hi have you two been here long

the woman says as she takes out the keys

to the Kingdom & unlocks the door

she is the Key Master the Gate Keeper

sorry about that she says

why apologize its over now

& we go in I take a breath

shake off all those

rushing bits & pieces of thinking

like the snow I brush from my hair

we take off our boots

& bow entering the Shrine Room

open the blinds letting day-light in

light the candles & incense

the gong is struck & we begin

another day-to go in taking my boots off

to begin the day

in the Shrine Room

opening the door

bowing to Shakyamuni Buddha

to chant the Diamond Heart Sutra

lighting the candles & incense first

my mind though is already at work

waiting for the day to end

feeling at peace

grounded on my red & gold cushion -

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