"my lama"

    (submitted May 28, 2010)

solar flames waving long arms of devotion in ten directions
i the jewel cast like seeds across a field fertile by being
satisfied with losing the harsh language of constructed reality
gathering flower-essences like a virgin among rogues
pleasured by erecting towers and illusions in plain terms undisguised,
nothing can touch my lama.

other needs inherited like an antique cabinet of rarities
curious and persuasive, disciplined to perform feats of magic
in odd formulas and glossallias detected as wall
similar to things gone and others gone beyond the duality
ensured clear awareness for the benefit of all beings
filling even more space than the imploding thoughts it replaces
nothing can touch my lama.

bipedal still my awareness expands by grace
only such faith so as to charge the stars in expanse
washed up water-lilied on shore everywhere
that a slice of moon creates a seat for,
nothing can touch my lama.

returned blind by regular sight, so blind
scraping illness from skin like a maniac danced by the moon
i am the deity lost in the desert yet found by water
blessed by sweet meditation on something not even
trickled down by the only useful hierarchy
nothing can touch my lama.

only vanity evens the path stone by stone
as surrendered as an undisciplined one of two thralls
diamond backed through crystalline sand carefully sewn
to catch colors fading so as to give in to enlightenment
patterned and batted down through cyclic prayers of cessation
entrenched deepest not a perfect sphere,
the bottom light and clear,
nothing can touch my lama.

lesssons carefully placed in every possible realm of spaces

close to the best of potentials
learning to hover over red ants
the preconscious nature of any kind of plant
this magic incurred out of joyous diligence of uniting with christ,
the guru incarnate riddled out of duality
nothing can touch my lama.

under a microscope there are no smooth surfaces
perfect perfection is just a dream state
while watching the sidewalk crack there is plenty of time
all these words pregnant, dressed up nicely and nowhere to go
having to return deaf back into caves
inwardly listening to the teachings.

liberated and more than happy
thwarted in an attempt to bypass gatesmen
dust recognized as the bone of lineage masters.
a wind picks up twisting the old dwellings
into a pretzel of logic
then inwardly listening to the teachings.

lessons conjured upon oneself by way of other
forced into the generosity of diverted compassion
still turning the wheel in the same direction
as whatever is most comfortable,
recognizing a pure crystal prism on sight
nothing can touch my lama.

never before have you been seen with closed eyes
an orange fire of all souls reflects in your glasses.
too many words and losing the point
of what is far better known as guardian angels
petals of spirit, leaves on a track near home
nothing can touch my lama.
calling from an unreasonable distance
the quick shiver between dimensions
clinging to an unheeded faith
coming home to rest by mountainous grace
of blessing there is little left to doubt
as simple as it might seem
nothing can touch my lama.

by every word written a reward

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