Two Years Down the Road

This one is called Mercy Without Hesitation. I wrote it two years ago this week. Sometimes it is interesting to revisit these things under different circumstances, and see if they stand the test of time. You tell me.

Consider This!

The deer who showed me this place looked back,
over her shoulder,
and your mind circulated within me like blood.
She saw you sitting atop my head
where your infinite compassion frees all suffering beings
from the fictitious prison of subject and object.

To you, Kyabje!
I sing this song from the ruined palace
where earth and sky reabsorb all appearances
and mock us with the fictional remnants of our vanity.

Once the seeds are thoroughly sown,
and all conditions are present,
growing is a stubborn thing.
Here, in this bewildering farm
trapped by the illusion of sun and rain,
where there is cause there is certainly result,
but when it ends it is over:
a harvest of emptiness.

Oh, Kyabje!
It is autumn now in the ruined palace
and I call and call in the directionless space
for witnesses to the Mercy Without Hesitation.

Consider This!

In the midst of spaciousness
where the five elements play,
the beings confront each other.
Burning with emotion
do they not require Mercy Without Hesitation?


Here! Now! Immediately!

Cast from the palm of my hand to all the winds
outer, inner, and perfectly secret
these tiny seeds:

For the cold I sow warmth
For the tired I sow rest
For the hungry I sow food
For the poor I sow jewels
For the naked I sow cover
For the childless I sow children
For the lonely I sow companions
I am your fearless husbandman
I am your peerless wife

Here! Now! Immediately!

For the powerless I sow accomplishment
For the sick I sow medicine
For the unfortunate I sow success
For the prisoners I sow parole
For the fearful I sow safety
For the homeless I sow home
I am the hand reaching for your hand
I am the soft gesture upon your brow

Here! Now! Immediately!

For the blind I sow sight
For the dumb I sow speech
For the crippled I sow firmness
For the burning I sow water
For the drowning I sow land
For the dying I sow life
For the dead I sow transformation
I am the voice inside your mind
I am the continuous prayer

Here! Now! Immediately!

For the screaming wanderers
For those suffering from any cause
For the six realms of sentient existence
For all now apprehended or hereafter encountered
I am Mercy Without Hesitation
and you take my unbound seeds with you when you are born
while you endure
and when you dissolve!

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This performance was written by the bad one called Tenpa one bright morning in October. Lacking the materials for offering, he grabbed handfuls of seeds from the wild mustard plants and began throwing them into the wind like a madman, shouting this nonsense.