Friday, March 06, 2015

Baying for An Apocalypse

It must have been a trifle for you to see through the games men play to deceive one another. Great, Irreplaceable Rinpoche, when it came to politics, you were nobody's fool. 

Here, now, with your words embedded in mind; here is another deception.

I am among the last of my generation to be raised by loving parents in a peaceful land, in a time before television. Among the last to have experienced a living history that is now being erased, and distorted. Free, clear, and independently able to recognize what turned out beneficial, and what turned out a pack of lies. I am patient. For the benefit of all sentient beings, I am of this world forever.

I read the books before they were burned. Saw the images before the very mediums themselves were destroyed. I walked the ground before walls went up. 

I lived long enough to look back at you, Rinpoche; to honestly and naturally experience the nature of your blessing, and protection. With fires and fences around us, we stayed together, and now they have evaporated into space. 

Wolves and crows came after you. They are like soldiers in dreams, destined to defeat as soon as they are born, capable of absolutely nothing. Let them rise as smoke from fires, let them momentarily perch upon fences. These pictures, too, shall perish.

Diamonds endure long enough to cut anything even as they dissolve; but, a dream? A dream is a far more dangerous thing, sharp and keen for fulfillment. It grows. It does not dissolve. 

A dream can cut the past, the present, and the future.

In the crazed projection of this world that lays open in front of me, resting upon my two hands, there is blood, there is order, there is treason, there is justice, there is no love song long enough to drain every last tear, there are all sorts of hopes, all sorts of reasons. I can see all the tiny lights in the small windows of all the little cities. They shine like flickering red candles on a peaceful village's altars, in the middle of a dark jungle night. 

Oh, Rinpoche, in our deep confusion we have even distorted light, and made it into a weapon. Elderly Father, we arrogantly jumped up to tame outside light, before light inside unburdened us. Certainly, there came infinitely deeper darkness.

In this dark projection at the edge of my fingers, war has come, is waging, and the ancient demons of our species arise like a burgeoning cloud of black dust. Beings torment one another with calculated cruelty. Fantasies become ruthless: people search for pleasure in pain. The relations between men and women are in complete disarray, families are normally broken, and children can no longer be children. Disruption is celebrated, and victims are encouraged to become even stronger abusers.

Grand Rinpoche, beings are once again in this world vowing destruction of the Dharma, whilst harming one another in a bloody dream in the middle of a desert. The ancient demons are baying for an apocalypse. The apocalypse they seek is the sum of all human fears. I call you now to help us dissipate this madness! 

When our own minds are so polluted, shall we liberate only those who go abroad in our delirium armed with rifle and sword?

Here, brought down by desire, anger, and delusion we face inside ourselves is this projection: this imagination, this stream, this outcome, this clear and immediate unfolding. Hear it crack like the ice beneath one who stands in the middle of the deepest lake. 

Here, arising like a curse of our being against all other beings, violence is rapidly unfolding as a solution to violence. Hear the cannon: indeed, they are weapons old as cutlasses. 

Death now falls out of silence swift as disease, from any direction of the sky. We no longer aim lead. We aim fire, light, sound, and somatic disorder. We aim invisible torment at societies, groups, and individuals. Our triggers are thousands of leagues from the barrels of our guns. 

Rinpoche, like a mad child's imagination from rocket comic books, we kill one another from more than eleven miles in the sky. Oh, Master of Physicians, this fever is tempestuous! These wars are terrible! Can you please help us quell these insane delusions?

You have personally looked upon others and me with kindness in numerous lifetimes, under circumstances we understand are significant. Across lifetimes, you have continuously appeared for the benefit of beings. You have planted countless seeds in the hearts of countless beings, those seeds have been nurtured, and they have grown. I am as bound to you as a child to creation - separation is no longer possible, and in this I rejoice and take great comfort. There is no more urgency to be immortal, no more reason to feel loss. I can stay here, endlessly and effortlessly, with you, and imitate doing what is done.

So arises the love, and the obligation to beg the giver of one's vows for surcease of the appearance of war and disorder as it arises. May the constant call for an apocalyptic resolution in the name of ancient demons be met with swift self-recognition of it's own true character by those who utter such calls.

May the calls for peace be met with immediate peace!

Stumble Upon Toolbar

0 reader comments: