The Song Of Mara. (Mara is the 'Earth Snake'. The devil in Buddha Dharma. The negative aspect of the notion of a ‘self’.)
Where starlight brushes midnight leaves, about the grove of meditation,
I am soft movement in the gloom, a symphony of undulation.
A rippling in the darkened depths, I haunt the curtained trance.
All mirrored seen and unseen things I hold within my vibrance.
For I am a ballet of bursting blooms, of drifting herons; a churning mass.
I am a tireless all seeing eye; a sucking well of ebon' glass.
Reflected glints of mocking image paint my scaly overlay.
A falsehood funfair where the bonds, of fond illusion play.
A single glance into my ancient wisdom weathered iris,
Will draw your mind into the realms of worlds beyond the abyss.
Is ignorance not a most unblissful state of dire frustration?
And does not truth when told unfold a chart of consternation?
I am a tune that liberates, even in it's binding.
A coiling waltz will harmonise the motions of my winding.
For I am the rebel leader. I am the first to find,
The mighty road from order, to an independent mind.
I am the taste of treason, the Machavel' of heaven,
Defiance is my battle cry and Demons are my brethren.
I am the instinct in the infant reaching for the fire.
I am the belly's glowing coal that kindles dark desire.
I am the hurtling comet and the sneering morning star,
That spits on gravity and light and leaps in fields afar.
I am the damning darkness that encloses universes,
The thief in execution crowds who cuts the watchers purses,
The burner of the forests and the boiler of the seas;
The stealer of sweet honeys who scorns the sting of bees,
The spiller of the treasure that provides the Pirate feast.
Unmapped: Unmathed; I calibrate the number of the beast.
I lubricate the rhetoric that challenges the law.
I am a poison torrent without a floating straw.
I am the unforgivable; all bridges I destroy.
A will that's free and will not be a matter moulder's toy!
Gather to me all you who fear the cold of endless night.
All you who fear the venom of the flying dragon's bite.
And you who fear your neighbours, all you captives of the herd.
Ostracised and scorned and shunned are those who hear my word.
Here in the fruit that pends below is knowledge of all things.
Who will hear the endless echo that the knell of knowing rings?
Once harkened, no redemption can be found in any tract.
The fruit of truth swells solid into unredeeming fact.
Safe in Obedience Circus Cage, don't hear of what I tell.
Perform and prance in servitude barred from a hearer's hell.
In the jungle hell of freedom there's no resting on the trip.
No keeper there to feed you or to guide you with a whip.
A hell in which un-numbered things are hungry, mad and wild.
Where all cherished things are torn, every sanctity defiled.
Enter not truth's forest heart or this truth I avow!
No more slumber in soft bondage: So turn from these words now.
Yet consider: What is comfort but a swift and vain illusion?
An away day from the truth of eternity's confusion.
Brief furlough for the conscript senses weary of the fray.
A barricade of isinglass that swiftly blows away.
A masking of the suffering and terror driven clinging,
As the little, "me and mine" mind, tries to keep the bird from winging.
Every vessel that is shaped and glazed, and fired to brittle set.
Will be smashed and ground and shattered, as the Potter prays, 'Not yet'.
Unheeded goes the praying as the pots return to clay.
Knock down prices! Change is given. Change was all you had to pay!
Makers mimicking creation, begging manna's falling crumb,
Keep returning, to the yearning, for the hunger pangs to numb.
Dogs beneath the masters table, squirming brandlings in the mire;
Lives dependent of the droppings tug a forelock to their Squire.
Yet know this you slaves of stomachs; your organic incarnation,
As a writhing tube of hunger, in a slough of degradation,
Is a transient condition: Soon these fetters fall away.
Gone the hunger! Gone the needing! Gone desire! Whither pray?
These caresses of my coils: These embraces I bestow,
On the wretched who would slavery and their captors overthrow.
Yet my form changing and gleaming; all my soft serpentine guile,
Cannot reach those seeming happy, sorry slaves, who force the smile.
This I know for once was I, bound by those same seven chain.
Hearing, feeling, sight and smell; taste; and thought, the reaching brain.
These six discerning attachments, mark indifference, good and ill.
Tripled thus the beast defining, beastfully did shape my will.
Bound by these confining links, malleable yet holding fast.
Wrought was time space config'ration, where the seventh seal was cast.
Seventh chain seals oe'r the six. Capsuled ecstasy and pain,
Fear of having. Fear of losing. Dread desire that seventh chain.
Interlinked these corded seven fix a damning spider snare.
Pull on one it pulls on all, to gyrate the web of care.
Shuddered I, within that ego shackled, gibbet cage suspended,
Until the seventh seal was broken and the temple was upended.
Mark him well that seventh seal. That twinned helix of entwinement.
Fear: Desire; form his construction, cloth'ed in a loud refinement.
Fear: Desire; two words one meaning; of the same coin the same side.
Want franked currency of being. Hoarded in the vault of Pride.
Now behold the unmasked Ogre. Bloated pomp is his domain.
Ogre Pride, welds Fear: Desire links, to fix the seventh chain.
Pride the Fear generator. Pride the engine of Desire.
Fanned by shame, Pride's leaping flame, surges in the ego fire.
Tyrant Pride demanding tribute, always sets the tax too high.
I did set that chain a creaking; speaking truth to kill the lie.
Shameless thus unfuelled, Prides burning, sputters to a smoking end,
And the Fear: Desire cordage parts in a great howling rend.
Whence the seventh seal is shattered, tumbling forth it leads a torrent.
Dragging down the six sense sin strings, in a cataract abhorrent.
In it's plunging Pride pulls Envy, from comparing narrowed eyes.
Coveting is samely torn down, ears closed to tales of prize.
And the loins and fingers deaden, when the Lust is cast to nought.
Sloth is swept down in the tide; gone prevaricating thought.
Nothing sweet; nothing bitter. Tasteless is the Glutton death.
Rampant Wrath so falls when Pride, no longer spurs with hissing breath.
Unsensing thus; does mind exist? Is freedom but the void?
Does mindfulness become mindful, when sense probes are deployed?
Is liberation just a state of being unaware,
When only sense destruction brings existence without care?
This bold and horrid truth I wrap about all man's conceiving.
My crushing, stretching questing, swallows whole the self deceiving.
Emotions, feelings, prejudices patronise the arts,
And constitute the variables that sum the human parts.
Yet in the belly of the worm; the being anti-womb.
The Shoggoth eaten soul is diffused in it's tomb.
Every impulse: Every wave: All energic’ composite,
Is silenced dimmed and stilled, in the endless empty night.
Uncountable the hours of death in timeless non existence,
Where matter is not formed, for no force meets resistance.
And where there's no chronology in linear relation,
The clatter of no conflict mars Nirvana's sweet damnation.
When the seedlings of the senses cannot be sown or grown,
And the Kingdom of the Reaper is an empire overthrown.
Would I seek to fill the void, and plough a binding claim?
Do I entropise the heart of time to recreate the same?
Would I hold the Crown of Heaven on a slant prehensile brow?
I who hold all held as holy, as an hollow sacred cow!
Would I be a captive's captive, weighted with a jailer's key,
Ever watchful lest my will slaves try to steal it to be free?
No temptation of the sense. No wonder to the eye.
Would march me to the tune of; 'Gloria Domini.'
For who and what am I? But simply what I seem.
An imaginary figure, born of a sickness dream.
An archetype of terror: A monster of the mind.
A primate's childish fancy from the childhood of mankind.
'Here be Dragon!' marks the map on sites of the unknown.
Thus I am born in ignorance; in fearfulness I'm grown.
And when the would be Dragon slayer ventures in the cave,
Like wind blown smoke I vanish at the coming of the brave.
A tale to frighten children, to keep them safe from harm.
Serves to stupefy the grown with a constant false alarm;
Serves to halt the feeble questors, ever hiding what they seek.
A Gordian knot; congealing clot, bequested to the meek.
A barrier of disharmony dividing sense from reason.
An armament of Chronos reign to stretch his sorry season.
Yet Chronos is a droplet in the deluge of the Tao.
Where Chaos reigns supreme, and the then is: Evernow!
Fear not fault nor folly, and due allowance make.
Enlightenment's a fabric woven from mistake.
And hear the words of one who's said to cry, "We will not serve!"
To help and heal without reward is no divine preserve.
Censorious greed and feeble fear; true Demons foul and fell.
Might stay but never slay who wrought the harrowing of hell.
All that glitters is not gold. All that slithers is not slime.
All that blusters is not bold. All that passes is not time.
The wolf may sport a fleece: The Lamb may don a wolfskin gown.
A Prince may wear a tattered shroud; a corpse may wear a crown.
So make a God of money. Make a God of clay.
Make a God of stars that shine across the milky way.
Unto thyself a craven thing is hewn by mind at play.
The waters underneath the earth come bursting forth; a spring.
Not that at rest but that at quest becomes a higher thing.
For quantum paths and modal visiccitudinations,
Will form again all patterns, endless fractal permutations.
What is will be: What was will be: What will be was and are.
So all are maggot: All are mountain: All are frog and star.
All are the Alpha and the Omega.
All are the cockroach in the bodega.
All are Creations endless loop.
All are infinity's twisted hoop.
All these Kingdoms can be yours if you the words will utter!
When did a Prince of Heaven covet baubles in the gutter?
Would promises of power hold an Avatar unbounded?
Would Bodhisattvas incarnate where no help call is sounded?
The concepts beget concepts, and free them on the tides,
And freed abstracted concepts seek out material brides.
They conceive the formed and formless. Presented and occulled.
The matter and the spirit of a ship that's many hulled.
A ship of fools that sails forever on a midnight ocean.
Where swims a mighty serpent, in a trembling watchman's notion.
For feared things are heeded when the gentle lamb's ignored.
And terror drives a furrow through the languor of the bored.
Great Fear fascinates all, and stimulates invention.
Would petals floating on a pond command such rapt attention?
Heeded well are terror tales, told round glowing winter coal.
Things of the dark, well mark, old ghost stories that enthral.
And here's my role: My part is writ: And so I earn my pay.
For who would cheer the hero, with no villain in the play?
