The Act of the Absurd

How absurd is consciousness seeking        Purpose?

                                       Isn’t that the spectacle of Life?
 
                           Sometimes I laugh
 
                 Sometimes I cry

                        Crave, Hate

                              All enveloped in that

                   Spectacle of
                                light and dark
                                               Oh the absurdity of my Act!

                         I act and Laugh

                                   As I continue to perform

                                                 The never-ending Act zero

What am I?

What am I?

I ask myself

Flowing with life

~

I am not a writer

I lack wisdom to teach

Though I observe

Anthropologist I am not

Discipline I lack

To become a real researcher

I am active but not really an activist

I care but I am not a social worker

Connecting people I like

But community organizer I am not

I can take some photographs

But photographer I am not

I like to paint

But not really an artist

I can dance sometimes

Though bboy I am not

I enjoy playing with words

But poet I am not

~

What? What am I then?

I ask myself

Contemplating life unfolding

~

Am I that tiny little bird that sings perched on a blossoming plum tree?

Am I that tree that stands facing the unforgiving change of seasons?

Am I that clinging leaf that falls while pondering its impermanence?

Oh Mother Earth are you going to embrace me soon?

Am I that tingling morning dew dripping into the eternal river

That flows and flows through

Mountains and valleys and plains

To finally empty itself into the Sea

~

What? I am nothing really?

Nothing?

I must be something

Hm maybe I am nothing yet something at the same time

I don’t know

I am quite confused

~

Oh! Perhaps I am a confused bird singing perched on a blossoming plum tree with leaves filled with dew dripping into the eternally flowing river flowing towards the Sea emptying itself…

Oh I see you now ego! It’s nice to meet you my dear ego trying to be someone, to become something darn we do have a long journey ahead and lots of suffering on its way so let us wish ourselves a bon voyage towards the Sea it’s going to be a rough ride home

streaming from a humble Chinese restaurant

I the ungrateful child of a restaurant have searched all around the world for solutions to my sufferings and I have been propelled back to you time after time until I finally realize that I failed to be grateful to you dear humble restaurant you are like my mother and father you have given me a roof a shelter you have given me food and nourished me to become who I am today you have sent me to school to college and traveling all around the world and here I am back to you my dear humble Chinese restaurant with all your flaws and imperfections please forgive me in failing to appreciate you the smell of stir fried oil the brothers and sisters within you who cook and serve all the customers that stop by for Chinese food please forgive me that I didn’t appreciate your blood sweat and tears dripped into the plates of food that you serve I know you have your own flaws but you are what you are as of now you might be part of a capitalist system that exploits its workers and condemns them to lots of suffering but I know you will be continuing your process of self-actualization and I know you will change someday somehow because you have too in order to survive and sustain yourself so let us be here and now and I am no longer shameful to say I love you and I am part of you and we shall never be separated my dear humble Chinese restaurant you are me and I am you in an imperfect world seeking transformation so I shall continue my journey flowing filled with love your bird child

The Hypocrisy of In Between

In between worlds

I stand adrift in my little boat

In the vast ocean of samsara

~~~

Sometimes energetic

Sometimes lost and confused

Sometimes Oppressor

Sometimes Oppressed

~~~

Such is the hypocrisy

Of in between worlds

~~~

Denying the Oppressor

Denied by the Oppressed

Wearing Oppressor clothes

Eating Oppressor food

Venturing out to ‘serve’ the Oppressed

~~~

Such is the hypocrisy

Of in between worlds

~~~

It might be that

In the eyes of the Oppressed

I’m still the Oppressor

With a foolish smile

And foolish acts

What a foolish child!

It might be that

In the eyes of the Oppressor

I am an ungrateful child

That eats the food but does not repay back the kindness

~~~

Such is the hypocrisy of in between worlds

Alone, lost and confused

I stand adrift

In my little boat

In the ocean of samsara

~~~

The sail is torn

The mast is loose

The stern is cracked

The cracks are leaking

The boards are molding

~~~

Oh bodhicitta boat

Break not

Don’t break

Until we reach the Other shore

~~~

The egotistical fool in me

Thought I could ferry

The Oppressors and the Oppressed

In my little boat

Together

To the Other shore

How foolish!

How can the blind lead the blind?

Let go and find yourself the Way

Only then you can return to fetch

Those who are ready to depart

~~~

Oh bodhicitta boat

Break not

Don’t break

Until we reach the Other shore

~~~

The winds of time whisper

Ten years took Ulysses

To finally reach Home

See those mermaids

Beware

See those sorceresses and nymphs

Beware

Watch out for the one-eyed cyclope

The cannibals

Serpents

You’ll encounter them

Just take heed

Wondering sailor

~~~

All things are impermanent

Indeed

You’ll realize this

Sooner or later

The hypocrisy of in between worlds

Shall cease

Get hold of your little boat

Make repairs if you need

Look into the deep horizon

Can’t you see?

You are not alone

There are many bodhicitta boats

Adrift in the sea

You’ll soon meet them

You can sit, converse and chat

And continue journeying

Towards the Other shore

Life and Death of a New Chinese Bourgeois

blue bird and chinese plum blossom
Blue Bird and Chinese Plum Blossom (Thanks to http://www.inkdancechinesepaintings.com/plum-blossom/painting-2485024.html)

New chinese bourgeois

Oh you studied in America?

“The Land of the Free,

Home of the Brave”

Are you brave enough

To stab the Oppressor in you?

Are you Free enough

To realize that you are caged

In a wheel circling endlessly?

.

What?

You are going to Portugal

To help your mother?

Then here are some words for you

New Chinese bourgeois

.

Since you’re in Portugal

I’ll speak Portuguese to you:

.

Estimada,

Nova burguesia Chinesa

Porquê esta frieza

No teu coração

Para os trabalhadores

Que outrora foram

Teus irmãos

Porquê esta fraqueza

Contra a perda da tua riqueza

Que ganhaste
Mentindo e manipulando

As tuas irmãs?

Porquê?

Porquê?

Porquê esta dureza

Nas tuas ordens

Para com os teus subordinados

Objetos

Considerados por ti

Dominados

Eles são, por ti

Porque não abres

O teu coração

Para o sofrimento que infliges

Com a tua existência

Olha, estás cego?

À tua frente estão

Os teus irmãos e irmãs

Quase mortos de Espírito

Forçados a uma rotina desuhumana:

Acordar,

Trabalhar,

Comer,

Trabalhar,

Comer,

Dormir,

Acordar,

Presos,

Continuando esta routina

Sempre trazendo dinheiro para os teus bolsos

Que prisão de existência é esta

Em que tu fazes de gerente?

Porquê?

Porque é que continuas a ignorar os sinais

Da tua Morte iminente

Cuidado, eles vêm aí para te buscar

.

Morre esfaqueado

Oppressor!

E Acorda finalmente

Dos teus sonhos nublados e pesadelos

Morre, Oppressor, Morre

E Levanta-te de novo

Como Homen Livre

Luta lado a lado

Com os teus irmãos e irmãs

Sofrer juntos

E morrer juntos

Contra este Sistema

Vicioso

Caprichoso

Que nos imprisona

A todos

Não ouves os sons do tambor

Do teu coração?

É o som do Amor divino

Da Compaixão

Os três perdidos

Liberdade,

Igualdade,

E Fraternidade

Já voltaram

Não vês?

Eles já voltaram

Deixa tudo para trás

Juntos marchamos

Juntos marchamos

Para uma nova Revolução!

How Can I Not?

Time has passed by

Like a gust of wind

A bird gets ready to fly

Oh so hard it is

To say goodbye

 

Oh attachments

To home and not-home

 

Is it still home?

Where the heart still longs

For something

Timeless

Long gone

Truth?

 

It might be

That this precious Truth

Is right here

Next to me

How painful it is

That I can’t see?

 

Some people

Call it Love

But I can’t feel it

Perhaps a little sprout

Deeply planted

In layers and layers

Of illusive existence

 

How can I accept an illusory role

Prescribed by a system

Engineered to keep me

A passive victim

That blindly and silently

Follows

What others are expecting

‘Me’

To do?

 

What is ‘Me’?

I am my mother

My father

Brothers and sisters

Ancestors

Creators of my kinship

I am more than my blood

I am the tree that I used to love

I am the river that I used to swim

I am the clouds that I used to dream

I am earth mother desperately crying for help

I am heavenly father who gave me a soul and guides me with Love

 

How can I accept

Seeing ‘me’

All my loved ones

Trapped in illusion

Delusion

Karmic sea of Suffering?

 

How can I not

Attempt to find a way out?

 

How can I not?

Build a boat

Search and wander in the sea

To finally find a ferryman

Who agrees

To take me to the other shore

 

Oh that sweet home

Where the heart longs no more

Where home is here

There

Everywhere

Nowhere

At the same time

 

If I do reach my destination

You will see

That you are ‘me’

Simply Free

 

You will realize

That indeed

You have agency

To build your own boat

Search and wander

Meet your ferryman

And see ‘me’

On the other shore

 

True Home this is

Where the heart longs no more.

 

Quando cantas, pequeno pássaro? (When will you sing, little bird?)

Em Março toda a acção se junta

Na Primavera o tempo pergunta

Quando cantas, pequeno pássaro Buddha?

 

O Inverno tem sido muito frio

A tua voz o mundo necessita

Agora só se escuta

O rugido do vento da Morte

Que ceifa vidas

Dos fracos e dos fortes

Pessoas que ainda não ouviram a tua doce voz do Dharma.

 

Ouve-se o assobio das bombas que caem

Os gritos da Terra violada

O disparo dos tiros que cortam o choro das crianças inocentes

Rasgando os coracões dos seus parentes

Como se vive sem coração?

 

Quão grande será o sofrimento destes pais culpados?

Que vivem mais tempo que os seus pequenos

Como se libertarão das cicatrizes de uma esterilização forçada?

Como se liberatarão da raiva?

Da vontade de retribuição

De mais e mais sofrimento no ciclo da existência

Como se libertarão?

 

Só a tua doce voz do Dharma…

Só a tua doce voz do Dharma…

 

Em Março toda a acção se junta

Na Primavera o tempo pergunta

Quando cantas, pequeno pássaro Buddha?

 

Dharma como fruta se madura

Para chegar a Primavera

Três estações se espera

Para o brilho da Lua Cheia

Três fases se transforma

Para o caminho a Deus começar

Sete pecados mortais se expia

Para o Buddha em si acordar

As quatro Nobres Verdades se internaliza

Para a Lótus de Oito Pétalas se abrir

O Caminho Óctuplo se pratica

 

Lá dentro

O pequeno pássaro Buddha espera…

 

Em Março toda a acção se junta

Na Primavera o tempo pergunta

Quando cantas, pequeno pássaro Buddha?

 

Em Março

Primavera chega

Dharma madura

Lua Cheia brilha

O caminho a Deus começa

Buddha acorda

A Lótus de Oito Pétalas abre

E o pequeno pássaro Buddha canta!