Reading Ken’s poem seemed to bring me to an open point… Something like what this quote suggests…
Relaxing in the multidimensionality of thoughts, at home with transitional construction, we can join in the unobstructed freedom of the zeroless. Not bound to affirm content or to establish structure, not burdened by our images of how things are and how we must act, we awaken to the silent tracings of a vast knowledge. In this DIFFERENTLY DIMENSIONED knowledge, the characteristically human issues of meaning, significance, and fulfillment appear in a new light.
We discover this knowledge by relaxing into it, letting go of our perpetual concern that we are somehow at fault or at risk. The feeling is liberating, like warm sunlight after a fierce winter storm. At home in a zeroless space abiding, we recognize that we have the power to shape the universe instead of simply inhabiting it, to become the architects of a knowledge that does not depend on our constructs or determine our reactions.
….’Dimensions of Time and Space,’ by Tarthang Tulku, p.65-6
by Ken McKeon
Hey, a long gone spell’s been cast away,
Witch works kicked over the moon,
No curses anywhere,
No more unjust blame,
Harborings of perfection, well genuflected flat out revenge,
What will I ever do with all my spare time?
I think I’ll puddle up my mind with Spring,
I’ll bower the sunlight with flowers,
All the new born leaves, the new arrivals
Of a god’s love for a super richly variegated life,
Good grief, marmalade,
Who could ever stand such a true release?
I don’t think I could,
I’m much more given to lurking behind
the false masks of my desires,
All my get along ways signify only a reluctance of my soul,
That fearful feathery float of need
That’s cornered somewhere in my mind,
It knows not what it is,
It appears to be such a weighty thing,
But in actuality it’s not,
Actuality, that’s the land it longs for but never finds,
The marble truth, the golden key,
The unknown gemstone of an all perfection birth,
There’s no such thing,
No final core, first go, sure path,
And yet still springtime booms on in,
Tubas and cornets, piccolos and drums,
What a big raw sound they make!
Not a peep, never heard,
Nested in nothing,
No true sun at all,
And yet all this light…