Dalai Lama - The Nobler Truths of Life

The Dalai Lama continues to laugh
addressing
a large audience.

The interpreter is super-serious
has no time for laughter
The English was like a net
the Tibetan words butterflies,
flew from the flower-petal lips of the Dalai Lama
sometimes to sit on the ears of the Tibetan kids
sometimes on the gold-flecked robes,
maybe the wedding dresses
of the Tibetan women
taken out only on special occasions
but worn away at the hems
this bit of sparkle left
like the trace of light  in aged eyes.

The Dalai Lama was expounding
the Four Noble Truths of Buddhism
He raised his arm and
like three little dots of ‘therefore’
there were the marks of childhood vaccination
peeping through his ochre robe.
They whispered:
   Aha, someone is talking about such high principles
            but is from this very world
            this very epoch
            and he’s just a  man.

Right in front of me, rapt, a grandfather
on his shoulder  a chubby little boy and his gurgling bottle
wiping his running nose
on grandpa’s sweater —
He must have been like that  —
the Dalai Lama
What do we know of Tibet  —
Rahul Sanknityayan or Rinpoches
monasteries and chow mein
cheap sweaters and sandals, China,
snow, lost eyes, round faces and faithful Lhasa Apso pups.

How do those noble truths
connect with
such random bits,
the ignoble truths of life?

Does truth too have hierarchies?
A caste system?  —
Brahmin truths at the top
and then the Shudra  truths at the bottom?

Hunger and
thirst
heat and cold
attachment and cruelties
Love and hate  —
are these truths really lower?

Dalai Lama, you tell me, please:
if the truth is like these mountain ranges —
high and low.
I prefer living in the deep cave of a small truth
occasionally coming to you
to learn the nobler truths of life.

Far Away In The Near Distance

Far away in the near distance.
Stands a dream with no signs of resistance.
This dream exists in each and every one of us.
Yet we look back and forth.
Truly trying to understand.
Who is this weird man.
Talking of dreams and man.
I speak of happiness and peace.
If we all could understand.
We kill one another.
Then ask the question why we struggle.
If life is given.
Why not give it a chance.
Love and forgiveness a dream we all can agree.
Is something you and me can see.
Far away in the near distance.

by Edward Morales

EAGLE POEM

To pray you open your whole self
To sky, to earth, to sun, to moon
To one whole voice that is you
And you can't see, can't hear,
Can't know except in moments
Steadily growing, and in languages
That aren't always sound but other
Circles of motion.
Like eagle that Sunday morning
Over Salt River. Circled in blue sky
In wind, swept our hearts clean
With sacred wings.
We see you, see ourselves and know
That we must take the utmost care
And kindness in all things.
Breathe in, knowing we are made of
All this, and breathe, knowing
We are truly blessed because we
Were born, and die soon within a
True circle of motion,
Like eagle rounding out the morning
Inside us.
We pray that it will be done
In beauty.

...Joy Harjo

All Is Finished - Tribute to Russell Means

I wanted to give something of my past to my grandson.
I told him that I would sing the sacred wolf song over him.
In my song, I appealed to the wolf to come and preside over us, while I would perform the wolf ceremony.
So that the bondage between my grandson and the wolf would be life long.
I sang.
In my voice was the hope that clings to every heartbeat.
I sang.
In my words were the powers I inherited from my forefathers.
I sang.
In my cupped hands lay a spruce seed, the link to creation.
I sang.
In my eyes, sparkled love.
And the song floated on the sun's rays from tree to tree.
When I had ended, it was as if the whole world listened with us to hear the wolf's reply.
We waited a long time but none came.
Again I sang, humbly but as invitingly as I could, until my throat ached and my voice gave out.
All of a sudden I realized why no wolves had heard my sacred song.
There were none left!
My heart filled with tears.
I could no longer give my grandson faith in the past, our past.
I wept in silence.
All is finished!
...Chief Dan George Salish (1899-1981)

A Child's Prayer

God, Make my life a little light, 
Within the world to glow; 
A little flame that burneth bright, 
Wherever I may go.



God, make my life a little flower, 
That giveth joy to all, 
Content to bloom in native bower, 
Although the place be small.



God, make my life a little song, 
That comforteth the sad, 
That helpeth others to be strong, 
And makes the singer glad.


 by M. Betham - Edwards

Standing Alone

I can see the flower upon which my life grows, blooming into a rose.

See the hope and courage in the strength of the petals.
As long as I am, I will be.
The flower will never wilt or die.
As my life grows back, I shall become strong.
I shall become only dependent on one.
That one will be me.
I will rise with my petals high.
My life as a flower will bloom and prosper as I grow.
I may not be the pick of the patch, but I am just as beautiful as the rest.

I will stand as one, but not a lonely soul.
The tears will be far from my smile.


by Chase