Bury the Lead, a Poem
buddhas
leave a trail
of broken things
on the way
to the bodhi tree
they
step in shit
they get
un, non, mis
anti-transcendent
raging and throwing
tantrums
like children
tied to their
toys
rapt attention
attached
eventually
their purpose served
things that can break
fall away
all the knots unravel
not now
not yet
not this
not ready
there is always
a contraction
a last spasm
before
the look
of astonishment
settles in
child like
here
open this gift
of empty
perfection
simply put
life
can only happen
right
fucking
now
my friend’s
voice deepens
the moment lengthens
and the thread
connects
to the
absolute
present
he is
an invitation
to
the essence
alive in this moment
“I am not my ego
I am awareness
that observes it.”
nothing is broken
just different
Here I am
now
recipient of this gift
when so long
I thought
I was the giver
thank you
friend
I love you
that’s where I
should have started
I’ve buried the lead
following the thread
that doesn’t change
like Stafford’s The Way It Is
now you
friend
take a ride
through the hills
leaning into the curves
and take a walk
with the one you love
hold hands and kiss
sit yourself down
unwind
under thick branches
among the roots
of a live oak
drop me a line
when you arrive
for Michael Russer
my friend
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