michael dickes: Recent Episodes
michael dickes
Why do we call our meditation and spiritual routine "practice"? When does it begin? When does it end? Does it require a beginning and an end?
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Wind in the Bardo
Hard times Emotions scatter Cages get rattled That old rusty chain
In your past life All that bad karma Wind in the Bardo Born again pain
But you’re only Starting over again There’s nothing to fear It’s like you’ve been here Skipping stones All the many lives before This wind in the Bardo
You will forget All of the trouble Blood on the knuckles Cuts to the face
You’ll wake up somewhere Discrete and sub-rosa Where nobody knows you Or calls out your name
You’re only Starting over again There’s nothing to fear In fact, you’ve been here Skipping stones All the many lives before This wind in the Bardo
Every action has a reaction The present and past are Links in the chain Every moment The future is spoken The circle unbroken It’s cause & effect
It’s just like Going home again get the mind clear Of a life in arrears Throwing stones Upon some distant Lost and empty shore Like wind in the Bardo
© 2017 Michael Dickes
They called out “One last swallow. Time to move along.” Behind a smile so fake and shallow, painted on and worn for show.
“So find someone to follow or someone to take you home.” They hauled out as the hollered with no place left to go.
There’s a Denny’s off Aurora - Avenue that’s always slow with a waitress that pours coffee and once dialed him on the phone To say that he reminds her of a husband that often roamed With a voice so tired and hollow with no place left to go
It’s sad, I know everytime the whistles blows That the’ve gone mad. Yeah? So?
Devil’s Beach has lots of parking and houses in a row A crane swung o’er the ocean beside a factory that was closed A gull cried in the distance at a boat that wouldn’t row From a throat that squawked and wallowed with no place left to go
Ah, its odd, I know when siren wails and moans That I’ve gone mad. Yeah? So?
So if you’re head grows weary and your heart stops beating on its own Unafraid that you are dying but scared as hell to go alone This last line cannot be written or forced, as you well know For this song is worn and fallow With has no place left to go