MANDALA OFFERING

Dear Guru Rinpoche,

here I am again,

this time to make my offering.

What can someone like me

offer someone like you?

Yet, I have to do this,

you know,

so please, accept my nonsense.

I offer you my body,

this compound,

transitory home,

so you can shine

through heart and throat and marrow.

Purify it, clean all obscurations,

so my eyes, my hands

may serve others

to catch a glimpse of you.

Take my speech

and make it wise,

use it as you wish,

to spread the news

of man’s real nature.

Dance around this world

disguised under my writings,

speak through me,

in vigil and in dreams,

long live the Buddha’s Dharma.

I offer you my mind,

please take it.

Make it silent,

neat and empty.

Burn all its past contents

in Vajra’s sacred fire.

Make it your home,

your magic wand,

to turn this tragic Earth

into your garden.

Be my guest,

my dearest Guru,

my dear Padmasambhava,

I’ve lived enough,

You take the lead,

accept this poor mandala,

And help me rest.

Marcela.

               TRIVIAL  PURSUIT.

                                                                         

Surcos vanos

en caras triviales,

sonrisas ausentes,

profundidades falsificadas,

contactos fugaces,

superficiales,

un simple toque cálido

a la escenografía.

Frialdad de reptil

camuflada en insípidos abrazos,

frases afectuosas,

monedas de hojalata

para ese tonto del prójimo.


(Escrito después de un cocktail)

Marcela.

Milarepa's song

“The Profound Definitive Meaning" Sung on the Snowy Range, by Milarepa



For the mind that masters view, the emptiness dawns.
In the content seen not even an atom exists.
A seer and seen refined until they’re gone:
This way of realizing view, it works quite well.


When meditation is clear light river flow,
There is no need to confine it to sessions and breaks.
Meditator and object refined until they’re gone:
This heart bone of meditation, it beats quite well.


When you’re sure that conduct’s work is luminous light,
And you’re sure that interdependence is emptiness,
A doer and deed refined until they’re gone:
This way of working with conduct, it works quite well.


When biased thinking has vanished into space,
No phony facades, eight dharmas, nor hopes and fears,
A keeper and kept refined until they’re gone:
This way of keeping samaya, it works quite well.


When you’ve finally discovered your mind is dharmakaya,
And you’re really doing yourself and others good,
A winner and won refined until they’re gone:
This way of winning results, it works quite well.



Translated by Jim Scott, Marpa Translation Committee, 1993. Printed by International Press, Singapore, pages 35 – 37 “

HAIKUS

El barco se va,

el río se estremece,

y yo en el muelle.

Baja la bruma,

silencia los contornos,

de los cipreses.

La araña espera,

con sabia indiferencia

sueña su tela.

La telaraña,

diamantes de rocío,

 brilla en el pino.

Un arco iris

en cada filamento,

la luz del alba.

Diez mil violetas,

perfumando la sombra,

junto al arroyo.

Miro mi sombra

que avanza en el camino

luz de mis pasos.

El mundo entero

 me cabe en el bolsillo

 esta mañana.

                                 Marcela. 

Anyone Can Sing. Cualquiera puede cantar.

Ojalá entiendan inglés como para disfrutarlo.


Anyone Can Sing.

Anyone can sing. You just open your mouth,
and give shape to a sound. Anyone can sing.
What is harder, is to proclaim the soul,
to initiate a wild and necessary deepening:
to give the voice broad, sonorous wings
of solitude, grief, and celebration,
to fill the body with the echoes of voices
lost long ago to bravery, and silence,
to prise the reluctant heart wide open,
to witness defeat, to suffer contempt,
to shrink, lose face, go down in ignominy,
to retreat to the last dark hiding-place
where the tattered remnants of your pride
still gather themselves around your nakedness,
to know these rags as your only protection
and yet still open – to face the possibility
that your innermost core may hold nothing at all,
and to sing from that – to fill the void
with every hurt, every harm, every hard-won joy
that staves off death yet honours its coming,
to sing both full and utterly empty,
alone and conjoined, exiled and at home,
to sing what people feel most keenly
yet never acknowledge until you sing it.
Anyone can sing. Yes. Anyone can sing.

~ William Ayot ~

Poema de Girri.

 A ver qué les parece.....

Cuando la idea del yo se aleja 
De lo que va adelante
y de lo que sigue atrás,
de lo que dura y de lo que cae,
me deshago,
abandonado quedo
del fuerte soplo,
del suave viento,
y quieto, las espaldas,
vueltas las manos hacia arriba,
apoyo en el suelo,
corazón
abjurando de armas, de faltas,
de oraciones donde borrar las faltas,
blando organismo, entidad
que ignora cómo decir: “Yo soy”
y en la enfermedad y la muerte,
vejez y nacimiento
ya no encontrarán lugar,
como no lo encontraría el tigre
para meter su garra,
el rinoceronte el cuerno,
la espada su filo. 

Antes hacía, ahora comprendo.