The smell of the grass I see that holds Ants and imprints of bodies - feet Reminds me of the green eyes Looking jealously at the sky While it poured sadness in drops Making the earth go for more - life. The geese are picking at it - grass Eating while being followed by their young Eating too now Gone while I burn under the sun White skin changing and drying up Like yellow grass coming up clouds as white moss sky as light trunks in the shade spiders running up and down the rivers of unforgettable everyday life burdens we forget over and over again to keep on going Life has a birdsong way Of reminding us that we're alive today Our song could be as soothing Knowing we will die alive and living - not dead already. Orange beak visitor hops around While I write in our open-air palace A pram has stopped to rest Two pairs of sunglasses too Covering the grass for a while With more bodies and conversations Flowers making love Love making flowers Nothing to pick or choose or reject or abandon When all we need is - nothing else but that birdsong look in (y)our face(s)
I’ve travelled the plains of six illusory realms
Where a rain of misery fell without pause
And the dark fog of delusion pressed close around me.
I lacked the broad hat of right view,
The raincoat of unfaltering faith,
And the warm dry cave of good refuge.
Swept by the river of desire and craving
Swollen by driving rains of bad action,
I was borne to the horizon of the ocean of misery,
Buffeted on waves of three lower realms,
And battered on rocks of unwholesome action.
– Mila’s Song in the Rain (Milarepa)
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