The May Woman’s March

And in getting out, see it entirely.

See the getting out of bed, in and of its less-ness entire. See the foot set upon the ground fully, see the feelings, see perception, see all the mentality arising, see consciousness. And the next step, and the next step. Showing up to each and every moment anew.

The perfection is right here, right now, tada ima. Only now, and yet… beyond… and yet… beyond. This is the bell, and these are the robes. Every modulation of the rust removing, removed under these hands. Every deflection, every sound, every smell of each and every earthen metallic molecule, the taste also metallic, upon the tongue, the hands course from its ochre brown, blackened stains.

When sleeping, completely rest in the awareness of it, and so be free from its affirmations, the monkey’s paw free from pitch, stuck though the catcher comes, to claim with its life snaring mitts — such is the dream fully awakened, the best of dreams forgotten in samsara’s mist.

Gone beyond drunkenness of poetry and prose — only the most value to the world deposed. It’s right here, not if, but when it is tasted, the guru’s toe touches the crown, precious amrit descends and invigorates these samsaric ashes.

The May Woman marches ever forward, planting rice, step by step, with humble strength though great with might and depth – not for themselves, nor for others, but in turning wheel to liberation beyond even lasting. Beyond eternal, beyond naught, beyond eternal and naught, beyond neither eternal nor not. Cessation too ceased, Siri writes “crazy”, though desires freedom, it stays engaged, held fixed, as the forms to the functions.

Gone… gone…

Gone beyond…

Gone utterly beyond…

Bodhi Svaha!

Beyond duration, and beyond angle, beyond superpositional angle… it is proclaimed Annutara Samyok Sambodhi!

Beyond even life ever lasting.