A Flight and a Crash

Tradition,

religion,

our flight plan repetition

dead people’s luggage clogs the runways of the mind.

Terrorism,

fundamentalism

exploitation of the blind

grounded forever in the baggage of your kind,

Tradition,

religion,

tied up together in tales of better times

with snapped straps that we have chosen to rebind.

Ignorance,

delusion,

travelling through life, imaginary friends at your side

  tell us all exactly what it is that you expect to find?

Illumination?

Inner peace?

Enlightment?

An afterlife?

My friends, the truth is that we are all just flying blind,

  whirling on a rock, staring at a star with streaming eyes

and we are all alone, together, hoping it will rise,

and that we are just a moment, blinking through the sky.

Image is “Earthrise” from Wikipedia taken by William Anders on the Apollo 8 moon mission: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Earthrise

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Bhāvanā (Meditation)

Master Hand

Buddhist technique #1 – Palm descending from Heaven

My stomach sinks. I am falling; incredible speed smashes against my ears. I spot a far-off spark and spy a single star. A comets trail catches at me and, suddenly, enveloped, I am still. I push and punch at my prison; the walls respond and retract. Looking up now, I feel weightless as a chink of light appears, opening. I crawl out, on to a great golden palm that quivers beneath me. Gigantic glinting fingers crease, and fold back, to form a clawed cockpit. I step forwards, reborn, the pilot of the hand of God.

Buddhist technique #2 – Void and diffusion

Sailing into night, all is silent as it stretches away forever, the vast black frozen sea. Time seems spurious as all is speed and void, all is silent as it stretches away forever, the vast black frozen sea like sleep with lucid dreaming, and all is silent. A vast sea, black frozen time silence, all is spurious and void. All is silent, and still, and then, suddenly, from eternal darkness, springs forth a light. A coloured pinprick, blinking, beckons me in, the great whim; a simple request for investment of consciousness that must be answered.

Buddhist technique #3 – The hand that feeds

The hand agreed, wordlessly. Vibrations quicken, ear drums quiver. I crouch low as colours grow and blossom: great pink and yellow space-orchids spinning red and blue. We approach as petals part; an interwoven helix of paint box strands unravels. Psychedelic spaghetti twisting past a dislocated prism and we are speed now as we fly through the heart of the matter. A camel squeezed at terminal velocity through the eye of a syringe.

Galacticosm

Galacticosm

By David R J Sealey

 

Falling

an endless chasm yawns below me,

forming

a bright yellow platform draws me in,

incorporating

into a geared mechanism, a chain

climbing

to an emerald island suspended in the sky.

 

Onwards

hop down onto floating stone blocks

defying

the pull, drags me on to a gold coin

shining

glimmers and vanishes in my wake,

tumbling

into a star shaped halo, and away.

 

Landing

both feet first through fungal skull,

standing

in a corpse that disappears and crudely

dancing,

crushing sentient beings underfoot and

laughing

before jumping up and away, off the wall.

 

Leaping

out of a ragged hole above the clouds,

chancing

that they may hold my weight then

running

above the horizon; a ship appears,

pirates

of the blue skies making haste my way.

 

Firing

cannonballs tear towards me with a grin

finally

I find a flower that fans flames at my whim

timing

my jump and catching, I slide down the mast

unleashing

terrible balls that burn through decking boards.

 

Screaming

the great ship tumbles towards the ground

seeming

to freeze as I catch sight of a rooftop and leap

scheming

I slide down a green drainpipe, dropping through the

ceiling

into the boudoir of a scholarly mushroom.

 

Image