Buddha Mind doesn’t discriminate
Between holy men and harlots,
One eyed beggars and robed kings,
Victims of war and their killers,
The vainglorious and vagabonds,
Between three-legged dogs and lions,
Tears of a clown and a maniac’s laughter,
A madman and a messiah,
Oppressed slaves and oppressed masters,
Black skin and white masks,
Between the one who knows and the charlatan,
The genius and the quack,
Between buddhas and false idols.
Separation is illusion.
Life’s stage is a sideshow.
All began as one and that’s
Where we’re all heading.
This is because that is.
That is because this is.
We have already reached the Other Shore.
About the Creator
Donald Quixote
Hopeless romantic,
adventurer in paradox;
so it goes
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Reaching Out
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munson3 days ago in Fiction
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