Sword of Manjushri


If you call this whirlpool
of stars in your heart
"the soul,"
it becomes a shadow
searching for echoes.
If you call this ocean of succulence
"the flesh,"
it turns to stone in the dark
gravity of otherness.
Shall you name it "love,"
this sky where our bodies
dissolve like mist into each other?
Then we are jolted in two,
and out of hoarse silence rains
a voice of cinders.
Use your scripture for kindling.
Toast the commandments
in the fire of your chest.
No more gold-enameled seeds,
each containing a "should."
Have the courage to slice off
"thou shalt not"
right at the throat with a single
stroke of the blazing sword
of emptiness.
Nothing is buried under the ashes
but more ashes.
After the conflagration,
fresh green gestures of
careless caring will arise
as a fragrance distilled
from lost roses in the marrow
of your bones.



 

Photo: Manjushri Buddha

 


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