VISION…

Photo: ‘Moon Residues’ by Susan Cipriano – Pixabay
https://pixabay.com/illustrations/moon-sky-full-moon-clouds-the-moon-5307922/

Ken’s poem seems to invite me into a vision… Similarly, as students of TSK, we are sometimes invited to practice discovering ‘knowingness’… Rinpoche writes:

“The more you practice the exercise, the more you will recognize that If you go closely into full awareness without preserving a realm of messages or concepts, you can conduct openness… Openness itself becomes the source of knowledge, and knowledge connects with a pure, awakened awareness that does not belong to the subjective realm.”

“As thoughts and sensations come up, look within each arising moment for the quality of awareness it carries. Be sensitive to the way that awareness transfers from one experience to the next. A perception or thought goes forward, carrying awareness; then a second perception or thought recollects and passes that awareness on. What is the quality of this experience?”

“As you learn to touch awareness directly and discover its quality, practice looking ‘within’ awareness to discover the knowingness it offers. Instead of trying to perceive awareness as you would perceive an object or reflect on it as you would reflect on an idea, simply practice engaging being. Be careful not to tell yourself what kind of experience to have or dictate its nature.“

“You can swim in awareness; you can refine it as you embody it. The process develops on its own, without special effort on your part. As awareness become more refined, a sense of inner knowledge enters into each experience…”
….’Dynamics of Time and Space,’ by Tarthang Tulku, p. 247-9

LUNA
by Ken McKeon

I’ve replicated the moon within my mind,
Craters, towering spiky ranges,
Vast flat dry seas,
They’re all within now,
Even down to the drifting residues of light left
By all the clanging changes
Each lunar month brings on,
These too are now within,
They illuminate my moods,
They operate like the cooling evening air,

I like the drifting quality,
I like how the pale moonlight
Slowly flutters down,
Like some rare muted golden moth
Upon the darkening evening lawn.
That moth too is light,
And it looks out
Through pitch black eyes
That are graced by
Each day’s final fading tones.