I am a shot up bomber plane
Heading for home.
Battered by life
I steer toward Sukhavati.
Wheels won’t come down
So it’ll be a belly landing for me
On the bomb bay doors.
The unspent bombs of my despair
Jiggle in their frames
As I lose altitude..
The smoke from the embers
Of all my bad actions
Billows out the cockpit window
Leaving a stain across the sky,
As down
I
Go.
I’m coming in, Amitabha!
Dropping fast
And shuddering forward.
So, get the bodhisattvas ready
To put out the fires of my explosive passions.
The final crash leaves me as
A
Debris
Field spread
Across one of the
Vast gardens of the
Pure Land.
It is up to you, Amitabha,
To build me back up again
And refurbish me as a golden Buddha.
Gather together the scraps and bent bits
Of me
And pile them together on a lotus.
Sit me upright
And spoon feed me subtle joys,
As I am unaccustomed to the richness
Of the bliss
Of the higher states of consciousness.
Wring out my heart
Of all its sorrows
And let it
Draw in the nectar
Of your wisdom.
Then I will fly again,
Bending the curve of time and space
As I help beings across the cosmos
Find their home
In the Pure Land.
0 Comments