by Juliana Coles
Dig the earth for gold, for silver.
Dig the earth for oil. Until the fingers bleed.
Until the people bleed, eaten by cancer.
Eaten by greed.
And now the earth itself bleeds,
Now the days are troubled.
And what to show for all of this? Just a few
Dirty coins to count.
I suppose that I am still that boy
Who knelt before the altar,
Who knelt when the priest wished.
In some way, I must be,
For this is that body,
Although over a half-century has passed.
But I am not the same.
No priests for me now,
And no kneeling.
I have cast aside the false god
And the superstitions.
I am slowly becoming an old man.
I have the poems, yes,
And I have the truth.
I have people to love
And a place to be.
That is enough for me now.
by Tom Killion
Learn the rules like a pro, so you can break them like an artist.
To be fully alive, fully human, and completely awake is to be continually thrown out of the nest.
To learn something is to know yourself; to study Buddhism is to study yourself.