Keep on Bowing in the Free World

Found a cafe with wireless and decided to post before I go back for the remaining 5 hrs of today's prostration retreat.

I was up till 2am giving  friend a Tarot reading, which was not very smart and made my 5am start time slightly unrealistic, but I was on the corner of Powell and Market doing prostrations at 6 sharp.

If you are thinking of indulging any tendencies toward exhibitionism, I do not recommend prostrations on the streets of San Francisco. You have to be a lot weirder than me to get noticed here, and as most of you know, I am pretty weird. Most people looked at me with about the same level of interest as they might have in a dying pigeon.

Except for a phone call to wish Diotima well before her sesshin, I bowed for three hours straight and during that time I had one person give me a dollar. But a schizophrenic came by spouting gibberish and dumped a handful of hard candies in my donation box. His only recognizable words were "this will help!" I took that as a good omen, and it is my proudest accomplishment of the day.

A dear friend from out of town came by and took some pictures which I might share at some point. She said I needed a better sign than my little hand printed one.

My only other visitors were San Francisco's finest, who asked me "Who are you bowing to?" I said, "You," and they didn't get my subtle reference to their Buddha nature, but made me promise to leave that spot by 9 am. They were back promptly at 9 to see that I bowed somewhere else and recommended UN Plaza where the riffraff hang, which is where I belong, no doubt about it. "We will welcome you there," said the smiling cop. He was pretty nice about it, and I thanked him.

After breakfast and an interesting discussion with my friend, I went to UN Plaza and bowed on the grass there till the sun came from behind the buildings and threatened me with melanoma. I moved to a shady spot near a building and was moved by security to a spot where I had an opportunity to practice with the "one taste" of Mahamudra. Well, "one smell" anyway, since the distinct odor of urine wafted from somewhere nearby. Actually a boombox playing old Shuggie Otis tunes was harder to deal with. Just keep bowing, John.

Before she left, my friend sneaked a $20 bill into my box and I planned to donate it along with some sponsorships to St. Anthony's Dining Room. But then a desperate rastafarian came by and gave me a very sad family hard luck story and begged me to buy a cannabis bud for $5. I happen to be a recovering canabbis addict and  offered him the $20, saying, "Here, man, your lucky day."

He was confused; in fact looked at me very suspiciously, but took it, and then after hesitating, as if it might be bad luck to do otherwise, he dropped a very nice looking bud in my box and left.

Great. Here I am trying to impress you all with my dharmic dedication and suddenly I have to fight off the urge to go buy a pipe and get loaded!

No problem, while listening to a conversation between the angel on my right shoulder and the devil on my left, a down-and-out hustler came by and offered to sell me me some probably hot luggage. I declined. He spied the candy and said, "Hey, candy! Can I have some?" I said, "Sure."

After he left, I looked and of course he stole the bud. Problem solved. But for quite a while I couldn't decide whether I was pissed off or relieved. Actually, I still don't know.

Another noteworthy event was that while I was bowing, trying to raise money to feed the hungry a group of people came by and handing out free lunches and I took one. Peanut butter sandwich, an orange and a carrot. Delicious! I talked to him and he told me they are a group of 10 people with no name who just make about 200 lunches and give them away.

I took a break and went over to St. Anthony's Dining Room to donate the $100 I collected online from generous sponsors. They were glad to get it, and I got a receipt, but the system seemed a little loose, and I started worrying that maybe the staff kept it for themselves. Hmm. Ah well, they looked like they could use it too, I guess.

All this karmic accounting is confusing as hell. Better get back to the streets.

Keep on bowing in the free world.

Love to all,

John O.

Tenderloin Meltdown Bowdown

To the pregnant schizophrenic girl who had me touch her belly

and told me she would birth the Savior of the World.

Your face was yellow and the swelling of your skinny body felt like a tumor.

My Teacher's painful vision of my overweening pride,

I never saw you again.

I bow down to you.

To the Vet who wept and told me “I killed them for nothing.”

You took my five dollars for a sandwich and a beer,

said “thank you, brother” and hugged me when I said I too have killed.

My Teacher's painful vision of my paralyzing shame,

I hope you found a job.

I bow down to you.

To the broken and addicted,

squealers, dealers and afflicted

to greedy johns and needy whores

and their mamas doing chores

and the hustlers running scams

and the bustlers trying to scram

to the children off to school

ignoring all the butts and drool

to the rollers cruising through

saving many from a few

until they lose it will-nilly

and beat some poor lone bastard silly

to those who preach the Unknown God

transgendered with the unreal bod

and the ladies cutting hair

while the crazy spit and stare

to the howlers and the moaners

cheap liquor vendors and bar owners

I too will do what I must do

until we don't.

I bow down to you!

Love,

John O.

Flame of Love

Though he fall into the blossoming flame
and smell the burning flesh and feel desire,
in his howl of agony and shame
the wise will hear the voice of someone higher.
This world must burn, desire for beauty rage.
Love spares neither flawed nor perfect mind.
The fool, the rogue, the sot, the sage,
Love burns to leave one ash behind.
He will. He will breathe deeper than he can.
From far beneath him lift his eyes above.
Look: John is a fine wise man.
But burnt.
                 I AM alone the flame of love.

                              [adapted from the Mr Bones Doggone-Versations]

Love,

Burnt John

Love and Death Sonnet for Diotima

Some point out rightly all things joined are parted.

There’s no exception to this bitter rule.

So why pursue what leaves one broken hearted?

Why love, they ask, when Love's end is so cruel?

I’m tempted to reply, they've not loved You.

But I know well that answer won’t persuade.

Another fool, they’ll say, who fears what’s true,

Who lives oblivious to Death’s sure blade.

I am a fool. Let that be stipulated.

For only fools are granted to glimpse this:

In perfect Love, not even Death is hated.

His cruel cleaver also joins in bliss.

All things must pass. This truth brooks no exception.

But Life’s our wedding. Death is our reception.

Love and Death to All,

- John O.

Mystery (for D)

Such a Mystery to tell

from high above your Fontanelle

to deep beneath your Sacred Toes,

there's a Mystery I know

I don't know, and cette je ne sai quoi

hushes me and pleads “tais toi!”

But as poet I must sing

this Mystery and I must bring

a thousand times through Heaven's Hell

such a Mystery to tell.

Forgive me if I tell it now:

You have made me Love somehow.

Yours in Your Mystery,

- John O.

We Could Get Together

There's a preacher in the Bible
says that all is vanity.
There ain't much you'd call survival.
Get it straight for sanity.
To everything there are two seasons:
a Spring and a Fall.
Don't ask me the reason
but it's true.
Still as long as there is anything
anywhere at all,
we could get together
Me and You.

Darlin, you be a shore breeze
and I'll be some old trees
I could bend with You until I died.
You be the Vast Void,
I'll be an ast'roid
orbiting your starry insides.

You be a jazz band,
I'll be a tune.
Use me every song in every set.
I'll be a bridge span,
You be the Moon.
I think we'd make a lovely silhouette.

If You was a little vine
needin a place to climb,
I could always be your garden pole.
If I was a thirsty horse
lost on a desert course,
You could always be my water hole.

If You was a sunflower
bloomin just one hour,
for an hour I would be your stem.
If You was a deep bog
and I was a tree frog,
I would hop down all the time and swim!

Honey, You be a southern clime,

I'll be the sunshine.

That way I could always keep you warm.

If you led the bees' life,

I'd be a beehive.

That way you could come to me in swarms.

Babe, I'll be the summer air,
make like a mountain.
Between us we could melt a little snow.
You be a public square,
I'll be your fountain
somewhere in the south of Mexico.

Some say this universe
stinks like a cesspool.
Some say it is beautiful and pure.
I don't know good from worse,
I'm just a crass fool
but I will always love You. That's for sure.

[Adapted from The Mr Bones Doggone Versations]

A  Smashing Love to All,

- John O.

Kingdom of Ghosts

In the Kingdom of Ghosts the Queen is also dead.
Her silver shadow scepter threatens only the deluded.
If they knew that they were dead, it would have no point
but I, who thought I lived here, felt it sharp enough.

No one lives in this cold electric land.
I see the way the light shines through my body.
My sex is phantom and even if she beds me,
even if she calls me King, I’m dead.

She thrusts but I don’t parry. Now I know.
Ghosts can’t hurt ghosts, but I remember
sunshine and water and the breath of the living.
Smash this ghost with love. I will be born.


Love to All,

- John O.