one hundred words to winter

Shred the layered Veils
and Burn for heat these garments
which clothed us Summer long
now Shed their Golden splendor;
go Naked towards the Snow!


Till under these Pale stalks
in Clawed and furrowed Earth;
Bury life's remains with snow:
our gifts to winter's frozen heart.
Awaiting springtime's golden glow.


under this cold sky's arc
Effort rarely serves great Virtue;
One person's Work feeds many:
Starlings descend on the field.
Young ones shirk the Plow.


A paltry Rag-and-stick
man Wards off the Birds.
This season's children must till
Grandmother's garden. Spare the wine;
Break bread in new Jerusalem.

How Poems Happen

I usually write poems in response to my environment. Writing requires an effort on my part. Inspiration is a constant. Poems only happen when i sit down and work on them. And, some times this is easier than other occasions.

One of my favorite tricks is wool gathering. Like Wordsworth, Shelly and the other romantics, I like to take a walk and absorb impressions of this wonderful world. Of course the world is far less pristine than it was in Wordsworth's time, so I often walk among human ruins and construction sites. This contrast between the apparently eternal sky and sea, and the human race against obsolescence feeds my imagination constantly; but I rarely find a way to give voice to more than a thin description of the world.

Because the world constantly collapses around me and humanity has also lost it's grace, I frequently turn to memory for subjects and ideas. I had a far less cynical view when i was young and i try to recapture that innocent perspective. Very often i find that contemplating the past reveals lessons learned along the way. These are useful to retrieve because both life and art thrive on purpose and meaning.

The third great wellspring for me lies in other peoples words. Other people, both writers and regular folks, see the world as clearly as i do, but all of us have different ways of seeing and saying what we see. I try to use other people's accounts to get a better view, and expand my vocabulary so that one day i might really communicate with some one. To this end i react to poems and engage in critical discourse over word choices and metaphors. Some of my best efforts have emerged through trying to paraphrase another writer's work, or reconstruct a conversation from the past.

For me, Form makes the thing a poem. Most of the time my thoughts flit about like finches in a bush, (or flies around a corpse.) The effort of fitting my thoughts into a Sonnet or Haiku gives me great satisfaction, although for many readers, the spontaneous essence of the moment is lost. So sometimes my Haiku ramble on, and my Sonnets fall a few lines short. These are just forms. The Real Poems are still out there waiting to be written. And the Real Poets are the readers who somehow take in these bundles of syntax and typography and find meaning in them. Beauty, after all, lies in the eye of the beholder; and where there is beauty. . . truth

-bill

CHÖD

CHÖD CUTTING ATTACHMENT A BEGGAR'S AMASSING OF THE COLLECTIONS OF MERIT   PHAT No longer cherishing the body, the god demon [of distraction] is overcome. The mind emerges into the expanse of space through the Brahma opening, Overcoming the death-lord demon and turning into the fierce goddess. Her left hand holds a skull as an instrument and her right A curved knife conquering the demon of afflictions, cutting off The skull and overcoming the demon of the form aggregate. She sets it on a hearth of human skulls which form the Three Bodies. Inside it the corpse filling the thousand million worlds is distilled Into pure nectar by the syllables, a and ham, And is purified, increased and transformed By the power of the three syllables. OM AH HUM   PHAT Offerings are made to the high guests and their intentions are fulfilled. Masses of merit completed, I attain the common and supreme siddhis. The low guests of cyclic existence are pleased and all my debts are cleared. Especially all those who harm and obstruct are well satisfied, Sicknesses, spirits and interruptors vanish in the expanse. Bad circumstances and selfishness are all reduced to dust. At last all that is left of the offerings and recipients Is the unfabricated a in the Great Perfection nature.

Prayer for the Animals

• "Hear
  our humble prayer, O God, for our friends the animals, especially for
  animals who are suffering; for any that are hunted or lost, or deserted
  or frightened or hungry; for all that must be put to death. We entreat
  for them all thy mercy and pity and for those who deal with them we
  ask a heart of compassion and gentle hands and kindly words. Make us,
  ourselves, to be true friends to animals and so to share the blessings
  of the merciful."

Prayer for the Animals

Albert Schweitzer

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Geschenk

Gift

This small grey feather, fallen
From a morning doves wing,
Marks a passage in my favorite book,
Where you left off from reading
Long ago.

---

Diese kleine graue Feder, gefallen von den Tauben eines Morgens wing, kennzeichnet einen Durchgang in meinem Lieblingsbuch, wohin Sie weg von vor langer Zeit lesen verließen.

A Fathers Heart

The Tibetan community worldwide was also impacted profoundly by this tragedy. It was a powerful lesson on the fragility of life, and on impermanence. Yeshi Choden was the daughter of Bhakha Tulku Rinpoche, a high master and lineage holder in the Nyingma and Kagyu lineages of Tibetan Buddhism, and a respected and much-beloved elder in the Tibetan Buddhist community. Rinpoche remembered his daughter Yeshi in a writing that was read after traditional weekend-long Shitro practice that was done for Yeshi September 29-October 1 at Rinpoche’s Vairotsana Foundation Dharma Center in Santa Barbara, California. Just as her life benefited as an example of the value of education and the joy of being of service, may Yeshi’s death benefit all beings as a lesson on impermanence and the fragile, cyclical nature of life. Nothing insulates any of us from death, at any time. And may Yeshi’s commitment to protecting the earth, the environment, natural resources, and the poor continue to be carried forward by everyone whose lives she touched. For the benefit of all beings!

---

My daughter Yeshi Choden Lama was born on November 26, 1968, in the Northeastern part of India near the border of Tibet, in Tetjun, the Lohit District of Arunachal Pradesh, beyond Assam State. This remote area used to belong to the tribes, and tribal dialect was spoken there. When Yeshi was born, I was not there. I was serving His Holiness Dudjom Rinpoche in Kalungpo, West Bengal, India. Until she was one month old, she was cared for by her great-grandmother.



When she was six years old, I took Yeshi to Darjeeling, India. The Darjeeling area had the best schools, missionary schools. I felt it was very important to ensure that Yeshi received an outstanding education. I believe that one of the main reasons that Tibetans lost Tibet to the Chinese occupation was because of a fundamental lack of education – and a lack of sophistication in international matters. Throughout her life, I worked diligently and constantly to provide Yeshi with an excellent education – always with the independence of Tibet in mind.



Yeshi’s grandfather was also a well known Tulku from PemaKod, Padmasambhava’s sacred land. He didn't want to send his granddaughter such a long distance to Darjeeling, but I insisted on taking her to the best place for her education. I knew some Tulkus from Darjeeling, whom I asked if I could bring her. These Tulkus had a family with children, the sister’s daughters, and they said yes, of course. Yeshi and I stayed in a monastery run by Kangyur Rinpoche, a well known Nyingma teacher and Dzogchen master. Rinpoche’s son, Tulku Pema Wangyal, lives in France now and runs three-year retreats there.



At Kangyur Rinpoche’s monastery, there were many cabins around the monastery where westerners stayed as well. So I took Yeshi there. Yeshi started at a Himalayan nursery school for two years, and I stayed in one of the cabins working on a manuscript for Tulku Pema. Tulku Pema found sponsors for Yeshi and her education, and fed us from the monastery kitchen. After two years at the Himalayan nursery school, Yeshi went to Bethany School – a missionary Christian school run by Irish nuns. The Bethany School also had Tibetan teachers to give Tibetan lessons as well. After some years in the Bethany School, Yeshi was accepted as a day scholar at a school connected to the convent. She walked 4-5 miles to and from this school every day with the other children connected to the monastery. On vacations, November December January, I would Yeshi home to Arunachal Pradesh, and in the Spring I would bring her back to Darjeeling for school.



Yeshi’s mother was involved in social welfare programs at a Tibetan settlement in Arunachal Pradesh. She gave immunizations, taught first aid and basic medicine, taught basic language and other skills to children, and other activities like this. Yeshi’s grandfather had a village temple near where her mother resided. People were always coming to her grandfather’s temple to turn the prayer wheels – they have many prayer wheels there – and on holidays, people would come for fire pujas.



Yeshi studied up to Class 10 in Darjeeling. Many times, she got First Division. She was very smart. After she finished 10th grade, there was no school available in Darjeeling, so she had to go to Bangalore to finish Class 11 and 12 there. Bangalore is about 5 hours away from Mysore, where His Holiness Penor Rinpoche's monastery is, head of the Nyingma lineage. So Yeshi had relatives there. While she was studying in Bangalore, I moved to Tibet.



After Yeshi completed school, she went to Nepal because I had moved to Nepal. She found a job in a shop selling things, and served as a guide for our dear friend Ian Baker and his friends on two adventure explorations or treks he did – his first trip into Mustang, and his second trip to Eastern Tibet, to Kham. Ian Baker subsequently became the first person to explore the hidden Tsangpo River Gorge, the Hidden Sacred Falls. Ian and Yeshi were extremely close, and at the time of her death, they were planning another trip to PemaKod to explore the rare medicinal plants and herbs that grow only there. When she was first in Nepal and working in the shop, Ian helped find a sponsor for Yeshi, and helped her get a scholarship to Middlebury College in Vermont. Yeshi went to the U.S. in 1989 to study Anthropology at Middlebury. After she left for college, I came to the U.S. in 1989.



After finishing Middlebury College, Yeshi went to Oxford to get her masters, sponsored by the department in Oxford. After finishing at Oxford, Yeshi and her husband Tashi lived together and had their first child, Phuntsok. In many Tibetan families, marriages are arranged, where one family asks another for a bride or for a groom, and where the bridge and groom do not choose each other personally. Here, Yeshi and Tashi picked each other -- there was no arranging this! Tashi's father is a noble man, who sponsors many high lamas and Rinpoches.



Yeshi completed her studies and then through Ian, she got a job with the World Wildlife Fund in Nepal in 1996. When Yeshi began working for the World Wildlife Fund in Nepal, Phuntsok was a baby. WWF had a project in a Dolpo area, in the eastern border of Nepal and Tibet. The culture in Dolpo is all Tibetan. When Kolkot became powerful, he took over this area – but it had belonged to Tibet before. Yeshi would go to Dolpo several times a year, generally in the summer. She started Tibetan Medicine Clinics in the villages, educated the women about family planning and basic preventative health care in their communities, and serving as a guide and helpmate to the villagers. Yeshi’s salary started at something around Nepalese 8000/month – which translated to something like US $100 per month. Whatever money she got from her salary, though, was never enough, because she was always helping everyone and lending money. The villagers from Dolpo would come to Kathmandu with tsampa and small presents and would borrow money from Yeshi. She was so generous, giving everything away. She never had enough.



If Yeshi had been Nepalese, she would have received closer to US $1000 per month. But because she was Tibetan, she was discriminated against. All of her colleagues at WWF received much more compensation than she did. But she never complained. She was very quiet, gentle, simple.



In 2000, Yeshi and Tashi had their second son, Thinley. Yeshi continued working for the WWF, but she dreamed of leaving that job, of coming to the U.S. to study for her Ph.D. in Anthropology and to become a professor. That was her dream, to teach social anthropology and to work on programs benefiting beings in underserved countries and communities.



While she was working with the WWF, Yeshi had the opportunity to visit many countries, for many different conferences, and to interact with various cultures and people of the world. There were very few people who come from such poor backgrounds and are able to get out of a poor region and are able to go and see and experience as extensively as she had. Among poor Tibetans, Yeshi was one of the most highly educated. She had seen so much, had been exposed to so many different cultures and opportunities. The work she was doing, as well as the example of her simple life of generous service, served as a bright light and an example not only to her family, but also to the entire Tibetan community.



Her family members respected her highly. She was an advisor to her brother. Yeshi’s death is not only a loss for our family, but also is a loss for the whole Tibetan society. And her death is a profound lesson in impermanence for all of us. We do not know the moment we will die – all that is certain is that each of us will one day die. Yeshi lived her life fully – a life of service to her family, her community, her culture, the environment and the world. Her loss will be felt profoundly by all of us. But we can honor her memory by learning from the example of both her life and her death. We can experience her death as a great teaching on the nature of impermanence – and we can begin living our lives more fully resting in a deeper understanding of impermanence. -------->

Pangs of Grace

Mother, I shall weave a chain of pearls for thy neck with my tears of sorrow.
The stars have wrought their anklets of light to deck thy feet, but mine will hang upon thy breast.
Wealth
and fame come from thee and it is for thee to give or to withhold them.
But this my sorrow is absolutely mine own, and when I bring it to thee
as my offering thou rewardest me with thy grace.
* * * * * * *
It is the pang of separation that spreads throughout the world and gives birth to shapes innumerable in the infinite sky.
It
is this sorrow of separation that gazes in silence all nights from star
to star and becomes lyric among rustling leaves in rainy darkness of
July.
It is this overspreading pain that deepens into loves and
desires, into sufferings and joy in human homes; and this it is that
ever melts and flows in songs through my poet's heart.
* * * * * * *

Rabindranath Tagore
Gitanjali