POEM: Sparrowhawk Intervention

hand tree

I was minding my own business

Raising hell for fishermen

When some unassuming vagabond

Lopped off my arm

Well, as you can imagine

I was quite perplexed;

Just what is a man to do

With a useless, severed arm?

But, then, inspired by

The willow branches around me

I took my severed arm

And planted it in the ground

Three months later

It had already flourished

Into a full-grown tree

Delighting all with its canopy

Of dangling fingers and thumbs

“Well, that’s worked out rather nicely!”

I said to the sparrowhawk beside me

Who promptly pecked out my eyes

Before flying away, saying:

“Even if you succeed –

Try, try again!”


Dream Diary: Hurricane


I am in a trailer park, when a small hurricane seems to erupt out of nowhere. One of my friends, an American, has just entered into his trailer. I hide behind the trailer, thinking that the hurricane will surely not be strong enough to push it over. But I am wrong. The trailer quickly falls on its side, and I have to run into an alleyway to try and shelter myself from its maleficent interference.

However, at this point, it becomes clear that the hurricane is a conscious entity, and is clearly able to read my thoughts and fathom my intentions. It follows me down the alley way, but I somehow am able to escape.

I’m so impressed by the sequence, that I keep on harping about this psychic hurricane for the rest of the dream. But no one pays me much attention, and they basically think I am cuckoo – no change there then!

Later on, I am in America at another trailer park. I make some good friends there – a man and wife. We are saying goodbye, when we are surprised to discover that they actually live in Bristol, or another location quite close to me. We are all excited by this, and make arrangements to meet up with eachother when we get back home.

Things get a bit confusing after that. It’s rather uncertain as to whether we’re driving to the airport, or staying for another night. I am rather confused as to how I got to America to begin with, and what my flight arrangements are for going home.

Another couple has joined us. The five of us stop at a roadside canteen. One of the couples look like two friends of mine. The woman accuses her partner of flirting with all the other girls, and being unfaithful, and gets really quite wrathful. All this is taking place whilst I am helping myself to a rather large pile of food.

Things just get stranger after that. Pretty soon, a semi-calm-hysterical malaise comes over us as all these bizarre packages begin to show up, which we believe to be alien in origin. I find some weird elastic gloves in my room. As I am looking out the window, a large, multi-tiered lorry shows up. The other two couples start clambering on it, to retrieve whatever is in it. They all seem to be in a trance by this point.

The lorry seems to be largely empty, except for a jetski, and a sandstone monolith. Very Space Odyssey: 2001! I do not remember much more after that.

Train station at Bristol. Changing clothes by a bin. Thinking about sleeping in my car.


A hurricane is a natural force, and a wild, unpredictable, and disastrous one. It is conscious, just as all nature is. Insecurity about life deliberately pursuing me or chasing me. Something inescapable, or over which I have no control. Fear of how my thoughts affect reality in a potentially destructive way. Fear of Karma. The trailer is a refuge, but is easily knocked over. A reminder of the futility of taking refuge in worldly things.

A hurricane is cyclical like samsara. Comprised of concentrated wind and air pressure, it represents wind energy at its extreme. A warning of the need to harmonize my energies and avoid extremes? According to my dream dictionary, a hurricane can also represent extreme passion, and our ability to control it. Again, perhaps a caveat to not allow it to get the better of me. It also signifies trouble/difficulty, sudden and unexpected. Though it is dangerous, I do ultimately manage to escape, so I can acquire confidence from that.

No one believes me when I tell them about it. Mystical or supernatural experiences are difficult to transmit or convey to people who have not experienced them. Being selective about who I tell. Feeling isolated from my spiritual community/sangha.

Abroad. In a foreign country. Not knowing where I am. Uncertain about my placement in life or the direction I am heading in. Exploring the unknown, and relying upon the people I meet along the way to help me. Discovering that foreign companionship is far closer than I thought. Random travel.

Altercation in Canteen. Jealousy and conflict in relationships is a risk at the moment. Temporarily stopping for sustenance and renewal.

Gifts from aliens. Unexpected events or circumstances of unknown origins. Feeling that some unknown force is deliberately inferring with my life? Jetski – a powerful vehicle for travelling through difficult emotions. Gloves – shielding and armouring oneself in vulnerability and danger. Monolith – a mysterious monument to ancient knowledge. Finding the unusual and esoteric right on my doorstep!

Bristol – more dreams of being lost on the way, uncertainty, impoverished, having nothing or no one I can take refuge in.





When do people do not fear

The dreadful consequences of their actions

A dreadfully greater force

Is sure to approach them

Do not make their homes

Into prisons

Do not burden them

With oppressive lives

Truly, when you do not burden others

They will not become a burden to you

Therefore, the sage

Is self-aware

Without being self-obsessed

Loves his self

Without giving preference to his self

Rejecting one

He accepts the other


POEM: Darling


I am sorry, my darling

I neglected you for a day

I had to do some healing

And pretend to be responsible

But once my duty was done

You came back howling

You were like a wild animal

Panting to get back inside me

Like the lascivious yidam you are

“You can never get enough, can you?”

I pant, I tremble

Scattering your hair in a corona

Of wrathful intent

Mischief sparkles

On your saucy lips

Enthralling everyone effortlessly

As you so enthralled me

We don’t need this stairlift anymore –

Let’s leap through the worlds

Stealing underwear

From the unexpecting

With a frenzied lust

That never decays

I am a strange sage of sensuality

When you put me on like this

Don’t ever take me off, darling

I don’t think I could stand it


Poem: Reality’s Pants


Take off reality’s pants

To see what she’s wearing

The naked awareness of truth

Is more erotic than you can imagine

All of my nadis

My spiritual channels

Erupt with a coronal vibrance

My blood becoming honey

No bee would dare to sting

But could ever refuse

Pucker up

Drive yourself wild

Sweat until you stink

And get high sniffing

Your own celestial indulgence

Reality really wants you

To play with her

To squeeze her,

To tug her,

To mess her up

She’s a nasty lady

There’s no denying that

As chaste as a nun

In the glint of orgasm

The primordial yabyum

Of nothing being fucked by something

Oh, it makes me want to melt!

And erupt into everything

So I squeeze my legs tight

And try not to scream


POEM: Romantic Poet


I never thought I’d be

A romantic poet

The kind of person

Who spends their besotted hours

Mixing honey and blood

Into his words of

Love and rapture

Suffering and solace

My heart no longer has

A safety-on button

Like an over-sensitive bear trap

It snaps shut

At even the slightest whisper

Of yearning on the wind

Dipping my quill

Into the ink of longing

And fabricating parchment

From the flayed skin

Of my own absurdist fantasies

I have come to understand

Leonard Cohen

More than I ever hoped

And a single word of Rumi

Can leave me drunk and irresponsible

For days

What can one do in life

With a hair-trigger heart like this?

But I guess I always knew

I was destined to be

Another romantic poet




My words are very easy to understand

Very easy to practice

Yet Under Heaven

No one can understand them

No one can practice them

My words speak from the source

My actions express self-mastery

But because this is misunderstood

I remain unknown

Those that comprehend me are rare

Disciples of the mystic treasure

Therefore, the sage

Wears the clothing of commoners

To conceal

The jewel of his heart


POEM: Straw Dogs


Sweet sangha sister

Radiant lamp

Of unconditioned compassion

Let’s go up

To the charnel ground

Where the vultures circle round

Carving mandalas in the sky

Seeing the thunderbolts roaming

Let us enjoy impermanence

And embrace one another

And never cease to dance

Until we rot into one another

Taking delighting

In decomposition’s intimacy

Our remains will merge

In an atrocious heap

Gargoyles and subcontractors

Swooned at the romance

Our kisses will be

The pecks of crows

Chewing our defilements away

And the writhing of earthworms

Will be the waltz

We always loved to dance

As Heaven showers

Its sacred confetti

Our skulls will cave

Into one another

Granting us an awareness

No bone or brain

Could ever imprison

Straw dogs together

Straw dogs in weather

Straw dogs forevermore


Poem: The Yogis of Tibet


All the girls

Love a good yogi


Or as thin as a rake –

The girls just can’t get enough

Of those unbathed gurus

Who wash themselves

In the essence of the dharma

The ladies are not interested in

High-powered CEOs;

They want mad mountain men

Chanting spells over their own piss

The ladies have lost favour

For seven-foot gymnasts

And bulking body builders;

They want scrawny lotus men

Who need neither Ferraris

Nor Boeing B-47s

To dance through the clouds

Check out my cave, baby

Five-star approved

Guaranteed satisfaction

Colder and damper

Than anyone else’s

Even the great Milarepa

Would consider such digs unseemly

A bachelor pad

Of luxurious austerity

Guaranteed to dampen any pants

From the drip, drip, drip

Of insidious stalactites

Screeching and roosting bats

Provide a soundtrack

Better than Barry White

As well as the deathly scent

Of accumulated ammonia

From the heaped guano

We can pop like chocolates

Into one another’s mouths

I have no car

No house of my own

No high-paying job

No rank, wealth, or status

Or list of worldly complaints

To make conversation with

I do not have

Very much at all

But I do have a smile

And the desire to perfect

An all-embracing heart

To puncture the pimple of my ego

And give the remains to you

Like the popped balloon Eeyore

Received from Winnie the Pooh

I will wrap you in my hair

And cocoon you in the sky

As the Yogis of Tibet

Reawaken in my eye