The Suffering of the Different Realms by D.G.

DAgostino

Patrul Rinpoche states: The term samsara, the wheel or round of existence, is used here to mean going round and round from one place to another in a circle, like a potter's wheel, or the wheel of a water mill. When a fly is trapped in a closed jar, no matter where it flies, it can not get out. Likewise, whether we are born in the higher or lower realms, we are never outside samsara. The upper part of the jar is like the higher realms of gods and men, and the lower part like the three unfortunate realms. It is said that samsara is a circle because we turn round and round, taking rebirth in one after another of the six realms as a result of our own actions, which, whether positive or negative, are tainted by clinging http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bhavacakra retrieved December 20, 2012.

The Hell Realm The deeper you get the more solid the threat, The sharper the blade the more reason to fear; The deeper you go the more mirrors are here, Roaring reflections in infinite net, The darker the action the deeper you get. With whose under threat so crystal night clear Take up the truncheon, mine the frontier, Finish them off but youre not finished yet. We dead that wait on the web of blood and hate Through countless lives back through time increase Till countless loved ones seed this field of grief With tears. The web of love they recreate, The mourners, in the moment broken hearts release Us all from chains of fear alone belief.

Dan DAgostino, 2011

The Hungry Ghost Realm On branches impaled they flutter in the wind Above the dirt like prayer flags; And in the open sewer shes splashing in They float serene and lotus-like: the bags, The little plastic bags that choke this slum. Then bliss through dust is pulsing on her who sits Erect on the cracked cement and still: some Child bodhisattva ardor hit To enter the world, the liquid world in light, That pours out from the shimmering TV set To play upon her shining eyes. She'll fight Monk-like this life to get there yet Never will. Better if she awoke To the earth the little plastic bags choke.

Dan DAgostino, 2011

The Animal Realm Reflexive rapture when he saw her first, And sudden shudder: he was incomplete. He lost her forever on the crowded street; Now forever shes the engine that drives his thirst. So the upward thrust has been reversed; Consciousness itself is in retreat: Repeat the loss, repeat, repeat, repeat, Of her in him for whom the whole was cursed. From a distance he never sees her in a blur; Shes the jewel pure, the teaching clear Hes thrown aside the common life to hold. Bliss-blind, led by the scent of her To an empty land, windswept and austere, He burns with love and shivers against the cold.

Dan DAgostino, 2011

The Human Realm A scream at first: its no easy birth. In babys combustible world senses roar. Denote, disperse the overflowing earth With I love this one, that one I deplore. As blade of flint I is born from this; As Leader loud and paranoid becomes, Sending shadow threats into the abyss And quite moments beating down with drums. Then stare down the dragon, it runs and hides: No hero arrives, no treasure to win, No wisdom to hold, everything glides, Everything flows without and within. The universe first an explosion of power; The force of the blast unfolding a flower.

Dan DAgostino, 2011

The Realm of the Jealous Gods When only everything will take the prize This ample wealth is not as it appears: A dead loss, a treasure chest of tears Wept and counted fresh at others rise. Blow them out of splendid, sumptuous skies! With gnashing teeth heave frantic spears Down fragrant, flashing paparazzi years, And live for fame and deimmortalize. In the spotlight wishes are fulfilled. Ahead somewhere, not far, the spotlight waits To praise my cage. My cage has bars of gold! For bars of gold my little light was spilled; Without this light I wont know endless gates. Unadmired here my face grows old.

Dan DAgostino, 2011

The Realm of Gods They stride inside their myth, the unbeaten ones, Lions in a game park, proud. Cameras wound them now instead of guns: Though each an other blurring in a crowd, To each one theyre the focal point of all, And outward build a world of brittle things, And guard towers on the temple wall That myth and mythmaker tightly rings. O Shariputra, they win a world dissolving, The self-reflecting deity and saint Who cant detect the mirror wheel revolving, The shifting forms at play as static paint. A swirling mass, a mess of tangled strands, Atoms and neurons, the clocks whirling hands.

Dan DAgostino, 2011