A bone wave-whitened and dried in the wind.
Yeats
The spur of
life is sweet—
battling blood lines.
What a blest relief
battling blood lines.
What a blest relief
the state
of death will be, when in my remains
remaining life grows sweet
of death will be, when in my remains
remaining life grows sweet
to oversweet, turning noisome, red,
redder and more red.
What a blest relief
redder and more red.
What a blest relief
when the transformation is
complete
as foretold in the Satipatthāna
Sutta, how bitter-,
as foretold in the Satipatthāna
Sutta, how bitter-,
bitter-sweet
life pricks in the long run—
what a blest relief
life pricks in the long run—
what a blest relief
as I’m served my final treats.
I’m real nervous but it sure is fun—
term of life so late.
Blest relief!
I’m real nervous but it sure is fun—
term of life so late.
Blest relief!
____
Again, Monks, as though he were
to see a corpse thrown aside in a charnel ground—one,
two, or three days dead, bloated , livid, and oozing matter ... being devoured
by crows, hawks, vultures, dogs, jackals, or various kinds of worms ... a
skeleton with flesh and blood, held together with sinews ... a skeleton without
flesh and blood, held together with dinews ... disconnected bones scattered in
all directions ... bones bleached white, the colour of shells ... bones heaped
up, more than a year old ... bones rotten and crumbling to dust—he compares
this same body with it thus: ‘this body too is of the same nature, it will be
like that, it is not exempt from that fate.’
Analayo, Satipatthāna, the Direct Path to Realization.
Analayo, Satipatthāna, the Direct Path to Realization.
