Padmasambhava
Worn out eyes. Bog-lights
wisp. Sitting, something
comes. Putting my foot
down, ground rises
up to meet it. No idea
about this last breath. Light
strikes the face. Not
the moon, but awake.
Worn out eyes. Bog-lights
wisp. Sitting, something
comes. Putting my foot
down, ground rises
up to meet it. No idea
about this last breath. Light
strikes the face. Not
the moon, but awake.
by
Tags: