John Astin - Two poems

pic Martin Stranka

 The Innkeeper

Everything is
welcomed here.
The innkeeper
refuses no visitors
but beckons
all to enter -
every thought,
every sensation,
everything
that appears
and then disappears
all are invited
to the dance,
this endless play
of emptiness
loving form,
and wave
loving sea.
   
           
Is It True?

Is it true?
Are you really lost,
caught up in the currents
of the thinking mind?

Or can you feel
the cool splash of water
and wind upon your face
as the river rushes by?

Is it true?
Are you really lost,
stumbling along
in some dark forest
of worry or fear?

Or is something here,
something that knows
just how black the night
really is?

Is it true?
Are you really lost,
wandering the shore
in some hazy fog
of forgetfulness?
Or have you always
been here
drinking in the fresh sea air
and marvelling at the wonder
of the grey night?

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