Lucy Lopez


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  The Lotus Shrine

  Short Stories





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The meeting of minds

in patient search

finding the longing of a lifetime….


The single touch

for but a moment

holding the longing of a lifetime….


The wrapping of bodies

around their oneness

pleasuring the longing of a lifetime….


The prayer of desire

within the temples

answering the longing of a lifetime…


The gift of selves


surrendering the longing of a lifetime….


The breathing of two

primal rhythm

stilling the longing of a lifetime…..


The sleep of peace

the infant’s sleep

renewing the longing of a lifetime.


Did I tell you?


Did I tell you


each time I think of you

my heart trembles

with anticipation

of our next

together time

when, in the flotsam of daylight reverie

we shall drift down the stream

of un-worded conversation

to lose ourselves finally

in the blinding mist

of our unprovoked kisses?



Let us


Let us

hold for each other

the silence that seeks our company so

Let us suspend for some moments

the loud, vacant

cymbals of small talk


let us yield to the eternal refrain

of god’s breath

floating lightly

over the roaring oceans of our

tangled minds

so that, despite ourselves,

we stumble into the ancient

Sacred sites

of our




Dusk Luminous


Descending over me

this veil of dusk

(even as my eyes close)

turning my every thought



dark, gloomy ruminations

soaked heavy in guilt

into floodlights

in the abandoned ravines of my soul.



Places in life


The sweetness that you are

curves around the shape

of my place

in your life

dressed often in morning glory

and the streaming tassels of twilight hues


Neither of us thought beyond

the long-overflowing

thimble of desire.


The truth?

Ah, if truth be told

neither of us thought!


And well that was

for what use were thoughts

in the distant glow of our



Open up the morning

and let its light lead us

once again

into the unfolding shape

of your place

in my life.



These days of autumn


These days of autumn are splendid

in a quiet sort of way

No less in splendour of the Almighty

No less in stillness of her sleep


These days of autumn

fill my heart with restfulness

Lulling it into its silence

amidst the golden glory of the sun


These days of autumn are like kisses

that spread love in little moments

and help my soul reveal its secrets

in the warm light breaking through the cold


And when these days of autumn

give way to winter's silence

and stony presence

I shall carry their splendour

into the house of my soul

to keep me warm and well.



Autumn and I



How you infuse me with your gold

Your warm balm of frankincense

Your evening breeze of love

from distant places

Your galaxies of stars

from universes long burnt out.


I am drawn to your

soft fall

of burning leaves

and moon light

You lift me into the shadows of

new life

from where I become my

ancient self

unveiled in the daily rising of

your new born sun

I am known to you

Every thread in all my fabric

Every charge in all my formlessness

Why else do I feel so at home with you?


Breathing, flowing,

rising, falling

as One.

Autumn –

My form and formlessness

In you I return again and again



streaming through



I want to sit here and cry


I want to sit here and cry

All the crying I have kept at arms length

All the crying I did not know needed to be cried

All the crying I mistook for self-pity, weakness, bad habits, bad karma

I want to sit here and let my tears flow

Fast and furious

Slow and susceptible

Painful and poignant


When did we humans learn to cry?

When did we decide it was necessary?

When did we agree that it added value?


Ah but to cry

To let weakness un-mask itself and resolve step forward

To let self-pity and compassion engage in dialogue

To let judgment itself be judged!

To let bad habit strip itself of biography

To let bad karma transform into good cause

I have sat here and cried.



The empty page


The silent temptress

Taunts the writer

Shaming him into impotence

Virginal in appearance

She carries the heart of an adulteress

Persuading him to make offerings to her:

Words that somehow appear disjointed, clumsy,

Hideous against her white, flawless skin

Despite his feverish desire to please, to worship, to deliver

Despite his consummate need to stand naked before her

Stripped of all pretensions and idealism

Left only with one obsession

To fill her

She draws him deep into her and then

Leaves him die another terrible death

So continues their tortuous affair

He offers his words

She mocks with silence

He arranges his ideas

She howls with laughter in the giant spaces

Echoing loudly through the emptiness

Desperately, he erases them

She spits at him

He scratches them out

She ignores his wounds

He pleads for inspiration

She stares back vacantly

Until the writer, tormented and shaken

His confidence once again crushed

takes the temptress in his hand

and slowly, deliberately, demoniacally,

crushes her in the palm of his impotent hand

and tosses her as far as he can

with utmost loathing

thinking, as he does, 

that the shrew had it coming

and deserved her violent extermination

And now,

His composure regained

His brief relief




empty page



Morning Rapture

I look across into the horizon
and see the Divine
The horizon looks back at me
and sees infinity itself

Across the sky, Brahman's smile breaks out
warm and illuminating
The black ant wanders this way and that
on the pavers
drunk with opportunity and duty

Diamonds sparkle along the shafts
of the wild weed
weighing them down into glittering arches

The fine mist of the overnight rain
worn by the mountains as their morning gown
softens Brahman's dazzling smile

A sudden shower breaks from the gum tree
as the kookaburra alights
and the intrepid gecko is drenched
once more

This creature sits in morning prayer
distributed in every element, compound, creation -
the fallen leaves, the wet grass,
the bottle brush and butcher bird
the solitary drop of rain water
the light and grey
the white and blue
and realizes that her prayer,
her morning rapture
is just one of Brahman's numberless, never-ending chants
yet heard by anyone who listens



What does it mean to lose someone?


What does it mean to lose someone?

What does it mean when someone has ‘passed away’ or ‘died’?


It means















It means


More anger

More sadness

More remembering

More regret

More guilt

More denial

More abandonment

More loneliness

More numbness

More not-making-sense-ness

More hopelessness

More relief


And then it means


He’s gone

He’s no more here

I cannot speak to him anymore

I cannot hear his voice again

I cannot tell him the things I wanted to tell him but didn’t

I cannot take back the things I did or said to him

I cannot send him a birthday card and tell him that I am thinking of him

I cannot forgive him

I cannot ask for his forgiveness


And then it means


I am still here and he’s not


And then it means




And then it means


What the f… is this,

having someone in your life, loving him,

becoming attached to him and then losing him?


And then it means


He’s gone

and I suspect he’s happier where he is

He’s found peace at last

and I am the poor wretch left behind

in this mad world


And then it means


I’ve got to go on

I can’t keep thinking this

and feeling this


And then it means


I want to go on

I want to stop thinking this

and feeling this

I want the peace that he’s having

I want the joy that he’s having

and I want it now

I don’t want to wait till

I’ve ‘gone’

Till I’ve been ‘lost’

Till I’ve ‘passed away’

Till I’ve ‘died’


It means


I want it now

Not tomorrow

or next year

but right now


It means


I know you’re in a better place

and that makes me happy

to know that you are free from this pain

that this life seems full of


It means


I want to free myself from this pain


It means


I want to live


And that means

to live

joy fully

peace fully

thank fully


It means





for the first time in my life!



A thousand Namastes



a fine, young man

in much finery set out

amidst his country folk

his gentle folk, his speechless folk

who had, until now, remained to him

a veiled illusion


Why does he walk so?

he asked of the old man

bent over, bowl in hand

begging for the city’s scraps


He is a beggar, one with no money, no food

answered his man-servant


and no smile either, noted Sidharta


No smile indeed, the royal counsellor agreed

shaking his very, wise old head


The trumpets sounded,

heralding the arrival of the prince Sidharta

at the city’s temple,

washed in white and copiously peopled

smoke and noise rising from within

Outside, the wrenching screams

of women, of men,

tearing their garments, tearing their hair

as one is brought to the funeral pyre

to join her dead husband there

both to be consumed by the flames

of eternal fury

One alive, one dead

and soon, both returned to ashes

Both released from their bed

of earthly suffering


They scream and tear their hair

and they do not smile.

Why?  Asked the young Sidharta


They mourn the dead

with the tears and fears of their own death

explained the very wise counsellor


Death?  What on earth is that? Puzzled Siddharta aloud


I could not tell you for certain, replied the very wise counsellor

for I have not experienced it yet

and when I finally do, I shan’t be around to tell you


You expect to experience death? A curious Sidharta asked


There is not a person or thing in this world who will not, spoke the counsellor, so very wisely and now wearily


That includes me then, said Sidharta, quite matter-of-factly,

in which case, I suppose, I should prepare myself for it

Tell me, good counsellor, how might I prepare myself for death?

And by the way, you are quite certain there is nothing I can do to avoid it?


Nothing at all, not a thing

As for preparing for death

well, there is only one way I have heard of,

though I have not succeeded with it myself


And what is that? Asked the young prince


I have been told

by sages of old

that the best preparation for death

is to live a good life


Then, these people here can’t be living a good life

for they wrench my heart and fill my city

with their anguish and impiety

Even the sparrows have flown away

though I note vultures descend


The vultures make ready for the funeral feast

of whatever scraps of flesh and bone remain

And yes, it is likely that a good life would ensure

that the dead and those left behind

celebrate the life that has been lived


When I die, declared the Prince Sidharta

let there be no mourning, and no rending of garments

let there be no woman burnt to death with me

Instead, let there be feasting and dancing

for I would have lived a good life my good counsellor

I would have lived a good life


And so saying, they continued on,

in royal procession


amidst the unfamiliar squalor of his city,

he heard the cries of a woman

sounds he had never before heard

And his heart went scurrying

not wanting to hear

not wanting to feel this pain he had never before felt


Ever courteous, ever curious

and now, for the first time, feeling fear

he spoke:

Good counsellor

what is it that I hear

this sound that almost rips my heart open

causing me to want to flee a million miles away

where I can no longer hear it


My lord, if I could be so bold

as to suggest

that if you can hold

your mind still

for a few moments longer

and listen, listen if you will

a new sound you will hear

a new sound, my lord, a new sound so clear

it will set your heart aflutter

It will...


Wait, wait, I hear something

so fresh, so new...

just as you said good counsellor

and I can see, yes, I can see, a smile almost...

Oh, good counsellor, tell me!

What is it I hear?


You hear new life, my lord

New life.

For the screams that tore your heart before

were the screams of a woman in labour

and the screams of the end of life in the womb

and the screams of a new born mother

and a baby is brought into the world

and cries with joy and fear

It is that sound that you now hear

The sound of joy mixed in with fear



The young Sidharta

prince and man

prince and hu-man

closed his eyes, opened his heart

and said to his counsellor:


I must depart

into the world that has lived without me

I must enter it, I must see

all that has thus far eluded me

or perhaps it was I who eluded all

For there is suffering it seems to me

that humankind cannot avoid

for in birth, there is crying

In life, there is wanting

And in death there is parting

And all is suffering


But if I am to live a good life

in preparation for my death

then I shall need to understand

the purpose of it all

the cause of it all

and good counsellor,

the way through it all


Whereupon the Prince Sidharta,

now a man, a new man, a hu-man

sat under the wisdom tree

closed his eyes and willingly

entered into the ground of being

entered into his human being

and remained there

for forty days and forty nights

experiencing his divinity

experiencing his eternity


And when he finally opened his eyes

the first thing that he realised

was the life of god in everything

in his breath, and in his breathing

in every creature, in every being

in man’s sorrow and woman’s shame

in the hollow of a given name

in the magic of a moment

in the tragic human statement

in the winter of lamentation

in the spring of jubilation

in the ins and in the outs

in the silence and in the shouts

in the now and in the never

in the here and the forever

in the splendour and the disgrace

in the mystery of the human face

God’s face

God’s place

in death in life

in paradise

in constant disguise


And then appeared a smile on his face

amidst a chorus of Namastes

arising from an endless heaven

and each lotus

and each leaf upon the wisdom tree

in ceremony

bowed radiantly

in ecstasy



I see, I see, I see, each called

the divine in me, the divine in all

And Sidharta


Buddha declared:

I see, I see, I see

that life and death are of the same

unchanging divinity

and that suffering shall cease to be

in every moment that I choose to see,

the divine in all, the divine in me:


A thousand Namastes!


I'll add more shortly :-) - Lucy

a small sample...



Did I tell you

Let us

Dusk Luminous

Places in life

These days of autumn

Autumn and I

I want to sit here and cry

The empty page

Morning Rapture

What does it mean to lose someone?

A thousand Namastes




let us yield to the eternal refrain

of god’s breath

floating lightly

over the roaring oceans of our

tangled minds...

 the eternal refrain

of god’s breath

floating lightly

over the roaring oceans of our

tangled minds.."





©Lucy Lopez All Rights Reserved