When the Scaffolding Falls

Poems from the Threshold of Molting

image: Caleb Woods

The bad news is
you’re falling through the air,
nothing to hang on to,
no parachute.
The good news is,
there’s no ground.
- Chögyam Trungpa (1939-1987)
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1. "Vortices of Dust"

After making offerings of smoke
to the quiet spirit atop the Hill of Spears

I rode the Spine of the Sun back down
back down
into the Land of Perpetual Squabbles
and Endless Longing.

Though I'd brushed sleeves with the Great Powers,
and sensed a touch of renewal,
once back in the fray
I felt instantly exhausted
by the saturation 
in a dusty world 
speeding up.

No minced words here.

Some of us 
were not woven
for frenetic, hive-like jockeying.

Tonight, bones and tendons exposed, 
the Vast Midnight River
whispers of more coagulations.

Long-held griefs come home to roost.

Griefs of past.
Griefs of present.
Griefs yet to arrive.

The passing away of dreams and passions.
The passing away of teachers and sages.
The passing away of loves and friends.
The passing away of long-cherished roles.

Cyclical disappointments lose their gyration.

Irritation at one's own absentmindedness
becomes an acceptance of one's Holy Clown Self.

Annoyance at lack of focus
reveals a homesickness for wonderment. 

This is why
when people ask me
what my path is now
I can only conjure a single word.

Purification.

_________________________________

2. "When the Scaffolding Falls"

In truth, it comes for us all.

This day, 
or the next, 
or another, 
or our last.

Matters not. 

When the scaffolding falls,
it feels like a violent clanging clammer.
From the outside, no one would ever know.

Though the pummeling 
of boards, rods, and harnesses
falling at one's feet 
feels like an assault to the senses,
the crashing down is a gift.

We can certainly wait
until the last weeks and days of our life 
to take up The Inquiry.

Matters not.

Or, we could let go
allow the scaffolding to drop
allow the forms and roles and self-definitions
to fade away;
allow the soul 
to break through our brambles
entanglements
ground-cover.

The Wayfarers say:

Root heart-mind 
in the dark-enigma.
Pursue the light
of the Great Integrity.

© 2026 / Frank Inzan Owen / The Luminous Procession: Poems From Within and Beyond the World of Red Dust

soundworld: “Chroma Lucida” / Robert Rich / Bouquet Sauvage

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