Sailing west

When the black bird flies again
Touching the sky,
Carving its awful signs in the winds
The sleeping volcano
Awakes in a fountain of ash
The sun bleeds black blood in the darkness
The words dying on my lips
The songs of the stars dumb
My screaming smothered in
the roaring of the mountain
Then I know my time has come
Not going anywhere
Not staying at home
Still sleepless
A strange word as companion
That has to mean something
If not, losing all.

Not going anywhere
Not staying home
Sleepless in an animal shed
Mind racing
Torn apart by the Name
Splitting my life in time
No goodbye, no welcome of new life
A strange word as companion
That has to mean something
If not, losing all.

West is the direction of the Pureland. The Pureland is the land of Amida Buddha, a land to create here, a land to hope for, a land to be reborn in.
Pure Land Buddhism is based upon the Pure Land sutras first brought to China circa 150 by the Parthian monk An Shih Kao and the Kushan monk Lokaksema, which describe Amitabha, one of the Five Wisdom Buddhas, and his heaven-like Pure Land, called Sukhavati.
A whole series of Buddhist Pureland masters developed the concept of a Pureland in the west, where the Buddha of measureless light and life is residing, further.
One can see this as mythos only, but it is more than that. It is central to one of the most esoteric and exoteric, mystical and practical, profound and easy, sophisticated and simple, singular and encompassing branches of Buddhism.
An other central and essential aspect of this kind of Buddhism is the Nembutsu, the calling of Amida Buddha's name, which is to be practiced, silent in yourself or verbal as a kind of mantram at least one time every hour of one's waking life. (In the Jodoshu school).