The point of pain
is to get you to notice
if your trigger warnings
to flee the scene.
And what’s that saying?
You want to see a victim
without help.
Who is the one snickering in the corner
pretending one didn’t eat all the cookies
leaving one’s neighbor to starve.
I see your passive headlights.
Super-flu-us of your own designs.
You only wish you could get to me
so you try to take my place instead.
How can one take another place
before finding one’s own?
Or supplant another’s home
without upending your own?
Foolish child hiding one’s own true heart
to be seen as a star
by putting on stuff that appears like stardust
blingy and bright but without any real light
of its own being created pure and supreme.
Somehow I see I’m already living the dream.
But you look and see
your projected screams onto me
and you can’t embrace what I bring
because what would that make
what you invested in saying?
Hold onto those words
to the bitterest ending
pretending the darker the chocolate
the better the berry.
It’s all finer still in the end
cuz no end is ever approaching
except the end you imagined for me
in your own dark hidden and ***** corners.
But what you don’t get
when you **** that trigger happy smile
is that the end is only real
from your own POV.
So you’ll be mulling
and overturning
with a smirk and clinked glasses
while I am always
and forever
only reposing in bliss
that you keep forever missing

ego

shall a tree
move its own limbs
to mimic God

the trap

What have we done?
Capitalism
has taken the place
of God as a sense
of safety - security - identity
in our minds.
Everything serves a purpose
until it gets out of control.
Time has an end.
Eternity is forever.
You are forever.
We are the ones
we have been searching for.

How do I begin to pick up a pen?
How does a thought take me to Neverwhere?
They never can ever tell us the reality
of the realest questions
and, for some, it’s just fine.
The rest need more.
Something? Not a thing.
Someone? Quite plausibly.

Won’t let go the tap tapping
or drumming or the pokey poke.
It’s there. But, you keep your head in the game.
Cuz, ya know, what else is there around here?
Spiritual desert with no substantive food.
Like biting into a juicy hamburger
and tasting sawdust only.
Only if those ones
could just keep their blinders
in proper position,
proper place to look and stay
and march along on
in single file lives
to mark one existence onto the next.
Who though?
All for who?
Or, what?
Surely,
God needs no marching ants such as these?

They who can’t see
will surely deny the real world
you know is here
and call you a blind fool. Ha!
Jokes on jokes on yokes
of jellied stroke marks.
Get off my back and let me live
how I see. Not through your grimy,
filthy, streaked and yellowed seeing.
But with clear and pure eyes
you hadn’t touched yet.

What happens to those ones?
Where have they gone?
Looking, looking close and away
and all eyes sense
is dust mountains and cave dwellers
and absence of light.
Where are the true ones
filled with the light of the rising Sun?
Come home!
The place with the voice pointing out cracks
is singing a song so longing and sure
and cannot look away.
Not with COVID and all of this world
awakening to see what they -
the blind ones -
have done while the rest have been sleep.
Blinders melt in sunlight
and aren’t needed
by the light of the moon.
Here one finds the way by heart.
Here one sees for real
where we truly are. And then?
Ah! And then,
what else can one be except
free.

enter ego
tainting, tinting, spiking
now with its foreign substance
always to manipulate and alter What Is
already natural is only good

One did not think one could improve on God?
Did one think this lie?
Did one account for one’s own blind ignorance?

as if one created something new
within the realm of What Is

Step aside and see your own insignificance,
if you can stand to look -
stand the inferno of your own gaze.
And, if you cannot,
how could you believe you are a king?
A king of what?
The lost.

busy the days working in time
making some nightmarish world

You think you are making paradise?
You are building your own funeral pyre!
Must you go to the bitter end,
dragged and gagged and beaten?

it isn’t a giving up

What have you taken?
In order to give something up,
you must have taken it in the first place.
You have not.

only think it so,
making all suffering seem real.

What is this you have made?

don’t know
can’t see
won’t stop and tell
just keep spinnin
and rollin
and truckin along
leanin in and gettin ‘er done …

To what END?

the executioner of all we know in this world
so we spend lifetimes trying to manage it
time
we try to purchase it with our last breath
and kneel before it begging for extra rations
and we waste and squander it
like rainwater and pennies
as if it
time
has no end
do we mistake time for God
do we look past the miracle of our divine reality
to bow before a man-made illusion of it
where is all the rushing water ending up
follow the flow and end up nowhere anyway
but with a lot less junk
we look away
only to hide ourself

why so vital
that institutions last
shall we sacrifice ourself
for the survival of the institute
the institute shall stand long after
our grandchildren’s grandchildren have gone to dust
is this a thing of pride
it seems we - the beings
are here only to make the institute the thing
that it is
I am
here to say
I am more than any institution
a country is an anthill
and I - one being -
am the universe
all of existence
the institution shall bow to me
else the institution is no more
I am all that is seen

What is happening to you?
Says who?
Who asks this question?
Person, you are melting;
Being extinguished in the light of love = Truth.
What you really are.
Not who you have been.
...led to believe you are.
You -
are a mask.
I am -
All that is real.
You, like a coat of paint over old wall-paper.
I can scrape you off.
No matter how many coats of varnish.
Trying to lacquer on layers to make you look strong
and secure and untouchable.
You mislead your customers:
UV protection does not guard against true light.
Who can defend against itself?
Only a fool believes this is true.

So, so much superfluous stuff.
Who needs it.
But, I don’t.
Who craves it.
But, I am fed.
Who yearns and desires and lusts
for more and different and higher -
Oh! Always deeper and harder and higher!
But, I am full
already of the emptiness
I am.
Who knows nothing of this that I am.
And, I am also beyond this doubt
and so who can know everything
in the world there is to know
and still know nothing of the universe
one is in being.

Riddles, oh Riddles
and sensical unsensed rhythm
of my lost rhyme.
These words mean not a thing;
just the universe tied in string.
All may be lost
and whatever would that mean?
Whatever could that bring?
Only lost in this illusory dream
Catch a ride
Catch a wave
See? See how easy it is to get caught?