love stories that are not love stories
stories we hold on to for lack of a better grip
essential breakthrough feelings for inner
growth and outer subsistence; a need within
a need within a need resembling a desire a
profundity an intensity a strength

i who am now awake(having passed away and
been reborn) i see love for what it is: a wonderful
magical inbuilt switch of humanness, a covering
over-illuminating light blinding the sight of my sight
fifty percent ecstasy fifty percent grief regret
nature s absolute recipe for impermanence for
perpetuity of life beating breathing seeing touching
tasting its way forward

love that i feel that i presume i feel
that anchors that is certain that is infinite
love which creates hope which creates yes
which creates soul which creates Spirit which
creates everything which dissipates which disappears
which devastates

love, tell me, who is your master?

There was always a singular quality about the nature of my love
that made it special – that made me special.

Whether my feelings were returned or not was almost beyond
the point. Love always saturated my life, it made life poignant.

Give me passion and sorrow in every inordinate measure, I’ll
take both, rather than none. I would never survive a frozen life,
in slow motion, just standing there, stock-still, in tranquility.

Life, vastly cryptic, within, gradually,
as drips on glass, descends,
towards gravity, till fate.

Vibrations, redundant swings,
and evaporations.

We live, pause, breathe,
we expire. That’s all.
And more than enough.

Under a sea of stars,
in aching memory,
of lost ones and loved ones,
I am forced to remember,
that all things must come to an end.

A ripple never moves alone:
a feeling begets a feeling,
that in turn begets another one.
It’s the perpetual motion
Of our uncontrollable existence.

As I painfully
gain possession of my senses,
I briefly see the meaning in things –
just to swiftly fall back
into safe futility.
From meaning back to emptiness,
it is in effect barely a single step.

Still, with all of its sorrows,
delusions and broken dreams,
life is a wonder.
I hold my head up high,
beneath my sea of stars:
I am strong and I am happy.
Life is (pause) beautiful.

I am who I am.
And you?
Do you even care?
Probably not.
I don’t.

Love hasn’t come?
I know.
Same here.
You’re waiting?
You shouldn’t.
It won’t.

Do you pray?
Out loud?
In silence?
Does He hear you?
Does it matter?
It doesn’t.
Life goes on.
Regardless.

Why do you run?
To where?
From what?
Stay calm.
Stay put.
Wherever you go
There you are.
So, stay still.
Within.

All is lost?
I don’t think so.
You’ll start again.
Go wrong again.
Probably.
Certainly.
That’s life.
It goes on.
Regardless.

It’s raining outside. I know it’s raining outside.
It bothers me. Not the rain. But, the knowing.
Knowing is bothersome, as much as our minds are vexing.
That’s where all resides – all that is worthless.

The sound of the rain is gentle, it relaxes the spirit.
The rain, like nature itself, cares deeply and dotingly.
It’s the calling of a sea, it’s the promise of endless Springs.
It’s magical, more than magical, it’s motherly and reliable.
God speaks through the rain – Nature is hallowed (undeniably).
Yet, to my mind, it’s annoying.
We should slaughter the mind!

I don’t know the reason in things.
I don’t want to know the reason in things.
Let them be meaningless.
Let me be meaningless.
Isn’t love the reverse of reason?  
Well, I prefer love. Even that foolish love
that blindly walks hand in hand with sorrow.
Even then, I still choose love.
If I could, I would not think at all.

It’s raining outside. I know it’s raining outside.
It bothers me. Not the rain. I bother myself.

Turn left, you go far;  turn
right, you don’t. Yet,
deplorably, not knowing, and
qualms and fears, and reasons
known and unknown, and
causes known and unknown:
life, so full of choices,
becomes random and choice-less.

The breeze blows, leaf flees
from fruit, falls on flowing
river, and finds its way
forward.

Life, so simple;
or possibly not.