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.

I open the blinds and see the world - in return, what
does the world see? It sees me, and all my splendid, split
personalities, living these amazing times, of amazing
pleasures, in which we tweet tweets, and post posts re
ego-trips and copyrighted links, videos and things; and,
as stray dogs, we ramble randomly, and all the time,  
living in our infinite worlds, of infinite lanes, till infinity;
yet we suffer so much pain.

Our Shih Tzus take us on extended walks, firmly leashed
to our Koss plugs, as we drone cool tunes on multihued
iPods, iPhones buzzing ringtones of tittering babies,
stolid kings and hyperactive frogs, which would all make
my eighty-six year old dad want to gag; we fly
ultralight megaplanes at the sonic sound of speed,
through virtual and real space, connecting dots at low-
cost prices, while we belt-up, gear-up, gulp Gaga and
gorge heat-inducted meals of deer, horse and over-
promoted crap; and then, wow surprisingly, we are all
so unsatisfied.

We consciously all move-in together, and **** on end,
like statistical sheep, pre-married, unloving, and broken
up, and justify it all, to ourselves, with our fully
stretched spandex morality, over low-carb brunches
@Starbucks, two 14” screens of separation; we paint
pornographic images of virgins, all called Mary, in the
name of art, and, white-clad, **** babes and alter-boys,
and penetrate each other, first with our fingers, deeply,
then superficially, without even wondering, for a
zeptosecond, why we can’t stand one another any
longer.

We crank-up dependencies, like high street mainliners,
shamming and slaughtering for neurotoxic fixes of
smileys and Crystal on billion-dollar Kogo yachts, while
we all just pedal on, dispassionately, down and over
interior canals, to the core of our hocked, abbrev lives,
chronically connected and severely distracted, in
aromatic polymer bubbles, heedlessly cruising through
comic-strip farms of mock vegetables, surely to nowhere
and towards no one; and quite frankly, the world laughs
at all this, and sobs, and so do I.

Above all reigns Zambi Kumbo.
Father of men, father of things, father of insects.
The non-created, the beginning, void of a beginning,
of all and any beginning.

The sacred is present in all instants and all instances.
All life is sacred and in it’s core are human beings.
The whole is anthropocentric and critical: human beings,
man, center of creation, spins the axis of good and evil.

I believe in the visible and the invisible,
in the interaction between these two worlds.
The natural and the supernatural are inseparable.  
There are other realities beyond the visible, man is not purely flesh,
there is spirit and heart and values beyond our eyes.

I summon the sun by tangu, which means time, present time,
time instance, favorable time, precise time.
To ask for the time, one should voice “what sun is it?"
The sun drifts on the ocean between life and death.
When the sun disappears in the horizon
it is a canoe carrying souls to the afterlife.

I sit on an ivory chair and wear bracelets of ivory and iron,
artistic woven fabric, certain hides set aside only for me,
an embroidered cap on my head, and a zebra tail on my shoulder.
Kneel, chuck dust above your head, and beg for my blessing.
I’ll stretch out my hands and wriggle my fingers to bless you.

I am Nagô-Yoruba! I am Okanran kandi abo!
Son of Xangô, son of Ketú, son of Egba.
E-e-e-o eya-o Great Mother, y-aa-o Black Beauty, womb of the wind,
creator of the wind that tangles the wild bush,
creator of the wind that tangles the fields,
creator of the thoughts in my head.

And now, Mary?
What do we do, Mary?
Where do I go, Mary?
Why now, Mary?
But why, Mary?

Come on, Mary.
It hurts, Mary.
Give us a chance, Mary.
Let’s make it work, Mary.
Oh, please, Mary!

And you, Mary?
What do you feel, Mary?
It’s someone else, Mary?
What do you think, Mary?
Where’s your love, Mary?

Okay!
It’s spent.
It’s over.
It’s not as it used to be.
This is too much!

Bye, Mary.

Hi, Jane.
Nice to meet you, Jane.
I love you, Jane!

In retrospect we see
with eyes we do not have.
Blindness is as frequent
as breathing, or more.

One hand leading,
one hand lagging,
the ego soundly truncates
what expediency has not.

Blindness is not darkness:
blindness is not seeing.
Blindness is correctly being
in all our vapid states.

Physicality is abstract,
and the stalk to true self:
proper awareness must be earned,
through our factual senses.

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.

Meditation does not mean to escape, but to
come closer. Praying does not mean to speak,
but to listen. Praying is meditation.

In meditation you seek to allow peace to
penetrate, to show itself, you seek truth.

There is no knowledge in truth.  Understanding
means to throw away your knowledge.

When you regain truth, you find peace.  When
you are at peace, you are mindful, compassion
flourishes freely, you start to smile, and you
fall in love, with everything.

Compassion is a verb, love is freedom, and
truth is to be yourself.

Satya, shanti, prajna, karuna, ananda, prema
is the order to parinibbana.

There are days of sun, and days of rain,
and days where the wind
will press your soul almost to extinction.
Let things be, that will be.

Real thoughts are mindless thoughts.
Thoughts of the heart, of the skin,
a wink of an eye, the blink of both.
All meaning exactly what they mean.

Just be yourself, your thoughtless self.
Be selfish, negligent, foolish, reckless.
Who cares! Be whatever you wish,
whatever you are able to be.
Just be you and accept you.

Then change, if you may.
We are made from changes!
Remember, there are days of sun, and days of rain,
and those special days where the wind made you grow.
So, be the sunflower that welcomes the sun,
be the tulip that merrily swigs from the rain,
be the overgrown grass that bends and whistles as the wind runs by.
Be a little of them all,
and, who knows, if you can,
dare to be more.

Poems are not meant to be explained,
but I will do just that.  
You are your heart, your skin, your eyes,
but not your thoughts:
try to be your physical self, your thoughtless self,
and everything will always be alright.
You are the animal in you, the plant in you, the god in you.
You are all of these things, they are all you.
And you are so much more!

So, now, go on with your day, go on with your life,
and even go on, if you must, with your after-life.
But as you go, from now on,
tilt your head a little higher, and breathe a little deeper.
For, now you know: you are alive,
and that, in itself, is what’s divine.

My thoughts are merely a tangle of non-conformant
chemicals in an ultra-responsive setting;
echoes of scarcely delayed feelings,
millimetrically placed and ready to be felt;
remnants of cromagnon desires,
keeping me occupied, unassuming and tame,
while life rolls on silently, reflexively and impressively,
with all its humiliating nerve.

Rumination is for cows, guppies, and humans alike,
and saffrons, sapphires and the snow all reason in their own way,
no less conscious than our total unconsciousness.
Like a rock or plant, man is authoritatively ignorant of his ignorance,
and in his metaphysical realism lives and loves and dies,
without a clue that he never lived, never loved and was perpetually dead.
Thought’s true thought is to block awareness
by darkening the place where true awareness lies.

We think therefore we think:
to god (I mean exact-Nature) no other valid reason exists.
We conveniently overrate rationality
in self-serving cycles of chronic urgency and folly,
leaving us continually stuck to our cyclic fate.
Life is Nature’s grunt or roar
(whatever and the same)
all just a sound, faint or not.

We are unsubstantial and chimerical animals by excellence,
and in the circle inside the box we live in, our fancy appears really real.  
As a feeling awaits its chemical fate, in the millimetric second that lingers,
whole worlds are imagined, and our universe and all is perceived:
violence, joy, depression, hope, and unbearable pain are unleashed,
cities are wanted, planned and assembled,
while man, impeccably and in turns, plays god, king and beggar,
and true lives, true loves and true deities are born.

As man progresses (i.e. transgresses his own nature)
and as he overcomes thought, word and feeling,
he ceases to be restrictively alive: he is released, he is now free.
Thought stands alongside feeling,
without communication nor vibration,
and gradually and painfully amalgamate into a new corrosive mix,
directly eating into spirit, flesh, and understanding,
until our wholeness wholly disintegrates.  

The world as we know it folds upon itself,  layer by layer,
in an inner spectacle of perfect annihilation and renewal.
The chasm separating man from himself contracts
(eventually to nil)
and man plunges from the edge of this last plank (4).
As he falls, in mid-flight,
the ultimate metamorphosis occurs,
and an übermensch is born.

We live in a world of noise,
of parallel and asymmetric movement,
where nonchalance has become the norm.
Sweet, melodious and pleasing
is our phony makeup.
We are animals that reject our animalness.

We dread nuclear, secular, red lights, cockroaches, love,
threats and non-threats alike.
Fear has taken us on its morning stroll,
and predictably we bark.
(The sun is almost up)  

We are turned on and turned off
by oil-, wind- and hydro-powered switches
that respond to clapping.
There are beige, mauve and burgundy
curtains to choose from,
and supersized french-fries, pots, and cars.
We have lost ourselves in a mess of options,
and strive incessantly to complicate.

We fly in formation
and flow through carefully placed
and beautifully colored rocks made from Styrofoam,
down an improbable *****
of over-romanticized hypotheses.
We are *******, ego-centric and nepotistic,
and asexually multiply.

Thought and all other wasted rationality
keeps the axes of our unsustainable and fanatical wheels
from breaking loose (into free space and true autonomy).
We create meaning where there is no meaning,
and scientifically and thoroughly flout
god and the truth,
whilst we absorb, photosynthesize, bear fruits and grow leaves
(we are still, essentially, vegetable).

With every step we go deeper, and faster and better,
and farther from our selves.
Hence, we barely feel.
We are deaf and blind and mute
and approximately frozen;
and dance, swirl, sing and scream
in our vague, whimsical life,
till we fall.

The merchant is dead!
He is no more.
He’s dead.

But once, in time,
He was a young boy,
Guffawing on
Tethered rope swings.
Loved and loving,
Shy and silly.
His needs had not yet
Started to consume him.

He was a young lad,
A brash, hard-working lad,
At times, even flippant,
Yet passionate and caring,
When he met our fair Melissa.
His heart was instantly hers!
He adored her, nonetheless
Her heart was not free.
At such a tender age
He traded all for love,
For unrequited love, and
That was his falling.

He was a good husband, later,
When he married, another.
Fair and caring,
Plain and true.
He raised his children to
love and be loved, and
Worked till his body
Allowed him to.

He grew old,
As all and sundry seem to do.
All wrinkly and turned,
He had lived a straight life,
And had set his self free.
Yet, on his death bed,
As he closed his eyes
For the last time,
One breath to breathe,
He yearned for Melissa,
And smiling, died.

The merchant is dead!
He lived a life,
And died happily.

There’s something about hotel rooms
that just taste better
Their silent is more silent
You’re stacked and lined-up
and you still feel so out of the way
Have you ever made love in a hotel room?
Soundless, pricey mini-bars as foreplay
First light through those gauzy drapes
that don’t belong to you
******* on those crisp white sheets
that don’t belong to you
Room service forever waiting
on the tip of your fingers
through those granite goes dark Teledex phones

And the water-flow is just the thing
I guess they add something to the water
or it’s the way they boil it
there’s something unusual about it
that perfectly matches our skin
And when the ***** leaves
there's just no guilt
You won’t ever call her again
but there’s just no guilt
You know you were great
she’s downright pleased
and you feel on top of the world

It’s easy to be happy, we just have to pretend.
(And we have to pretend we are not pretending.)
We are living on a wedge, in a balancing act,
Continually contemplating our emotions.
That’s how we wobble. (And we wobble a lot!)

I want to be a sunflower.
I want to feel like a sunflower feels.
I want to just be there, all dutiful and content.
I want no unhappy thoughts (there are no unhappy thoughts!),
Nor happy thoughts –  just simply be.
Sensitive and responsive and alive,
And nothing else.

They say we are more.  
They say we are more than animal, more than physical.
They say our souls are souls and that we have a deeper essence.
I say we are not.
I say we are animal and that we are precisely physical.
I say we are chemical, electrical, mineral, and vegetable,
And so much more.
I say our souls are not souls and nonetheless we have essence.
We have so much essence!
(However, our essence is physical, not metaphysical.)
There is so much philosophy in not having a philosophy.

Let there be pain where there is pain.
Let goodness be goodness, and evil be evil.
They are all the same.
Let things be beautiful without them being beautiful to you.
Love is not you, as you need it to be.
Love is everywhere and in everything.
Love is in the nature of things.
It is the nature of the Maker of things.
It is not you that creates love, nor love that creates you.
You don’t need love – not the love you need.
What has this love given you?
What has it turned you into?
You don’t have to be something you are not to be you!

You add up the days, you add up the years,
And you grow old. (The adding up makes you old.)
You add up everything you have, everything you are.
Adding is growing, adding is being, you think.
The more you add. the less you are you.
It’s obvious, isn’t it? Isn’t it?
Yet, you keep on adding till you are almost nothing.
You became a doubt, an ellipsis.
If you were to stop adding, stop pretending, you would start growing.
Naturally, organically, faultlessly.
You would grow into you. Not more, not less. Not someone else. You.
Beautiful you. Perfect you. Godly you.

Look at children.
Look at children playing.
Look at children eating ice-cream *****.
Look at them picking flavors.
There is more depth in this picking than in your whole existence!

I want to be a sunflower.
I want to be the sea.
I want to be a single ray of sunlight.
I want to feel the freedom the wind must feel.
I want to feel like the meadows and the valleys feel.
I want to be simple and natural and magnificent.
God is hidden in the simple things –
This is what we should never forget, yet we always do.

It’s easy to be happy, we don’t have to pretend.

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?

when i was young
i didn t believe in love
i didn t have to.
we would go on trips
all the family
every sunday
to a lake
to see swans
and eat cakes
and play games
we d played
countless times.

birthdays
were filled
with lively children
devoted parents
and ungettable wishes.
i couldn t keep
all the presents
we d give them
to children
without parents.
all but three.

so it went
year by year
as we grew.
we didn t believe in love
we didn t have to.
we did all things together
we flew together
drove down to the shore
together.
fights were uncommon
they were meaningful.
everything was simple
and so were we.

one time
there was a goldfish
in a bowl
that i fed
with tiny little pieces
of fish fodder.
life was true
and feral
our pockets filled
with dreams
made of laughter.

then a man came
he took me away
he breached everything
he stole my innocence
with his lust
for all things
with his malice.
some fights we just
can t win.
his face was pale
his eyes were red.
don t listen to what
he has to say.
this man was me.

I’ve seen innocence playing, and then learning, and then growing till it is no more;
Babies sleeping on undeserving laps of cataleptic and lifeless parents that can’t see an inch beyond themselves;
Souls crippled and mutilated by an almost perpetual chain of senseless, co-dependent and self-seeking conduct.
However, in all honestly, I must absolve them all: man only wounds when wounded.
Man is perfectly imperfect.

I’ve seen youth squandered and consumed, as if it were perpetual and worthless;
Girls and boys, and boys, then girls, willingly falling into wells, and running madly into brick walls,
As if a florid garden awaited them, unaware that an abyss of emptiness and sadness lies ahead.
Fresh souls and drugged-up bodies will always wander, bemused and helpless, in a maze of their own making.
This youth is endless and quite probably already dead.

I’ve seen men that believe in themselves transform into giants and soar,
Just to turn my face the other way and find the exact opposite motion -
Fear and doubt pounding down with infinite weight our brittle existence,
Leaving behind a trail of things undone, loves unloved, and unrealized dreams.
Will we never understand that the script we write is the play that follows?

I’ve seen man pitted against man, against nature and against himself, in a never-ending cycle of sheer stupidity and sadism;
Enraged faces and frantic hands repeatedly stabbing their own child, their own brother, and their own flesh,
In an utterly comical and pointless attempt to soothe our inbuilt suffering.
Man is his biggest foe, his only foe:  the deepest scars are indisputably self-inflicted.
Pain is, consequently, inescapable.

I’ve seen a humanity that is not human: man’s wanting turned rotten, then dead;
Greed uninhibited and hysterical, pushing man to his lowest denominator;
Blood filling the gaps of understanding, and as a sorry excuse to a twisted and self-serving morality,
Whilst peace lies agonizing, tortured, and *****.
Human tragedy is simply the making of our collective human un-conscience.

I’ve seen into the souls of Buddhists, Christians, Hindus, Muslims, and Jews;
I reached deep into their chests, and with my bear hands ripped their bloodied, beating hearts out,
And I tell you – my brother, my sister – that they all look exactly the same.
We are all human, animal, chemical, and mineral alike.
Distinction is mental, psychological, and naught.

I’ve seen God Himself, compassionate and commanding, visibly invisible,
Yelling at me in languages I could not comprehend (certainly enraged at His own creation),
While I, on my knees, completely obedient, docile, and innocent, regurgitated endless mantras of fear, vain love, and inanity.
Fortunately, His yelling awakened me, and as I peeked into His eyes, caught a fleeting glance of my own Self.
We were not made in his image, he was made in Ours.

I’ve seen love, and the hope of love, give birth to a new life, to a new dream, and to a new meaning.
A love that conquers pain, past, and present is everything and holy.
This love is infinite.
Love, certainly illusory, is truly all, and more than all:
In the end, all things considered, love is our only escape.

Now, having seen all, I close my eyes and see no more -
I am love, pure love.

At the end of my day, looking out my window,
I reflect on the things I did, the friends I met, the thoughts I had.
I regret only what I regret, leaving out so much I could have lived but I didn't.
So many feelings conveniently ignored to make ground for a reflexive and inane life.
So many opportunities neglected and that remained invisible to me.
So much existence trimmed down or that passed by my side in silence –
I was too distracted with nothing and everything to reach out and ****** it and live it.

I’m happy nonetheless, for I realize that life is indeed a show of middling experiences
That arbitrarily builds up or into greatness or into commonness.
It’s the patchiness, the randomness of life that makes it wonderful and lovely.
It’s life untaken by contemplation that flows and grows into something special.
We think too much, for nothing!
Nature doesn’t need your help to follow its course.
You are and you will always be the greatest obstacle along your own path.
Bring down your guard and unwind your mind.
Try to be like the minute sparrow intuitively carrying a twig to its nest.
Let the wind blow, let the sun shine, let the grass grow.

I  believe in a world that I can see, unfiltered  by concepts,
That is touchable and is untainted by the mind.
To think is to destroy things – that’s the sole sake of thought!
I believe in a world that is solid, eatable, drinkable, and can be sensed by the skin.
I believe in a world that can be heard, and pushed, and slapped, and squeezed.
I believe in a world that is uncertain, but that is real.
Don’t come to me with your romantic and impractical ideas that are hazy and shapeless,
That require my gullible imagination, my complicity, and a speck of idiocy, to survive.
I want to stay authentic.  Please, let me stay ignorant and authentic!

My feelings are my thoughts (they are my only thoughts).
I have feelings as a flower has scent and colors.
I don’t want to think about the world.  I don’t want to understand it.
I want to be a part of it.  (To be we don’t need to think.)
I just want to love the world and accept it.  
I want to love it, but I don’t want to know why I love it, nor what it is I love.
I want to love it for love’s sake.
I want to love it with childlike innocence.
Love is always uncomplicated. Remember this,
Love is always uncomplicated.

Calmly, as the oak tree I see in my garden,
I pull back from my window sill and go back to  my life,
To my pointless life, my careless life, my foolish life,
So filled with simplicity, truth, and beauty.

corporal beauty is impractical and
unfeasible: though it attracts, it
also repels and subtracts: it’s the
trap to the trapper.

it spins and swings our slacking
slant of self, echoing the strapping
sounds of our ego: when we see
beauty, we see self (i.e. the
craving for self)

ultimately, it serves solely
one master: the spell and stretch
of time: visibly, beauty sags
sooner than time itself.

stand or stride on beauty and you
shall shake and wobble,
eventually.

it was love then.
it is love now.
being is always enough.
when you resist, you suffer.
stop pushing. place trust in dharma.
the petals fall when they must fall.
if you don’t push at all, something will still happen.
change is the highest quality of your heart,
and when you change, everything changes.
there is no separation between us, only awareness.
see god in everyone and you become god.

first call god, then send him away.
aum namah shivaya.
ram.  jhao.
भगवान. चले जाओ.

when i was young
i didn t believe in love
i didn t have to.
we would go on trips
all the family
every sunday
to a lake
to see swans
and eat cakes
and play games
we d played
countless times.

birthdays
were full
of lively children
devoted parents
and ungettable wishes.
i couldn t keep
all the presents
we d give them
to children
without parents.
all but three.

so it went
year by year
as we grew.
we didn t believe in love
we didn t have to.
we did all things together
we flew together
went to the shore
together.
fights were uncommon
they were meaningful.
everything was simple
and we were simple.

one time
there was a goldfish
in a bowl
that i fed
with tiny little pieces
of fish fodder.
life was true
and feral
our pockets full
of dreams
made of laughter.

then a man came
he took me away
he breached everything
he stole my innocence
with his lust
for all things
with his malice.
some fights we just
can t win.
his face was pale
his eyes were red.
don t listen to what
he says.
this man was me.

it’s beendonebefore
b  e  f  o  r  e
that’
s also after that
’s still before in concentric cir
C
les of re-(de-)
pressive ***-ual releases in-

to bliss in
spite in spir
it                  autos tandems con-
tained by ads of women ***-ed  
vastly amid ******* stilted Dei-
ties as of grandkingdomcomes

to reap unwarranted respect
***** Welsh adulation in selfservingcycles
of crimson-ish
Santas
living with in plu-
m fairiesinlalaland(that are all stiff
bar in thy top)

(do you really think you ought to
? or can? why
not to try must a
nd with-
outcauses)

sing-along sing-along follow follow on track on track;
‘til you crash to reboot perhaps
and may
be
bye by
any luck

(you-oughto you-oughto you-can you-can)

and happiness fol
lows bye by
all
means
for sure

love(being what it is) churns and whirls toand-
fro as wildsummergeese spread amid the
cloudburst like girls and boys that as they
tease whisper and wheeze and redden by

touch(which atthispoint is touching way beyond
touch-ing) i guess uncontainable as it is leads to
whatitleads (to such)a secret alliance in a sphere-
oftwo wherein nerve is nerve and more is

much more; nights now mergeinto days round
the wondrous curves of her mouth, boys being
nolonger boys, girls forever girls are ledastray by
shivers beginning at the luscious beginning of their

thighs, words subsist as misplaced sighs lost in
gusts of suspended strokes(and breathing.)  love(being
what it is being *** being love), blurs and blasts as
rhythmicompulsions and lasts, forever(while it lasts

Your gods lay dead, buried
and past forgotten, while
the greater God patiently
awaits your return, in
immensity, within you.

Soul is a triumph that must
be deserved, by remaining
in or returning to our
Permanent Self.

In between, it is absent.
Innocence is the shore we
depart from and the shore
we must return to.

Don’t seek love. Your
essence is love. Don’t seek
truth. You are the
embodiment of truth.
Don’t seek god. You are
god. Your simplest you is
you.

I loved her, she loved me
not. She loved another who
loved another.
Hopelessness ran
through our bodies as one.
Together, we loved. Alone.
We climbed walls. Alone.
We walked the fields. Alone.
We slept entwined. Alone.
My heart, soaring, endured and surfed the storm.
Hers, spellbound, dreamed and ogled far beyond the horizon.
Our cheeks never flushed. Not once.
When she left, once again my sunsets were sunsets.

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.

If you judge me by the masks I wear,
you will be guilty of duplicity,
for the masks you judge me with
mask the masks you judge.
We are all hidden, as brood in fright,
standing on empty air, on an illusionary light
that swathes our pointless being,
we create layers and sub-layers
of unawareness and awareness,
that essentially add no factual insight
onto our self or being.
We are fools, fooling ourselves
and other fools, in an uninterrupted
movement we’ve called life.

Cease all judging and the masks collapse -
all foolishness is disrupted,
leaving nor awareness or unawareness,
just simple facts and being.
Live a physical life, through your valid senses.
Live a simple life, through your valid senses.
Live your life, and just your life, through your valid senses.
Be you, simply you, no more, no less than you,
and all will be made plain and be alright.

War is not the revolution.
Justice, equality, respect for self
and for everything that’s alive,
human dignity, compassion,
a balanced, healthy life,
and love, true love.
That’s the revolution.

Our star, of feathered life, slept,
ever since ever, in wired, caged,
silvered walls.

On this epic day, first light still
pending, his beak still dry, his first
peek met – providentially to him,
alas to others – a door, wide open.

I can fly, I will be free! Of all
thoughts thought, none more
blessed.

Yet, fear, mounting, doubt,
insurmountable, without delay,
consumed his tender heart. Food, to
where, from where, and why?
Doubt is the killer of all dreams.

Yet, in this dawn of dawns, our
brittle hero, reasons unknown,
perhaps folly, perhaps not, beat and
beat, in frantic thrill, and flew away.

I decree, the secret of freedom is
courage.

i thought you were with me
so tender so human so fresh
absolutely into me.
easily you say you think
you love me(you think!)
“let’s go for a walk, baby,” you console me
then you ******* a kiss through the fibers of your eyes.
you blew it, for god’s sake!  and you slip into yourself
ever deeper.  bit by bit you’ve been fading away
so tender so human so fresh
just slipping away.

possession is nine tenths of the law
just doesn’t apply
just can’t apply to things
that can’t be owned.
you’re one step ahead
while i’m out of step(with myself
with you with all)
“memories don’t come cheap,” i realize
and you’re too absent to relate.
so tender so human so fresh(to me)
so cold so phony(to others)
you’re so you(to you).

persistently we go on with our walks.
there’s days we go to the park and feel the flowers
and there’s days we don’t go to the park at all.
i’m so ready to grab life by its throat
and rip it open and let
all this fakeness spill out
until its last drop.

As I began to see clearer,
Things started to disappear right in front of my eyes.
At first it was things like mugs, songs, cars,
and friends (those that weren’t really my friends).
Then it was the clouds, the wind, and the rain.
Few things remain, but these things are so beautiful.
Everything is always so peaceful now.
I have everything I need, I am everything I need to be.
I’ve come to realize that those who smile the most are not always the happiest,
And that faith isn’t as terrible a thing as I’ve heard so many preach.
God does care.  In His own way.
He does exist.  In you, like everything else.
Miracles, like a father teaching his son how to choose his loves, happen.
Your every heartbeat is a miracle.
There is beauty in everything if you can see the beauty in you.
I’ve let too much life slip away.
I don’t shun pain any longer, nor anything that’s natural.
There is a purpose in everything. There really is.
Particularly in the smallest of things.  
Simplicity is what makes life special.
Simplicity is what makes us human.
Nowadays, I hear the silence that exists in me,
And that is always more than enough.

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.

how strange how strange i
repeat myself myself how w
ond-
rous a thing
so wondrous verve life like mad-
ness that ain’t

mad-ness rather o
r perhaps all t
he maybees and why
not’s

circular doubts bulb  
ous greed       ******* fear joy in
games (concealed) child
ish forever childish for    ever
childish(we never grow superduper grow-up)blameitontheboogie-
man it’s nature’
s way it’              s my way(my natural way a
supernaturalway) god-

dam(n!) more
s beliefs that inhibit canned pro
-hibit (has Mother called you
lately? to ask)

on an unobtrusive god
youre just an echo of yourself
juxtaposed en pose in stance
echoes echoes of your-self
which is not your
self(-)

(to ask what mothers ask)

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.

we used to play
by climbing the shed
next to our pool
then leap into thin air
clasping on to faith
and to the crowns
of little pine trees
that would bow
seamlessly
‘til we hit the ground
with just the right amount
of scare and grit
in our bodies
to goad us back up
onto the shed
again

simplest you is always
the most beautiful you.
so undress yourself
put your pride away.
release hate
it dilutes you
makes you smaller than you.

don t tell others who they should be
tell them you love them
just the way they are.
look straight at things
with the only eyes you ve got.
you will see
all is well
even when it s not.

plainness is full of wisdom
and full of happiness too.
so wherever you go
be you
simply you
it s the most beautiful you
you ve got.

I’ve known, all along, I speak
not to be heard.
I take myself to places, where I
forlorn, can guffaw.

I live alone, I breath alone,
I love alone, I dream alone.
Through my loneliness, I connect,
with all of you, with none of you.
I was born alone, I’ll die alone.

I have no remorse -
the Haast, too,
soars,
alone.

Don’t give me love nor memories that fade.
Don’t give me words nor pointless promises.
Don’t tell me you love me in so many brilliant manners,
nor how much you want me as if you were tying a knot.
Let it be night when I close my eyes, and please leave my soul alone.

Don’t give me flowers that have perished and will surely rot.
Nothing that’s dead can stand for us.
Don’t give me stones to carry nor a trench that I must fill.
Don’t give me smiles that are not yours, nor tears only shed to move me.
Show me the plainest of the plain in you, without prejudice nor pride.

Don’t give me anything, except your life, and I will tie it down with mine.
Give me your mornings, your fears, and your humanity.
Let our tomorrows be a garden, of smiles, tears, and laughter,
of children running dippily in merry-go-rounds,
of tender caresses, sighs, and whispers.
Give me your now and your forever and ever, in this life.

You want to know the truth?
The truth cannot be expressed
by words or mind.

Look inside
and find you in you.
You will have small feet and small hands,
a big heart and no mind.
Wake up and play,
spin round and round in magical circles,
and laugh,
and say silly things.

Now, you know the truth.

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.

you enter
smiles and golden rays of hope
pains fade, kisses gained
i sigh

you exit
lost, twisted
pains regained
i cry

death is to cease to be seen
on the outside
not an end, not a beginning
it’s the perpetual push of a wind
that having passed by
will be felt no more
we live in infinity
way beyond ourselves
where the wind and it’s push
goes on goes on

my life
my mistakes
my past
my dreams
my illusions
my regrets
my loves
my ***
my joys
my I
my you
my forever
my now
my agonies
my freedoms
my strengths

this is your life
grab it with both hands
feed it with all you have.
don’t let it be dragged through the mud
nor numbed by glut and waves of others.
this is your life
filled with fears and pains and defeats.
still you smile and work and make love.
keep on walking.
wear your scars with honor.
there is always happiness ahead.
there is a tomorrow and other dreams.
this is your life.
have faith in yourself.
you are great.
more than great.
with the slightest sway of your heart
you can slay all your demons
and rise.