Dear Diary,
Today I remember I exist.
Isn’t it funny that I usually forget until I am about to go to sleep.

I made myself a cup of tea, and witnessed the holy wisps of ephemerality returning to the world of ambiguity.

Does it always do that?

You probably think I’m going to express my inner thoughts about how beautiful life is, or better yet, lament the incessant and persistent struggle of pain, but nevertheless find solace in some transcendent nothingness.

Maybe.

I mean, how many poets and philosophers does it take to repeat the sacred mantra –
I am That.

Not me, I am no poet. No philosopher.
No lover of the unloved.
No embracer of the unwanted.

Right now I have no plans.
I am slowly sipping green tea, transitioning between talking to you,
a niggun beckoning me to go out on a search for lost goats on Judean Hills,
and finding childish joy from vanishing smoke.

This may be my greatest poem yet. A true ode to the ineffable.

The interesting thing about remembering is that you totally forget what you were doing before you started remembering.
I wonder what I forgot this time.

I dreamt last night that my Zeidy shouted at me for disgracing the family.

Pain. Unreal. Irrelevant.

If this how Job felt when he remembered he existed?

They share stories of the Other Place
Just across the mound.
Rumors of the Consumers
Heard but never found.

It’s said they overthrew kings
And replaced them with cats
Shed their restrictive clothes
Made them decorative mats.

Consumers of the Little Things
Hedonists without Shame
Abandoning Glory
Their titles and fame.

Heretics run loose
Squandering the weekends
Preaching about sunsets
Puppies, coffee, and good friends.

Monsoon in bed,
Fruity Pebbles on sale,
No alarm weekends,
Finding the Holy Grail

What fools are the consumers
See ‘All that glitters is sold’
Such is as it must
For so the mystics foretold.

You dance to the music
Not to the crowd
Silly and Soulful
Simple and Proud.

You dance through the struggles
With shimmering grace
Cry when you need
Sharing empty space.

I follow your footsteps
Feel the Room
Learning to Love
Starting to Bloom

Why do we always
run in circles
constantly trying to catch our breath.

Desperate to finish
when the end
brings us
back to where we began.

How far must we travel

to find ourselves at home

We Theorize and Plagarize

And the furthest we got was – Ohm.

We struggle so hard
Just to be Authentic.
Method acting
“Being Ourselves”

Playing
Hide
&
Seek


With our Ego

Grasping
Self


Only when we let go.






I’m ready to be found.

I’m sick of all these love songs
Written about another
Sonnets and odysseys
Desperate for a Lover

I want to enjoy the silence
Nihility subdue
Equally alone
As I am with you

I try to reflect Compassion
A metric of good health
Psuedo-neo Truism
Learn to “Love Thy Self”

What is eternity worth
When I can not live today?

What hope can revelation offer
When I've forgotten how to pray?

What can a fortune buy
When a penny has no use?

What solace can fame provide
When life is spent as a recluse?

How long does a moment last
Out of context, out of frame?

Why run towards completion
When you realize it's a game?

I have no use for three wishes
Barely have use for one.

Why focus on the end
When I have only just begun?