If you
can't make
your life
larger than
your grief,
you
will never
be alive
again.
-mce

The Reaper of time
Came surely round the bend,
With satchel upon curved aft.
With a glance toward forests and glades,
Upon time, ash he would cast.
For their being and what stood, would no longer.

His taunt would tantalize
Like a trot around the bend.
Never coming at the moment expected,
But surely to cast your end.

His ***** atrophied limbs
Would groan passing by;
Dragging you along for the ride,
Upon the Mortal's Circle for those who die.

And for those brave-hearted souls
Who wish to transcend,
Let it be knownst that in your beginnings
You too will find the end,
As the laughing Mara sends us back again!

You sit in front
of your computer
and telephone
thinking of the wife
(or husband),
the kids, your IRA,
making money
for other people.
Who loves you, baby?
How long has it been
since you could call
your life your own?
Do you possess
what is your's
or does it
possess you?
Obligation
is not a virtue.
Does your heart dance
or does it merely labor?
There is still time.
Reject the full catastrophe.
Dismiss obligation;
embrace possibility.
There remains
a beautiful world
out there:
hoist the black flag,
live like a pirate,
get naked,
dive in,
be alive.
-mce

Han-Shan got it right:

the fewer people,
the fewer distractions;
welcome visitors,
but discourage guests.

Drink to ecstasy,
but not remorse.

Let your children
lead their own lives.

Expect nothing
from anyone;
you will never
be disappointed.

Assume that death
waits outside
right now,
holding your car keys.

Keep your nose
on the cosmic grindstone;

keep you fingers
on the Dharma throttle;

place preparedness
for resurrection
at the top
of your to-do list:

nothing, but this
solitary moment,
is guaranteed.
- mce