Zen monks talk of detachment
Of emptiness, for will or want
Towards the clearing of all desire
And in the great translucent sea
Of their complete freedom
They speak of the perfect simplicity
Of their mountain abode
And mundane chores for the maintenance of earthly vessels
Mentioning, only in passing,
How serene the world is in their high cold house
And how nice the whole world looks
Framed in their peasant doorway

I envy the envyless
Nowadays who can afford a whole  mountain to themselves.

My mind feels empty, empty of purpose, meaning,
Empty of the will to act on the world,
What is the world,
A stage of actors that moves timewise towards oblivion
A sphere of energy or motion,
Moving where?
And where am I moving in it
Where do I need to be
Do I need to be anywhere
Is there a meaningful difference between here
Or there, or there,
Between being at a friends house,
Or in jail,
Between being in Colorado or Kazahkstan
I mean it sort of matters,
Like how an ant prefers to be in the anthill
Instead of the ocean
But then is it just preference,
Or is purpose, and place, merely a function of existence
Is it necessary that I be a human, and act like a human
Because I'm a human?
Is my destiny tied to that?
So is my destiny just to be me, because I'm me,
and then someone else will be themselves, and that's just it
Society is just a bunch of selves, attempting to be themselves
and creating a standard of self, based on themselves,
Perpetuating a form of being that seems convenient,
And also somewhat meaningless
So if being me, is only important for maintaining the illusion
Of the meaningfulness of me.
Then is there meaning in being someone else,
Or in being something else?
Or being somewhere else?
Or is that just a shade of the same thing
Is there even meaning to the word meaning in the personal sense
Or is meaning so tied to essential function,
That to be meaningful, or live meaningfully
Is just to be as you as you can be?
And that's enough?
Or is it to become yourself, and then to choose what means you?
To decide what you mean, as a function, as a person
To yourself
To others?
I don't know,
I'm just asking for a friend.

I didn't have the guts to be a rebel
All the counterculture called at me
Asking me to join
In living rooms with Goodwill couches
Owned by a friend of a friend of a friend
They reached out to me
Hands and hearts so open that they couldn't stop bleeding
Asking me to join them
To make what I felt
To do what I wanted
Regardless of whatever the rules said.
They asked me,

Passing the tokens of a shared insobriety
That sought out the essential truth beneath
A thousand and one layers of culture and biology and social pressure
That only ever manages to turn diamonds into coal

I don't have the testicular fortitude to forsake the gifts of my birthright
My middle-class hope
Of a sliver of land beholden to an HOA
Of a wife who loves me kind of and children that will hold me to an anachronistic social standard that will leave me wanting
But it could be mine
It could be a world of my own making
With love and joy and plenty
And the mediocrity and turmoil
That is essential to life whether it is good or bad
It could be mine

The true face of the world is violent
And life struggles unconditionally to enact it's will on a world
That has extinguished more species than are alive

We are mayflies in the cosmos waxing and waning
And no one cares
And no one guarantees that I will eat tomorrow
Let alone find love
Or persist in the presence of my ancestors.

I don't have the ***** to wager my little bits of happiness
Even if there is a slim chance to change a million minds or more
Call me a coward
Call me a pragmatist
In a century call me dead
Right now you can call me mostly happy
And I don't know if there is anything better

Go up to the mountain
To the top,
If that is necessary for you
Stand, or sit, as the wind howls over you
And ask the guru of the mountain,
The questions that sit inside of you,
swirling with their merciless restless energy
Ask the questions about you
That you have always wondered.
Ask the questions about you
That you have always been terrified to ask
Ask about you
As everyone must do
And ask yourself about you
As everyone should do
Ask any question
Ask every question
Ask,
Seek
And know, that it doesn't matter,
There's a good chance you're an *******,
Just like the rest of us

We sacrifice little bits of our flesh
In order to tattoo life on ourselves

Every cut or scrape procured
In the pursuit of our joys
In the doing of worthwhile endeavors
In the fight against apathy
Leaves marks that remind us
That the sacrifice of ourself
Is often necessary
For great things

No one gets out of life in one piece
The wholeness of your physical form
Does not matter at the end

And in the end even our scars
Our injuries
The sum of our aquired disabilities
Will be destroyed
And cleansed from the world

But the things that we do
The things we give ourselves to
And things that we create will persist
In ripples and waves that travel across
The days of others they affect
Beyond our life.

Your scars are the tattoos that life gives you
Proof that you were not idle
But particaped in the game
And that you played hard.

If I were you I'd.....
Probably do the same thing
If I were you......
I'd be you,
If I had your parents, and the genes they wear
I had your childhood, and the joy and misery
Of your school days, and the games,
And that one teacher that everyone hates,
If I had your highschool crush and the depression
And the friends that were there and the ones that weren't
All the victories, and defeats,
And all the mediocre moments in between
If I were you....
I'd be you,
If you were me,
You'd be me, my decisions make sense to me because of everything
Everything that goes into making me, me, including the whys and the what fors, and the whos and hows of it all.
If I were you....
I'd probably try and be more forgiving towards myself,
If you were me.....
I'd hope you do the same.

Do not feel sorry for yourself
Self pity is silly
The whole world is full of the brutish agony of life
Struggling to survive the gales of it's storm
You are a small candle guttering in the wind

But

Please,
Know yourself
Inspect yourself
Dig deep and look deeply
Into all the little crevices and cracks
At all the dark lines of imperfection
All the edges that threaten to break themselves
On all the surfaces of the world
And when you have investigated the whole of yourself
Then own yourself
Own your cracks, your faults, your hates, your loves,
Your lacks
And when you own them,
When you have accepted the intimate nature of your own imperfection

Please,

Work on them

Change them,
And change yourself
Only a fool stays the same
Just,
Don't feel sorry for yourself