Oh, the joyous day of our first breath.

Oh, the joyous day of our freedom.

Oh, the joyous day of our first day of understanding.

Oh, the joyous day of our first dreams.

Oh, the saddened day of our first heartbreak.

Oh, the saddened day of our first contemplation.

Oh, the saddened day of our first suffocation.

Oh, the saddened day of our first bad habits.

Oh, the saddened day of our last breath.

Now read it from bottom to top.

It is the capacity only to act for myself.
It is the capacity neither of self-subsistence nor without
self-reliance.
It is neither the epitome of wisdom, nor the epitome of
ignorance.
It is not the epitome of beauty nor the epitome of
ugliness.

Lack doesn't make for worry and excellences
are counted as special gifts of life.
Like a ****** pressed between my fingers is my soul
in God's Presence.
Thus, do I recognize my karma as not the
best, but not the worst.

It is surrounded by pretty, but not the equisite.
It is surrounded by clutter and dirt, but
not grotesque filth.
It is as a middle ground from which any quality
would cease the ground's existence.
It is not mommy or daddy, not child and not adult.
It is not old nor young.
It is not sun nor moon, but star.
It is not perfection, but comfortable imperfection.
It is not as fair as pastel, nor as gaudy as neon.
It is not known, but not unknown.
It is not host of a soul, yet does not exclude
any soul.
It does not grasp, nor release.

"Why is your skin orange?"
It is joking about vanity.
It is not slack, nor is it strong effort.
It is not wickedness, nor is it judgement.
It is not righteousness, nor is it evil.
It is not astray, nor is it unastray.
It is not a party, nor is it loneliness.
It is the monk of reality.
It pretends not to harness all of my memories.
Nor does it pretend not to conjure memories.
It is not shadow, nor light.
It is the plastic-self, unable to be immortal,
and unable to abide mortally.
It is the spirit of self, yet the spirit of others.
It is not empty, nor full.
It is construction of the simple.
It is construction of the difficult.
It is cleaning the toilet.
It aligns with no group, nor does
it not exist in any group.
It is folly through shallowness.
It is wisdom from shallowness.
It is not pure, nor does it lack
purity.
It is not popular, nor does it fail to get attention.
It is desire, not not sin.
It is her, but not Her.
It is resurrection, but not life nor death.
It is not heard, nor listened.
It is not unhealthy, nor is it strong.

boyhood crushes.

It is not power, nor is it incapacity.
It is not opinionated, nor is it opinionless.
It is not blood, nor is it light.
It is not long, nor short.
It is not curved, nor straight.
It is not solid nor gas.
It is not water nor is it not a liquid.
It is not salt nor is it not saline.
It is not belt, nor backpack.
It is not car nor home.
It is not bed nor is it not rest.
It is not gold nor bread.
It is not giving nor hoarding.
It is not meat but it is cheese.
It is not poor, nor rich.
It is not career nor retirement.
It is not fair, nor unfair.
It is holy, but not pure.
It is not heresy, nor help.
It is not metro nor country.
It is not the center nor is it the side.
It is not age nor mind.
It is not body nor heart.
It is not skin nor bone.
It is not brief nor long.
It is not sink nor swim.
It is not lesson nor tale.
It is not story nor biography.
It is not virtue nor vice.
It is not a lie nor a truth.
It is not shallow nor deep.
It is not structure nor process.

Samadhi.

i still do not know
whether i am a void of feelings
or just a child who shut the door to his pain.

Hello suicide!
Its been awhile
Remember me?
Yer ol' buddy Kyle?
I need your assistance
To escape from this trial
Forgive me friend
If I'm unable to smile

Ah, yes! Kyle, of course!
Forgive me bud
If my voice does sound hoarse

I've been hanging around
Don't you see?
I'm glad you've swung by
To console in me
For my first recommendation
Is hanging
Yes, in fact
This is my plea
Might I suggest a rafter
Or perhaps a nice tree?
This ones on the house
Yeah, this one is free

Ah, yes! A hanging
Indeed!
But if I were to do that
A rope I would need
Not only that
But I could be rescued
And freed
Do you have another?
Please forgive me suicide
Forgive me for my greed
What else can I do?
Please consider my plead!

Ah, yes! I can do one more
But I'm growing tired and weak
And my neck is still sore

Take a handful of pills
And overdose
This I know you've tried
And you came really close
But you can't be easily rescued
And you don't need a rope
Do it! Destroy your dreams!
And trample your hopes!

Excellent! This one sounds great
For sure!
I do have a decease
And pills might be the cure
But what if I live
What if my body endures?
But this option has potential
And it has great allure
I'll consider this option
To you, I ensure

Well, well, well!
Look what we have here!
Looks like I'm successful
As if a death is near
Theree no need to panic
Theres no need to fear
However, I do need payment
So start paying in tears!
Now RIP my good friend
Its been fun mate, cheers!

1
there is something mindlessly vicious about mornings alone.
the birds call for each other as the sun rises and it’s all very
lonely, isn’t it?
the pomegranate is beautiful but no less sour for it,
the clouds are a light orange.
it still stings.
you sleep in the bed next to me and i have loved nothing like i love you,
except maybe my cat, but that’s different
i think,
or maybe my dog, or our three rats-
is it possible to be in love with different things at once?
i’m still deciding- give me another 20 years to figure it out.
my mother always told me i had so much love 
bouncing around in my chest that it was hard to keep still,
everything was-slash-is so beautiful that i couldn’t sit in one place,
affection bursting out of me from the seams.
maybe that’s true, maybe that’s just ADHD,
but does it matter? i’m not sure
what does matter:
the way my cat slept with me last night,
curled up between my chest and the edge of the bed,
rumbling softly in the moonlight.
reminds me that she loves me with soft eyes 
and the press of her perfect forehead against my hand.
i scratch under her chin and she purrs.
i lie there,
aching,
and try to sleep.

2
i believe in a past life i was a hermit
living on a wild cliff above the sea.
i spoke to only the animals i cared for and
my own reflection.
this makes sense to me-
why else would i choke on words so easily?
why else would they stick to the roof of my mouth and 
refuse to come out?
instead i think the words i want to say and then keep them inside-
little secrets
only i am allowed to know.
have you thought of a dam yet?
is it overflowing? water
streaming down the sides? throwing itself over the 
edge? dashed on the rocks below?
yeah.
yeah i think that fits, too.
bottles shatter in my chest only to be contained 
by another, larger bottle,
so on and so forth,
until my chest is fit to explode.
i get a gift for a friend, and it doesn’t work.
this feels like a metaphor for something
but i don’t know what yet.
i’m still working on that part.

3
something that always bothered me was,
like,
who allowed this to happen?
was it my mother? meaning well but hurting me anyway?
was it my father? was it G*d?
i don’t think we’ll talk about either of them
(and yes, i understand that this is a cop out).
the pinecone brings life and oxygen
but it stabs my hand when i cradle it.
life always finds a way, yes,
but could it maybe hurt just a little less?

I sought visions;
I sought unific feelings;
I sought insights.
I got visions that churn imagination,
  history, and Gods.
I got unific feelings that made
  my whole body pulse together
  with the world and universe.
I got insights into origins, essentials,
  and outer limits.
All this through silence, and
  I ached.

Then I stared at the light,
  and remembered the darkness.
None of these seemed important
  any more.
The only thing that mattered
  was deed, good deeds.

Call it detachment from senses
  as the Buddha would say.
Call it an impulse to help others.

But all I can really say,
  is that I stared at the light,
  and it was so commonplace now,
  it was even as dust.
And all this inner travel
  and work meant nothing anymore.
How can I serve?

Is your bedroom ceiling,
As dark as mine?
Can you see in,
The night?

Is it pebbled,
Is it flat,
What do the,
Shadows look like?

Can you look up,
And see your dreams,
Or just see concrete,
And beams.

Stars,planets, space, infinite expanse.
Is it just old light?
Is it just ice, rocks and dust?
Is life all encompassing?
Is coalescence a must?
Writing a verse about the universe.
Is matter the chorus written within the song of infinity?
Does gravity flow and ebb like the tide?
Does time writhe and struggle like the dying beast?
Will the void consume as does a king at his feast?
What is it that planets discuss?
"What is really at your core?"
"Do you know your own state?"
"Be it solid, liquid, gas or plasma?"
"Perhaps do you contain condensate?"
Collapsing, contracting, imploding, eroding.
Was it all just a sneeze of creation by some omnipotent presence?
What does it all mean?
Where is the essence?