What more than a head and body?
What more than a room?
What more than staring eyes?
Do they ever pierce through?
The molecules of the things in here spark no new sense to me.
Nor outside taking a smoke.
There has got to be a word for this.
Not boredom, not austere.
Not glum, not shade.
Lukewarm light, maybe.
Noble stare of the formless mind, perhaps.
Miser, hopefully not.
Forgetful, of the world though.
Hopeful, no, a little more resigned.
A frequency? Could be.
The loser, the creative?
The inventor, the wannabe?
Expectant, too intense.
Drifting on the hard edge of the mind.
Why can't a fish bite?
Why not one?
I'm a doomed fisherman with none.
No flower has vloomed, not an exceptional one.
How do forms collectively merge into one, though separate I see?
I'll explore this novelty.
Blind to multiplicity things become one.
What price do I pay for collectivity?
Look at the Earth so together, so one.
Yet how little I can relate to Her.
I see a collection of rooms, a collection of houses, a collection of cars and businesses.
Collection of dishes, a collection of cash and credit receipts.
This is the minor Earth I see.
A collection of esteem's, a collection of words, thoughts, and things.
Nothing like iron-hard duty to break apart the day.

was god made with insecurities that

he had made us with insecurities to

make himself

feel better


--- maybe imperfection was the biggest insecurity

. but imperfections relieve the pressure
of expecting

and that makes my life perfect

Memories replay in slow motion of my last moment before throwing my soul into the abyss.  

The void of whiteness.
Is my new home.

The wrath of this dying world, spared me from karma and now an irreversible act been committed by my own doing!

I chose to follow this path. I tie no, faults or blame to anyone.  Condemn anyone around, you for what sake?

What would you give or take?

To find peace within my eternal absence?

Is that how, you wish to remember me?

Various emotions all calling out to me.  The weight of consciousness decreasing, unable to vividly, and physically express concerns that are no longer part of me.

People whom entered my life from the past to future fill my eyes.

  Now, they all surround me for the last goodbye.

Not the reunion, a peace bringer would slay for. Where we cannot touch or exchange words.

My magic will live on!
Ever more so, even if my essence expires.

I've searched for solace.

I've even conspired against time

To search beyond the means of obtainable comfort.

Remember my voice

One day, you may not hear it anymore

Remember my touch....

All you'll have left to
remember me by is the wind....

I lived to immortalize our values

When our values could have immortalized us....

I lived to bring all of you to life!

Even though mine was treated
like it's a game
My life is not fit
For a book or frame

This life meant to be.
Was never meant for me.
Mindless self indulgence.
Just another memory.

Is there more after this purpose?

I am not absolutely certain.

No more troubling questions.

My apologies for being a burden.

"I can't focus on what you told me to."
You don't need to focus to meditate.
Simply hold your head up and observe the barrage and motions of feelings and thoughts.
Now you are sitting
This is good.
"I forget to observe and go off on a thought."
That is fine.
Once you notice you've gone off on a thought or feeling,
Go back to observing them.
"Sometimes I want to act on my thought."
Then you can either act on it later and sit and observe it further, write it down, or you can act on it.
Then come back to sitting.

"Why do people do impure things?"
Because what is pure is disputed.
Impurity often takes the form of beauty or passion that enlivens my life
Placing the special in heart
That was once an empty lot.
"So why is it called impure?"
Because beauty and passion, like other things, can cross the line of moderation
And can take the forms of
Betterment away if carried
Into excess.
Thus, it is not so much that
There is impurity as there is extremism.
This can shape a life into one
That has stopped or not begun
Any search for the depths of life.
It is not so much that there
May be impurity
But the lack of connections
Between souls and neighbors
Which form a community
That takes responsibility
For their own spiritual, mental,
Physical, and material betterment.

Looking into the oblivion
Staring blankly into this yellow wall
In the midst of a house party
My housewarming party
What I am looking for?

When my friends are drinking and dancing
And I'm sitting there even though I'm smiling
They ask me, Pretty : why do you look sad?
I don’t even know if I’m sad or just plain.. blank.
What am I looking for?

Everyplace I go, the horizon at the sea or the peak of a mountain
Or when I’m just chilling in my den
Staring into the silence.
What am I looking for ?

Is knowing too much a bane?
Isn’t a foolish person happier?

It’s funny isn’t it? Or just an irony?
That as I write this sitting on the chair in my room
After that house party, my housewarming party
I stare blankly at this wall and the wall stares blankly at me
And then we are a perfect company !

I look out tat the snow in awe,
How can it be both lovely and blah?
Why does the snow fall?
Why does it come at all?
If only to melt in the spring thaw.