Sunday, May 17, 2015

chaos

my mood makes me analyze the
platitudes written on my can of beer, like
‘everything goes wrong until you get it right’

it makes no sense when shaken apart
we didn’t either according to you
so I avoid that and move around the can and read

‘murphy was an optimist’
if you mean murphy’s law is actually
about the second law of thermodynamics

about entropy and cooling disorder…
except that if there is an impossible chance at order
a natural system will sometimes

sometimes, suddenly, passionately
overcome unbelievable odds
and self-organize spontaneously

into honeycombs of gorgeous strength
and beauty
and sustainability

‘it’s all in your head’
yes.
apparently.


Friday, March 20, 2015

equinox eclipse

an equinox devoid of equanimity
an eclipse resets the ego
‘have you tried turning it off then on again’
yes, thank you…
perhaps this time…

wishing for a moment I could be
an eternal optimist like a pet dog
or a penis
instead I doze, steeped in the fickleness of a feline
with the attention span of an frustrated squirrel

awaiting a third stanza
to arise to save this from mediocrity
and irrelevancy
I search in the darkness for something

that will turn me back on


Wednesday, July 9, 2014

monastery


I wake up to silence
every morning in this castle
without my trusted dogs this time
choosing to be alone then
sometimes wallowing in loneliness
the rejection I projected
reflected back to me

I am learning
how I create
watching my addictions
going along with them
following them home for tea
enjoying the fictions I imagine

here I can stay undressed
until I take my body for an adventure
walking it instead of a dog
trips to the store alone
cooking for one
I always make too much

next door two terriers sometimes worry
about a deer, quietly munching in this yard
squirrels tirelessly attack the bird feeder
a cardinal waits until they’ve tired
not noticing he has no head feathers
and I wonder about pesticides and bees

the floorboards creak as I walk
the air stirred gently by the fan
a microclimate of solitude and quiet
day night and in between
surrounded by cicadas and frogs
500 yards away cars pass by

twice a day I practice sitting
once a day I tire myself outside
often I pace the house reading
I distract myself far too late into the night
I try to find discipline to write
I bask in gratitude for my guardian angels

but really I am pausing
letting the unnameable work
so more often I will notice
when the quality arises
that allows me the clarity
to see many things better, but also
to know why I still dream about you


Krishnamurti tea

Hope is a belief that something will improve in the future. Despair is a belief that nothing will improve in the future. Hope contains a belief that the past and present are no good. Despair contains a belief that the past was the best possibility and the present is no good. We swing between both, ropes creaking, gripping tightly, burning our palms.

The mind adores routine, worships the known. It will perform all kinds of gymnastics to cling to certainty. Routines of life are built and polished, decorated and painted brightly to evoke permanence. Predictability is comforting because it supports the mind's story of what life is. Patterns of thought and reaction build, until the expectations created from the foundational beliefs the mind has carefully organized from its limited experience are perceived as needs, causing desire to become grasping and attachment.

Desire can only be tamed by that which cannot be named by the mind, but what might be known as love. Otherwise, desire is a wild power, and from what the mind narrowly perceives and has already experienced in the past desire creates an idol, a story. The image inflates into a mirage of epic proportions until all possibility of seeing truth is lost. Until it ends.

"There is always an ending to that which is incomplete."

And so I travel. Then I stay. Here I am silent. There I participate. I am inside and out, sometimes at the same time.

Some of us have trouble seeing clearly.
Some of us want truth so much (and also, clearly, do not) that will we again and again try to leave our certainty behind. And then we notice that we've brought our certainty-seeking along. The judging deciding organizing mind. We still use the mind with the will to discipline, define, illuminate, understand, control... and we still hope to understand truth with insight the mind can grasp.
Again and again we tear down the false walls we keep building so beautifully, and we dive forward past what we know to be illusions, seeking truth. While building a new structure each time.

But eventually we see that seeking is the problem. Hoping for truth means we believe it is not with us right now. Right here.

So some of us keep changing our here. Keep changing our now. Then staying here. Staying now. Then changing again. Inviting contrast, swinging from hope to despair, from certainty to fear, from illusion to devastation...

And in the space, in the brief moment where the pendulum is centered, clarity dawns.
And the mind overtakes and swings again!

But there is a space now open for truth.
In case at some point I want it more than the gratification of the search.

Monday, July 7, 2014

escape


addiction             habit            compulsion            dependence            craving                        infatuation

identifying with thoughts
defining and putting parts of the world
into organized boxes of concepts
imagining we will be more complete
if we could possess more
avoiding the emptiness

everyone’s mind decides good or bad
no one’s mind does not say I want this and not that

but when we pick a rock from the stream
bring it closer
judge it in more detail
we notice flaws, darkness
we see it is just as bright as the last pebble
and believe another shimmering jewel
farther on in the stream
will be more beautiful
will add to our store of loveliness

and so what we yearned for and finally possessed
is instantly relegated to the past
discarded back into the stream
to the category of known and boring
and the mind searches outward again
engaging its radar for that which resembles the past
still safe but seems different
still triggering a kind of pleasure or pain
that has been experienced before

we keep circling the abyss
with eyes turned outward
not noticing our wings
denying our ability to fly

throwing images onto a tiny screen
grasping and analyzing
each flash each dust mote
faster and faster to keep ourselves distracted

when behind us inside us the void is open
yawning and patient
waiting for when we will turn off the screens
put down the stories
stop the work we don’t enjoy
finish wanting to change others
cease groping outside for love
and finally turn inside to see truth

diving off the edge
trusting the wings we have forgotten
gently dissolving and expanding
into that which has no name