Unworried

Needless to say, little is known. Needless to say, my arms have been thrown.

The door has been cracked just slightly 'til now. And then taken down with no sorrow.The lives will be moving without a rest. New pages are turning with no regret.
To be like a baby with eyes wide open. To live like a lady with wisdom flourishing.
Facades can be useful and quite artistic. The upkeep is tough and requires persistence.
Treading along without sticking. Singing and soaring to sky unlimited.
Whatever has been and whatever may be. The course has remained with more certainty. 
Away from all lies. Away from all ties. Away from all drama and unneeded strife.
To rise above. Forget the need to be heard. No matter the world. I remain unworried.

The End of the Road

Not just a fury, and not just a disgust
Not just a disappointment, and not just spitting out the dust.
Profound letting down with truth fully revealed
He stands there naked in front, reveling in own greed.
He thinks he's being honest and sensitive to me
In fact, his words come down with force of serious brutality.
The chips have been put down and all the cards exposed.
The king has been demoted to pawn wearing same clothes.
It's obvious he's proud of such actions and feeling greatly lightened.
He doesn't know the burden has moved to the more enlightened.
And so the chasm has been clean with not much blood being spilled.
The timing is, as usual, couldn't find a better visual.
The path has found its end, a new one will be much more grand.
Onward and with energy, to a life of pure synergy. 

On Death, Part III

Yes, it's that time again to remind us all we are all heading toward the same finish line. It looks exactly the same for all of us, though some will reach it before others. 

It is also time to remind us all that we are heading in that direction by ourselves. We are, un-popularly, all alone on this road. Somewhere, deep inside, the knowledge is there and, at the same time, hidden. Scary to know there is no one but you. Just you. Always was you. Always will be just you. 

The distractions from remembering the aloneness toward this finish are many. Fooling oneself works for some time and yet, no matter how exotic the riches may be, the truth cannot be thrown out with the rest of the trash. Truth, just like you, always was and always will be. 

Truth is only painful when not faced. What is faced becomes known. What is known cannot be feared. When fear is gone, the burden dissolves. Without the burden, freedom sprouts. It is only in freedom that life is possible. No matter the number or lack of distractions.

The time has come to be reminded that we are all heading toward the exact same finish line. The line looks exactly the same for all of us, though some will taste it before others. Shouldn't we cross it gracefully?

The Deepest Desire

This is the everyday scene played in front of my eyes, and I am interested in commenting and exploring the sight. Forgive me for being frank and possibly offensive. I would like to point out that we are all programmed robots. Some kind of a software was installed into our mind and body, and it keeps running our lives. 

We mostly know of the things that are "wrong." We mostly know of what needs to be changed to feel better. We talk about it, complain about it, wish it to be different, and, at the end of the day, no action is taken, no transformation takes place, and the next day is the same as the one before. Some might call our lives as obsessive-compulsive. 

Much could be said about this cycle we find ourselves in. Explanations and reasons could be many. We have already exhausted all of the excuses. It seems as if not seeing a way out, not having the tools to switch train tracks is at the core. I am running along the concrete road, someone is running along me on grass, and while I want to experience the softness of that natural terrain, my body keeps me steady, and I am unable to veer off and touch the green. 

Maybe the answer is in not knowing the how. Maybe the answer is in the seeking of the how. Maybe the answer will be given to us once our longing to know the how is so great, we are unable to remain where we are without falling flat on our face with every step we take. Some might call it pathetic. Some might call it surrender. 

This treatise appears to be leading to the possibility that we might not know much of anything. We might only know that we don't know much of anything. We might only need to seek a vision of the best version of ourselves, and all else becomes revealed to us. 

Our task is simply to desire, with every fiber of our being, to re-write the program that is not and never was ours. 

Internal Revolution

Good point! Why didn't I think of that!? It makes perfect sense. How can one think of changing the world if he, himself, hasn't experienced an internal change of significant proportion? Mr. Gandhi did beg us to "be the change you want to see in the world." Something of gigantic value is to be experienced firsthand before anything of even a small percentage of that value is to be expected of the world. An internal revolution precedes an external one. To know the pain of suffering and to know the height of ecstasy and everything in between are a pre-requisite to saying anything to anyone. To know death and aliveness constitute a requirement to voicing anything to anyone. Search within this body and this being first and the entire humanity is revealed. After that, the dust around all creatures settles. Visibility exponentially increases and walking is closer to flying. 

Our friends, the Beatles, sing "You say you want a revolution. Well, you know, we all want to change the world." There are a million and one problems with everything and everyone else. While a likelihood, the real conflict lies within, making up the problems of "everything," as each one makes up the collective. 

And so the previous statement stands: "Why didn't I think of that!?" Internal revolution and personal transformation first. Then the fruits of persistent labor may fall and the seeds may spread in the wind. How lovely.

Starting To See

I am starting to see how easy it is to be deceived. The mind makes up a story to survive in this world. The trouble is not the story, the trouble is seeing it as the absolute truth. Even science tells us that the brain doesn't know the difference between reality and imagination. Either everything is real or everything is imagined. Either way, all is just a story made up for survival. To put the story aside is akin to putting the mind aside. But! When the mind is removed, what remains? And therein lies the fear. Who am I without my thinking? And what if it's ugly, and what if it's empty? And what if there is nothing, then what to become of me? The sages keep saying that's where life's answers and joy are residing, and yet we're hesitant to enter that realm. The choice is clear: to live by the world created by mind's imagination or to live in the world of life. 

How Simple

How simple it really is:
Once You're gone, then the world exists.
Then the world is there for you to enjoy,
For there is nothing preventing you from living in joy.
And there is nothing to show and nothing to prove
And there is nothing to argue and nothing to move.
There is only the scene in front to be watched
With its highs and its lows, not to be reproached.

How simple it really has been:
Once You have vanished, the life just floods in.
And you sit without walls, agenda, or meaning.
And there is just one feeling that keeps on appearing.
It is called many names and described many ways.
It's been searched for forever in crevasses of heaven.
Yet, the feeling is housed in the space so near.
So close, so easy, so formidably feared.

How simple it really can be:
Once You decide to surrender, your humanity can finally enter.

Stuck by Fright

The conditions of the mind
Shaped by hunger, greed, and fright.
Though the energy is strong
It's misused or turns out spoiled.
Grand ideas find expression
In the words and give momentum
To the hope and the desire
That one day we'll be on fire.
But the next day's sun in sky
Blinds the night's profound mind.
Old conditions and reflections
Powerfully rise in their mansions.
And when energy stagnates
Nothing valuable gets made.
If we could only have the knowing
That possibilities are flowing
In a way we can't describe
Through the logic killed by fright.

Rising Hope

How to stay afloat in the place of lesser hope.
When the job is gone and the roof is falling.
And the mind runs nonstop like a leaky faucet.
When the sleep escapes the body entirely.
And the fear arises with the lack of flattery.

When the singing's stopped from the sky above.
And the noise of cars has exceeded control.
When the heart is beating 'spite the wanting to curl.
And the thought keeps digging for the road unknown.

That's when mercy appears in all its beauty.
And the energy rises turning death to purity.
And the body moves freely along a slope.
That's how to stay afloat in the place of rising hope.

Hold Still

I now wish to say a prayer, because this life can be a bear.
The sun comes up if only briefly to bear its witness, yet leaving quickly.
It seems unfair to be the one to share the burden of thousand kinds.
The trip is planned with sails set to take my life beyond regret.
It isn't I who takes the care to guide this ship in open air.
I simply shift to slow gear, close baby blues and say: "Hold still, my dear."

Trash

The ease with which the creative genius of the mind fabricates a story is nothing short of remarkable. That, in of itself, is a fascinating subject. Even more riveting is the paucity of originality in such stories. All chapters are magically shoved into the space of the mind in a specific configuration over a period of a year or less or more. The time may or may not play a leading role in the theatrics. Once the room has been filled, the mind jumps for joy having found an occupation. The occupation being arranging and rearranging these chapters into various patterns and formations, making way for story one, then two, then two hundred. It is rather pathetic to witness the lack of innovation in this process. Even sadder to observe the inability to see reality which happens to be blocked by the incessant preoccupation of recycling the chapters. While entertaining, the playing of the old, scratched up record interferes with experiencing the lack of story that may be sitting directly in front. And the question continues to poke in all the painful places, wanting to know why the past continues to dictate today and the future.

Hungry

And the engine seems to hum to the sound of the divine.
And the birds' song is sublime if our ear is given time.
And the carousel keeps turning in the world that keeps on burning.
While the stillness is the seat that is somehow hard to see.
While the stillness is the kiss to be experienced as bliss.
While the stillness is the key to the life complete and free.
And that is how it exists, this tiny life - most hungry to begin.

Exclusive and Divided

High end and exclusive.
Exclusive love.
Love reserved for very few.
The few that made the cut.
The cut criteria of subjective means.
The means that segregates and judges.
The judgement that divides.
The division is within.
Within the human with unlimited giving.
Giving cut down by the mind's interpretations of reality.
Reality blurs and distorts.
The distortion causes suffering.
When all is needed is a hug of inclusivity.

Turned Around and Upside Down

What if it weren't like this? What if the sky is down and the earth is up, and the mountains are in here? What if the flowers drowned and the thoughts flew? While the guitar continued to cry. And the voice continued to soar. Toward the new skies and the old roots of new beginnings. What if I am not who I think I am, and you are surely not the person I know you to be? What if the chirping is coming from inside rather than from the tops of those green pines? And the newly-found beauty is overwhelming the perception of yesterday's world. And the rest seems to be irrelevant if not invisible. While the guitar continues to cry. And the voice continues to soar. Toward the upside down reality and the new roots of old beginnings.

Why?

Creating this and creating that, or that. No end and the beginning is irrelevant. All colors and hues of the creative process, generating out of the mind and chemicals circulating around the grey and the white matter. The desire has to become something in the outside world or the inside will suffer. No pathway internal is clearly identified. Also inherent, yet rather dusty. Suspending oneself for a dream dressed as real. That's sufficient to keep moving. Even if in circles. The end is the same for all. Today or at-a-much-later tomorrow. Producing, more or less, steadily continuing the manufacturing. Sustains the mind and feeds the body. At least that part of the process is occupied. The eternal sleep is comfortable. Could be better to stay like this. Creating this and creating this, that, and the other. Or the other. Because the why question takes precious seconds to answer. Why waste them? Waste... Is it?

Repercussions of Blind Chaos

Officially spent. Nothing more is left to give. Caught up in the tornado and spun all around. No understanding of what is theirs and what is mine. Thinking clouded and emotions occupied with playing a disharmonious tune. A shot of inspiration is to be injected into this heart. Close to immediately. No right or wrong but dark. Mirky, heavy, and just dark.  Plain old dark in a space of where compassion is meant to be. And the burden keeps growing and pressing down and whatever has legs runs in all directions, like ants, with heads covered, screaming, blaming. 

There is a light somewhere shining. This much is certain. The leader has decided to take a long vacation, except he can't admit it to himself. And slowly the building is falling down until he, too, feels its load on his impenetrable head. He might see. 

To find a cure for the condition in which to function within constraints. Narrow thinking hard to shake. Yet to be caught in it is shame. And so the light is to be sought. Its ever-present showing is pressing. Keep looking for the constant within the fright around. This heart is due for a makeover until the next time.

Master's

It's not that I love you.  I can't even begin to get to know you. It's just that my appreciation for what you have done for me is so monumental, the tears of gratitude are ready to appear. 

It's not that I adore you. I can't even begin to understand the scope of you. It's just that you have so graciously flavored me with a millimeter, a mustard seed of your power, it brings me down to my knees.

It's not that I am capable of loving you. It's not that I am capable of knowing you. It's not that I am capable of adoring and understanding you. It's just that the breadth of your inspiration through wisdom and action,  the reach of your speaking through presence and non-action elevate this tiny creature to heights unimaginable. I can only hope to stretch as wide as this body will let, as large as this heart will allow, as powerfully as this energy will sustain, for,  in the end, what else is there?

...These words are, too, yours...

On the Way

To know me and be free-
The quest for all eternity.
The question came
And answers went
Into that air from this head.
It might take long,
Or it might not-
It's just a puzzle
To solve at night.

To know this, be free from that
Which seems to bind, 
Which won't give up.
Which wants to stand,
Which wants to crowd.
Deep down it knows
It has no clout.

To know me and to be free
This life keeps pushing,
This much's been seen.
The earth within-
It sings and moans.
The time has come
To know its currents.

Softness

There isn't a smile that wants to appear on her withered face: that much is real clear.
On mission to win her battle of might. Her manners expose the toughness inside.
Perhaps it is past that caused all the fright. Or what's to become if compassion stands up.
Whatever the reason might be isn't clear, but it isn't the meat of the issue either.
The sadness spreads out like sun rays in sky. It's really ok to lay that burden way down.
Presenting the beauty buried by fury of making a story from ground up.
The chips might fall down and scatter around, yet it's really ok to simply sit down
And wash all the anger and drown the danger that only exists in her mind's jaded eye.
The smile may appear on her face held so dear by many of those whom, humbly, she touched.
There is always a chance that her toughness will melt and wash the sorrow brought on by world's domineering power.
So she can become the softness inside without the need to stand tall and fist fight.

Welcome!

He is here! He is here! All the town is enthralled.
Even mountains above us threw a party in due course.
Sunshine, too, appeared brighter on the morning of the feast.
Because all of nature's beauty dressed on up and brushed its teeth.

He is here! He is here! All the hands are up in joy.
Even strangers have decided to make ice cream for the boy.
The onlookers were looking, mesmerized by newborn's sight.
He is small but he is mighty, not unlike his future life.

He is here! He is here! All the feet are tapping floor.
Even cats and dogs and spiders moved in sync, unlike before.
Her heart stretched to further limits while his oozed newfound love.
It's that kind of an occurrence. It just touches to the core.

He is here! He is here! The new life tore down a door.
And it's time for us to marvel at what lies ahead in store.

My Sense

It's not that I have any answers.
It's not that I know what will work.
It's just that I keep asking questions
To gain some clarity is all.

The actions spring of misinformation.
The future seems to hold no joy.
The road up might be amusing.
It's doubtful that it's first choice.

It's not that I can see the future.
It's not that I can speak the truth.
It's just that I can sense the odor
Of pain and suffering unfold.

Unleashed

I don't care that I am tired, or that I can't perform what's expected in this world of false pride and flaky joy. He is living somewhere out there which I happen to enjoy but I need to be communicative despite the empty lull. All keep running in small circles like they've never seen the track. It appears new as always through the sleepy mind and eyes. And I cannot keep on living in this state of dread and pain. My poor heart and my dead ears can no longer hold up the front. I would like to be a cloud that keeps hovering above and can see the road clearly laid out in front. And I beg for him to enter into space I am trying to form. All the help that is available, I am happy to welcome. Asking guidance to appear on very clear terms. There is no time for guessing, as this life is rather short. I will walk away uninjured, for there is no turning back. It is time the yellow brick road turned to golden magic ride. I will sit there and implode to ensure an ample burning has made itself ready to throw its false wisdom to the sky. May I become alive.

Just Begun

I don't know what I know, and I know I don't know. I just hope I can go where the rivers only flow and the fish can fly. And the boat's easy float and the fear of the unknown with the likelihood of tow in the current to what's right. Yet the road is no go and the gate is still kept closed while the tapping of hurt toes doesn't know to stop. I don't know why the moan keeps on coming from this corner of the lone and the cone in shape of stone of a shiny kind. And the ship is yet to throw its full sail and to drone like the one I might have heard once upon a time. I can only hold the rope with its end tied to the known and have courage to let go and reach for the stars. Mighty roots might have been grown into deep and hardened soil that needs something great on loan to shake off the dust. Until then, the only load is the memory of code that's been etched into the bone and continues to slow the steady progress of the soul that cannot be stopped. And I don't know what I don't know. And I don't know what I do know. And the only truth I know is that I'm far from finish line. I can only hope to go with the rhythms and the flow of the great unknown known as my life. So I tear off the clothes and expose what's not been shown to the greatest manifesto left for me to write. May I go with the flow and be flexible as dough that's been waiting to be molded into perfectly rolled shape of bright yellow sun. It might read a little slow and appear slightly boring but there's little to be shown, for my life has not yet known that it's capable to throw and generate great fun. Yes, it has only just begun. 

It's OK

It's ok, my little baby. It's ok, my dear one.
It will only get better. Just allow it to happen. You are yet to take the flight. 

It's ok, my little honey. It's ok, my dear one.
Life can only get much better. I've already seen it happen. You're groomed to fly so far.

I will hold you and protect you. I will fuel you and embrace you. Just be willing to accept me. I am here as your guide.

You have met me as a baby. You have grown into a lady. All the world's for your taking. Just see that it is such.

There is no need to worry. And there isn't room to hurry. All can happen in a fury. You will be just fine.

It's ok, my tiny creature. It's ok, my lovely one.
I am here to support you. I am here to console you. Just accept me as your teacher. You will know life. 

Let me hold you, my dear child. Let me cure you, my darling girl. Let me steer you toward the future. You have only just begun.

It's ok, my little baby. It's ok, my dear one.
It will only get much better. Just allow it to happen. You are soon to take that flight.

Night Time

The mosquitoes come out when the humans go in. When humidity is rampant and the air's just too thick. I might call it an annoyance, because breathing is obscured. Yet those other little monsters seem to cherish it full force. It is not my or your making that variety is key. What is good for you is unspeakable to me. And the creative winds of freedom keep on rolling in and through. And there isn't a beginning to any thing or me or you. Just to stand and feel the magic of a night's still and rich life. As the man on stage is singing to his most loved guitar. Many things today appeared in a flash of fallen star. Disharmoniously perfect, though they really fool the mind. I don't know where it's all going, not these words, not this life. Yet I do enjoy the vastness and the abyss of the now. And the pen, it keeps on moving, as the clock has stuck thirteen. It's the eighth day that's awaiting to be seen and broken in. And the man has stopped creating, and the stars are shining bright. And the words have changed location, from the bedroom to the light. I will say good bye to fury that has burned a hole so deep. It is time to change the story, because all of it's a dream. 



And I'd rather be.....

Until the Time

So many search for the meaning of life

When all it is is to know how to be alive

We seek the feeling by doing stuff

The act of breathing's just not enough.

The act for pleasure is fun game

Until it turns to ball and chain.

There is another way to being

The trouble is it has been hidden.

If only we could melt and yield

To the spontaneous process of that which is.

We could dissolve the pain and anguish

That stems from dull and dimmed awareness.

The day will come when there will be

The process of life sought so tirelessly.

And then these words will have no weight

Until that moment, they are what I have.

Little Relevence

I don't have an answer, I don't have a meaning
For how these things came into being.
And even if I knew the point of origin,
Who is to say my life will not turn to poison?
What seems to have meaning is simply remaining
With eyes fully open and heart wanting sharing.
The devil might be working behind the dark screen
But what does it matter if magic's within?
And so I stay in my state of ignorance-
I think there's beauty and charm in being innocent.

Not Me

Maybe luck. Maybe pain turned to luck. Maybe work. Maybe grace through work. Maybe all of it. Maybe some of it. It doesn't matter. The thoughts are many. The importance is in the going. The importance is in the moving with it. The importance is in the staying in it. The rest will come. The rest will enter. The rest will be. I bow down. I feel alive. I thank the unnamed. It's not that I made it happen. It's not that I played a role. It's not I who worked the magic. I only came because there was no choice. I only came because of sorrow. I only came because the other road hit a dead end. The rains came. The storms went. The brush scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed. Until the shine began to appear. Because the aim is to find the eternal glow. Because the aim is to be the wonder. Because the aim is to disappear for life to appear. And then to sprawl. And then to embrace. And then to hold and uphold. Until then, I bow down. In the depths of humility. 

Choice-less

I don't know why it's all so blurry. It seems like yesterday I felt the glory. Of being here in full bloom. All of me open, my all for them. The world's weight has been descending. The hammer's slam seems never-ending. I keep escaping the final blow. Yet only slightly. The tide's been low. To hide beneath and underneath is just a path to "I don't exist." A bigger vision must be sought. I'd like to fly with the flock of free birds. I'll learn the language of the few who stay afloat and see the truth. The world they lift as high as can be. And all rejoice in their company. 

I don't know why the candle's out. It took a while but it's at the burn out. A different track is to be found. That is my wish and my desire. To stand up tall, to smile broadly. The inside glow to be shown. To run on full at every moment. To stretch, to shine, and be the glory. I want to see the color red and every thing it manifests. The time has come. Transport arrived. I jump over the bump, closing my scared eyes. Direction unknown, the journey is yet to be shown. This must be done to find the fun in all of matters dubbed the intelligent design. And thus, I resign.

Support to Cherish

Born with talents at first unseen
And, seemingly, hidden within.
It takes nothing special to look at what is
As long as the veil in front has been cleaned.
But too many times the fog was too thick
And vision obscured as blindness set in.
This body, this shape, this foot, and this hand
Unable to move within all the constraints.
Confusion prevailed and reigned for a time
Then something appeared and turned on the light.
The brewing treasure has reached a new level
Of wanting to explode its fountain of true measure.
And while the time has been steadily sprinting
The yearning to glow cannot be defeated.
May all of life's forces unite and support
The mount of creativity ready to burst forth.

For the world to enjoy.

The Process of a Process

A process. That's all it is. That's all it ever was.
A day will come when it crosses the finish line. It, too, aborts.
Until then, its engine's gears are on. In loud color and gigantic sound.
It wants to be worked out. It never seems to tire.
It might be called a tyrant if given full rights without bounds.
A process' wisdom is seen by few, perhaps in retrospect. The storm has blown through. No use in the regret.
Delicately treading in territory new. The older path's been worn. And sages? There are few.
The process keeps on beating with the heart that wants to keep up the singing.
What else to do but go with life's strange currents. With life's all and full blows.
It all unfolds itself in stages as it must. The process' life goes on. The choice is to keep up or remain in sandy dust.
That's really all there is. That's really all there was.
Lucky at doorstep of the hour when it all comes to a perfectly natural halt. When it all graciously dissolves.

Moving On

The grip is strong. All pores close up and close in. The sensation is that of insignificance and small existence. No word can be uttered. No sentence composed or thought expressed. Just the strong urge to hide. Somewhere far away. Perhaps the Himalayas. They say there is wisdom there. Something that could be of great utility at such a moment. Receptivity has been put on hold while old patterns have returned. Those tracks are deep. Only partly broken up. While all the turmoil is bubbling and hissing, the blissful scent of mother nature begs to be noticed. The jumping of ship from then to now and back to the past is rather exhausting. Armies of cells have long lost their steam. They are looking for the finish line. And yet, the tiniest of viruses causes havoc in the entire system. The time to slide out of the grip has come, if only breath would move and loosen the afflicted. Reaching to the outside as a key to opening the inside. Setting down the shield, revealing the frightened mover of the experience. It's time for it to dissolve into the vastness that holds it dear, for it seemed to have forgotten its place, its strength, its freedom. The pendulum is there to be grabbed. Swinging back and forth until stillness is what's known. Oh, it's so quiet here, and this is the place the seed may finally grow. 

Asleep

For those few moments of something magnificent, he's willing to prostate himself in insignificance.
Attached to the feeling of being enthralled by something that he cannot do alone on his own.
He's so alive and so engaged with his own need of fixing her mess.
Deluded with hope to find what is hidden behind a pretentious and dainty figure.
He sees what he chooses while she makes excuses
And makes her existence of angry abuses.
Both trapped in a dream of enormous illusion
That someone out there will hold the other in full inclusion.

As One

Please forgive me for the intrusion.
I surmise it comes from a deep state of confusion.
The tentacles of far-reaching protrusion
Unconsciously seeking a life of inclusion.

The signs on the doors are often misleading-
A warning misread as something intriguing.
The ungraceful entrance might be the case
But hope's on the lookout for a warm embrace.

The search will be on despite false convictions
A need is much greater than any eviction
To be of the space that holds all of life
Through the resistance of such a great might.

And so please forgive me for the knock on your head
And please accept my wanting to help.
I am here together with you on this planet-
We could all potentially come together like magnets.

Fear

It distorts your view and makes an enemy of your friend.
It prevents you from diving into the ocean. 
It builds an invisible wall between you and what is real.
It holds you hostage inside the box of your own making.
You hide behind the veil of concrete and occasionally come up for air, always surprised by its sweetness.
You approach near and sprint back, just to come back and taste the honey, if only with your eyes.
One step forward, two steps back, circling around, going nowhere.
While all I wanted to do was to explore the depths of you.

A Complete Piece of Life.

Might be better. The great big rock that has been sitting wherever it's been sitting, supporting thousands of pounds of weight over its lifetime. The stories it has heard and the tears he has gathered. The winds it has witnessed and the heat it has withstood. The wisdom is has gathered. Its depth must be unfathomable. Might be better to be a rock than a human. A single human with heaps of pain carried through all the generations. The scenes he has seen. The drama he has lived. The stories he has told the unmoving rock. The rock is. The human does. And while the latter speaks and moves, his suffering is incomparable to that of a still piece of stone. Might be much better to be an observer. Who is to say which one of the two is kinder and of greater assistance. Who is to confirm which one lives freely. As a life piece complete. 

Be Careful

There isn't a heaven and there isn't a hell.
There is only a choice that we make each day.
It's all a construction of too many men
Who hadn't discovered the truth or much else.

You need not be threatened. Is that what you want?
Feeling uplifted feels better than that.
If beauty's around, you'll likely want more
Fist's hard fall on your head makes no sense at all.

The wish for inclusion is great indeed
At least from this corner. At least through this feat.
What more can be done than action put forth
Be careful, men, the flame's just been birthed.

Could Be Anything

The trees are bare and then they're full.
The sun has set and the moon is blue.
All birds are quiet before the storm.
And I, alone, sit on thy throne.

His steps are soft.
His touch conveys
The buried moss
On winters' days.

The flower now becomes a seed.
The leaves have fallen at thy feet.
You look around and then at me.
Your smile speaks of humanity.

And I step down
From the above,
Because it isn't
Where I belong.

I am in the trees and in the fields.
The setting sun is my retreat.
The bird takes off with my envy
Into the sky of depth and wish.

Your step is light.
Your touch's a breeze
Along my thin,
My weathered skin

And we are walking hand in hand.
The steps are equal in their lengths.
All nature's gifts are on display,
And we are nothing more than vain.

Invest in Humanity

It all started because I had dinner. I am probably the least informed person on this planet about anything and everything, so this information came as a shock to me. Did you know that we have migrant workers? Of course, you did! Did you know that they follow the crops every few months, like nomads? Did you know that they have children who also move every few months, like nomads? Did you know they miss days and days of school? Did you know that they have to change schools regularly? Did you know that they fall behind other kids? And did you know that some children have terrible medical problems and need to be in constant need of attention and consistent medical care? And did you know that these medical issues are likely to have been caused by the heavy use of the pesticides on the farms that their parents are exposed to? And did you know, for instance, that PepsiCo's Tropicana product made $6.2 billion in revenue in 2011? And do you know what it's costing us, really costing us, to have a new generation of people continue to live in poverty, uninspired, struggling, ill, uneducated, and defeated?I do not know how to run a company. I only wonder about this: is it possible to take a little bit of the profit and establish a system where the working conditions and the plight of the migrant worker are taken a bit more seriously? Where the vision is long-term and broad rather than narrowly focused on simply increasing revenue? Is it possible? Is it possible to think about taking responsibility and ownership for the future of this earth and its inhabitants? How unreasonable is it to ask brilliant businessmen to invest a few more dollars in humanity? Don't they know it is the next generation that will take care of them on their deathbeds?I know that I am taking a stand off to the left of the political spectrum here. I also do not condemn the wealth in of itself. I am only questioning our values. When did it become ok to make money by exposing people to hazardous environments, by moving them around like cattle, by neglecting their children's education just to keep the high profit margins? There must be a point beyond which no amount of money will impact the quality of life, so why not give back a little more? Let's not stunt the growth of the little, defenseless creatures who have appeared on this earth. They need all the nurturing in the world, just like the seeds planted by their parents do.

Systems

We were talking about systems, and the topic invaded my thought process. 
We humans, we do not like to be put into any system. We want freedom.. and yet.. Systems are necessary. Even our own bodies have multiple systems: circulatory, nervous, musculoskeletal just to name a few. Systems are probably structures without which nothing can move. Like anything, there are two sides of the coin. Hence, systems can support us, or they can destroy us. Systems represent values. If our values are different from the system we may be in, we suffer. If the system is supportive to our growth process, our expression, we applaud it. It may also be true to say that we can use the system or be used by the system. In the latter case, our life experience can be close to hellish. 

There is the human body with its multiple systems.
The welfare system.
The yoga system.
The healthcare system.
The family unit system. 
The political system.
The solar system. 
The education system. 
The economic system. 

These are the walls we function within while largely aware of the deficiencies of each one. 
And in the end, it all boils down to one thing: were these systems invented by the humankind actually serving the humankind? Did humanity become happier, healthier, more vibrant, more evolved as a species? It goes from there...

With Warmth

Maybe the gods are crying when it rains.
Maybe mother earth is taking a shower.
And maybe I'd like to believe a romantic story, because I see so much damage being done by us to us. 
Maybe I don't want to believe that it's each man for himself.
Maybe I need to retrieve my rose-colored glasses and return to the day before they were knocked off.
Maybe I am craving the return to innocence.

Because there is a car accident ahead of me.
Because that could have been me.
Because life is fragile.
Because we cannot continue feeling great for winning over somebody.
Because we ARE in it together.
Because we cannot be fulfilled by gathering more.

And as he was working uphill, I was sliding down.
We collided, circled each other in a dance of confusion and intrigue, and continued on our original course.
Maybe it was necessary.
Maybe it was nothing.
Maybe it was wonderful.
Maybe it was chaotic.
Because the gods are crying.
Because this life is a maze.
Because the paths may be different with the finish line being the same.

The Dynamics

I feel compelled to explain, starting with the dance floor- a venue so familiar and powerful to me.

She makes him look good. It is acknowledged by him and by the spectators. It is that obvious. What is not so obvious to the spectators is how it came about that she makes him look so good. 

When watching a dance, almost inevitably the attraction is the beautiful woman. Her partner is almost a backdrop while she's the centerpiece. Her attributes of grace, poise, power, timing (just to name a few) seem to reach perfection. Her elegant or otherwise captivating movement draws the spectator in. The performance is beautiful and satisfactory. Everyone is enjoying himself to the fullest. 

It is very likely, almost guaranteed, that she is an accomplished dancer. She can hold her own. She can mesmerize in her own right. However, there is more to the story. When dancing with her partner, it is because of his skill, his lead, his reading of her, his adjustments, his loving presence that she can fully display her talents and abilities. He is her stable support and foundation. Because he is able to provide such stability, her trust in him is implicit. She's able to relax and shine in all directions. Her glow is so strong, there is no escaping her making him look good. 

The man's role is to support the woman. The woman will reciprocate in ways unimaginable. The key for such a thing to happen is two-fold: a man must have impeccable technique and be solid on his own, and he must appreciate the woman. He knows that the only way he will look really good is if she looks great. 

And so the next time a man wants to look good or feel good, it is in giving to the woman that he will have the opportunity to receive that which he desires. It will not happen just because she's there, for she will not be able to sustain all of who she is without his considerate support. It will not happen if he demands, expects, coerces, or otherwise extracts the beauty out of her delicate being.

And while this piece uses the relationship that takes place on the dance floor, it is fully applicable to any relationship outside the dance floor. May we have enough understanding of the different roles we play in order to walk through life gracefully and joyfully. May our relationships be grounds for freedom and growth rather than become our ball and chain. 

Life's Work

To your and to mine
I raise my life.
To give, just to give
I throw my might.
To be for oneself
Works well in the well.
To stand for the world
Takes walking through hell.

When I become free,
I'll take you with me.
And you need not fear-
Your safety is dear
To me.
I'll love you and you
And you and you
I'll be empty enough
To hold any of you.

And maybe you'll find
The courage to cry.
And maybe you'll see
All that you can be.
And maybe we'll sing
At last, as one being.

To your and to mine
You will raise your life.
To give, just to give
You will throw your might.
And on to the next
You will pass the power
Until we each stand
As a blossomed flower.

That Simple

Really... It is that simple. 
When the music plays and the singer makes beautiful tones with his voice. 
When the body moves and the soul rises. 
When the experience of the experience is outside the mind's perception.
When the boundary liquifies and the emotion wells up in the throat and the eyes.
When the observer hovers over the moment and the tension dissipates.
When all seems simple and easy.
When clarity makes its inconsistent appearance.
When the glasses are taken down.
When grace is felt.
When love is.
When help is there.
When truth is all there is.
When freedom is near.
When all that wants to come out is a long, slow, powerful sound as breath.
To be spread into the vastness and into all the existence.
When I see you.
When I want to shake you.
When I embrace you.
When I turn you upside down.
When all there is to know is that all is ok. When there is nothing to fear. When there is nothing to hide. When there is nothing to win. When there is nothing to take. When there is nothing to protect. 
Then.... we float. All of us. 
Really... It is that simple. 

Tired

The flood. It is unable to stop itself. Is it the path of least resistance? Is it the light at the end of the tunnel? The winds are blowing in this direction and all the debris and the living creatures are caught up in their power. What their experience is of the journey is only for them to know. What their experience is of the landing is theirs and their only, all but for one exception. The destination has seen many arrivals. Arrivals with their idiosyncrasies, personalities, colors, shapes, speeches, dances, and numerous other qualities. They land, usually hard, usually blinded, usually startled, usually surprised. The reactions may be different and the end result is nearly always the same: the once pristine landscape is torn at its soft edges. It shudders and contracts and slowly retreats, for the newcomers know not what they are doing. And the grandeur of the journey's end is simply overwhelmed-the imperceptible bleeding made possible by the travelers' incognizant rawness. 

Stupid

Before you she stands. Fully revealed. Vulnerability personified. Ready to be had in a way unfamiliar to you. 

Before you she awaits. All walls down. Skin shed. Nothing is hidden from you in a way that intimidates you.

You want to feel her fire and her peace. You want to know her softness and her bliss. Yet, you don't know how to handle such a gift. You only throw your paws at her defenseless frame. 

The injuries she bears for a short and painful while. The second hand moves forward and reaches its final hour. The tables have been turned. The roles are all reversed. 

You now stand before her. Fully revealed. Fear personified. Ready to be punished in a way unfamiliar to you.

You now melt before her. To your most basic denominator. Nothing is hidden from her in a way that intimidates you. 

You back away. You retreat. You fade into the background. You no longer matter. The game is over. She is gone. The gift that could have been yours for enjoyment has dissipated into the darkness. All because you did not know how to appreciate it. 

My Idea of Success

I'd like to be still.
Through thick and the others.
I'd like to be calm
Through peaks and the valleys.
I'd like to keep clear
In my mind and perception.
I'd like for my feet
To know the earth as its nation.

I want to walk softly
And mostly whisper-
No need for a shout
To slice through loud convictions.

I'd like all my action
To come out of quiet-
The unwavering kind
Some may have found.

I'd like to be still.
Today and tomorrow.
I'd like to be calm
In joy and sorrow.
I'd like to keep clear
Within all my cells.
I'd like to keep feet
On track to my idea of success.

Those Beings!

I have read and I have listened. I have witnessed and I have experienced. 

Death is unavoidable. Is there a gentler way of delivering the message? And if there is, why should it be presented disguised? I do not know much on the subject except for this one thing: upon watching the end of life, or upon finding out about an end of a life, a sense of balance enters. Suddenly, that which seemed big and important, becomes quite the opposite. All the tension, all the fight, all the frustration, all the disappointment of what should have and must have and what if and why-isms simply dissolve. At an extremely fast rate, too. Suddenly, permission to speak freely and feel freely is granted and messages are delivered with care and compassion. The fear of whatever the mind has been holding over the body like a sack of bricks has lost its power.  Breath is easier. Walk is lighter. Smile is. Somehow, being here and now is effortless. Life becomes much more fun. 

Maybe these sages and yogis and Buddhas and mystics are onto something. It just might be true that one cannot know the life in the physical unless he accepts its death. And while a touchy subject, it might contain the source of joy and a life well-lived.

Good Bye

I'm told he is gone but I know he isn't.
The skin has been shed but I know his persistence.
To finish that which needs to be done-
Perfectionist's work will not be put down.

I connect with his being
Feeling the tension of mine retrieving.
The body and mind will always remember-
The love that he has strongly projected.

There is not much to say on such a matter.
Embracing his choice is my gauge, is my battle.
We do what we see will serve our needs
I open all of me to feel his reprieve.

I'm told he has gone but I know that he isn't.
The bones have released him, yet I know his persistence.
To take care of that which has been neglected.
Perfection aside, his work's yet to be ended.

Wherever he is and whatever he'll be
It matters not so, experientially.
I will keep on moving according to life
With what he has given always in mind.

It has been a blessing. It has been a gift.
To know such a human so intimately.
I thank him for all he's shared with me-
Nothing less is expected and wished by him.

I'm told he departed but I know he hasn't.
The flesh has melted but I know his deep caring-
To tie up the ends that have been left flailing.
Perfection or not, he will be available.

I am grateful. I am honored. I have been touched. 
I release you into the air with this much:
Go freely not looking back and with conviction.
Your seeds have all sprouted. Can you see the fruition?

And now I ask you to, please, enjoy this transition.

With love....

Different Types

He looked at me through his glasses and said: "Let me ask you something... Are there different types of love?"

Well, if we're starting to ask these types of questions, then are there different types of anger? Of hatred?

My inability to love everything intensely just might lead to the categorization of love: romantic, friendly, motherly, brotherly. My inability to love anything for all that it is, not only for some of it. I may mistake hormonal lust for love. I may mistake mental stimulation for friendly love. I might mistake feeling emotional comfort for motherly love. I might love that person for what he/she does for me rather than for what he/she is. Whatever I may experience with various people, whatever aspect of my needs is fulfilled, I label my internal feeling as a certain type of love. While none of it may really be love. Love is love, it seems to me. Pure, innocent, all-inclusive, and worldly. 

And if I can be in love with one somebody, what prevents me from being in love with every body and every thing. And if I am in love with all that comes in contact with me, will there be a need to ask the question in the first place? 

And when simply dripping with love, I am just as equally fascinated by the movements of an ant as I am with the movement of my lover. How does that song lyric go? "One love, one heart, let's get together and feel alright." Perhaps, it's wise to stop the division of that which is indivisible. 

Vision vs. Goal

It has been my experience and my observation that there is a certain quality and a certain type of action that come out of how we choose to walk along the path of life. More specifically, how we choose to move toward something. Words are important. They are one expression of our internal state. They are also full of unspoken energy that is beyond the sounds of letters and syllables. 

If I think of reaching a specific goal, I immediately put a task in front of myself that is to be worked on. I feel the burden of getting "there" and grabbing it. My goal is now my target and I am to move toward it diligently with an acute focus and dedication. The pressure to succeed has been given a powerful voice. In short, I now have a job. 

If I think of creating a vision, I immediately feel inspired and energized. I think about how wonderful it would be to be this vision. There is a lightness about the road and any action that I might and do take. It's a joyful, fun, and in-the-present type of activity that I perform. In short, I play. 

And while both roads will get me to where I am going, I choose the latter. Not because it's a more enjoyable experience, but because it is sustainable. I am able to do out of joy almost continuously. I am capable of working for a set amount of time. 

Children's play is their work. Because they are not in a pursuit of anything. They simply enjoy things they like. Eventually, they may and do become proficient at their activity of joy. Many adults seldom play, losing that ability to the daily hunt of reaching the end of the line. Suddenly, it's an uphill road to a destination that should have been our liberation but became our ball and chain. 

A vision with no deadline.
An action with no expectation.
An experience within the moment of time.
A joyful life.

Receptive

I start with one and then to two.
Before I blink, the page is full.
A word here, a comma there
I am pushed around and end with flare.
My mind's a blank with room for beauty.
And all the colors show up as jewels.
An image grows and sentence flows.
Before I am clear, the world's been shown.
I keep what's given and ask for nothing,
For in that space, the gift's been dancing:
On all my being, on all my doing
On all my thinking and... the unspoken. 

A Day's Walk

Through and over the fence.
Squeezing in and stepping out.
Crossing over to the other side.
Together might be easier.
Solo might be just as possible.
It's finding the path that is the trick.
The space is wide.
The future is open.
If palms are up and the heart is free,
If humility is pouring out,
If the sun is seen and the moon is felt,
Assistance has long ago arrived.

Indestructible

This is a story of a girl who wanted nothing else but to be alive. She lived in a deep dark hole, a cave which occasionally was graced by the chief source of life. She was cold and she was sad. She was angry and she was trapped. There was no way out, only a downward spiral and the hard concrete floor. She did find it, the floor. It wasn't pretty. The fall was not graceful. There was very little grace to begin with in her demeanor. Her hell was great. Her pain felt real. And the dark cloud up above seemed to never go away. 

This is a story of a girl who wanted nothing else but to feel alive. It is said that dreams do come true and miracles are to be expected. While hope is all that seems to never dissolve, no dream and no miracle were about to show up at any door. And just as she threw her arms up in the air, the cloud parted, the ray of sun gently opened her eyes, and she began to work. 

This is a story of a girl who wanted nothing else but to become alive. Life had other plans for her, for she didn't become alive. She became life. She is more than alive, she feels more than alive. She simply is life. And when they come, they want to taste it. And when they watch, they want to embrace it. And sometimes, they don't know what to do with her, and so they run and they blame and they damage and they maim. 

This is a story of a girl who now wants nothing else but to shine like the brightest star, because there is nothing else to do but to glow, and there is nothing else but to grow, and there is nothing else that can be said about the voice outside the head. It's a voice of freedom. It's a voice of laughter. It's a voice of gladness, and.... ever-after. 

Brave

I knock on wood and say a prayer
Before the dive into your care
Your arms are warm and heart so full
How am I to give back to you?

The fear grows as my need expands
Deep down I know, I will be changed.
I touch my heart and kiss His cross
And take a leap across the threshold

Your arms are warm and heart so full
My only hope I am enough to hold all of you.

Without You

The woodpeckers are back.
And you? You are not...

The bare trunks of leafy trees,
The scared man on bended knees.

The crescent moon 
In shape of spoon,
Or is it a smile 
Behind the gloom?

It matters not what the winds have blown in.
It matters not what the cats have dragged in.

It's just that the birds are pecking again.
But you are away and the scene's not the same.

It's Time

Forcing, pushing, pulling. This is the way of our world. Little cough? Here is a drug. Doesn't work? Here is another drug. Why? Because you have to get well now. There is no time to heal, must get on with it. Tired? Have a coffee. Doesn't work? Here is a Red Bull. Why? Because you have to keep going, the work never ends. The deadlines await. Go! Run! Sprint! Must get there! 

Don't you know the mind does better in a relaxed state? Don't you know a little rest and a little laughter makes the body let go of the illness and the fatigue and become alive again? Don't you know you cannot add to that which is already full? Don't you know that there is no need to rush to a destination that has no real value in the end? Don't you know that the rain falls when it's time and stops when it's time? 

Can we have a little more patience and a little more compassion and a little more fun while we go through this maze we have found ourselves in? We can push ahead through all of our lives while losing our life. Because life doesn't happen in our minds. Because life happens in our being and us being a being.