Friday, May 13, 2011

sunyata

don't tell me what's real

(i'll not see it then)

your truth equals my pain

(and my apathy your chains)

my horses want to run free

(watch me hold tight to nothing)

Sunday, May 8, 2011

Mt. Athos (St. John)


It had been many months since we last spoke, and yet I remember the light in his eyes, even as his body began to tire of the struggle. "Hitler gave special protection to the monks there", he said, "even as he catalogued their works for seizure".

It was then I thought of how good and evil were so limiting as concepts in describing our experiences on this plane. I could equally vilify either the antibodies or the newly malignant cells and their relentlessness, or marvel at how they have now become points of departure for the kindness in his voice or the lack of fear at what lies next.

All I know is that I don't want him to go, and yet I also realize this is selfish, that we can't hold back one who is ready for that next step. And how could I blame him? In these existences, marked as they are by suffering, why should one not be ready to jettison them?

Looking into his eyes, I saw compassion and acceptance growing like wildflowers, even now spreading to overtake the conflict and turmoil they live among. Before leaving I held him, and felt the brevity of our lives on this plane. In those few seconds, I wanted to learn and feel all that he felt and to see the world through those same eyes.

It then dawned on me that these moments are sacred, even as they are almost immediately swept out from under us. And more than anything else, there was an underlying gratitude, not anger toward any imagined cause of his body's suffering. Gratitude that the flesh and blood we inhabit gives us the opportunity to experience such things as this.

Sunday, May 1, 2011

verses (pt. iv)

you mock me for my beliefs, then tell me you believe.

each time you let go, the freedom is illusive.

and so, you can't help but to try again.

experience itself is the truest teacher.

every time an end, and you're coming back into this body.

there is no solid ground with us.

that is the nature of this, always flowing, always moving.

running for so long, and for what, from that which cannot be escaped.

distraction only works for so long.

what to do, when none of this feels real.

pushing against what is possible to express.