Pencils pray not to be picked
Brushes roll away and hide
Conversations intentionally aim and miss
Ivory keys pretend not to be alive
The original concept grows wings on the wine
The original truth tries it's best to lie
And I am the one who is for want of all practice
Never let it be said that I never tried

How authentic it is, it is...
on how we live
its quality,
what we do with it?

As we get upgraded in age,
life starts forcing itself;
not just our ideas about it
but our categories and point of view to see it.

This forms our perspective
and this becomes our relative nature,
that we judge the value of
given experience.

As Buddha defines to view our life:
"As a dream, a flash in the darkness
a star in the morning dawn,
a bubble in a stream
an illusion of the senses."

That's the aim of practice,
to wake up from that dream
from just another dream within a dream

This will rise in authentic,
the practice of being in BEING.

When I eat melons
I see an eagle above
It climbs beyond clouds
Such beauty she is, soaring
Such fierce is her snatching prey

The sound of thunder
Long since heard
Off the grain of a Louisville slugger
Shakes the sleep from the eyes
The dawn from the air
And puts dangerous respect
Back into these young lives

Reminiscing
to the moment
our path intertwined
my heart skip beats
as I vividly picture
our arms brushed
as two strangers
momentarily capture
each others gaze
on the elegantly
curved bridge
above a body of water
swiftly in summer's air
like a beautiful
drawn sketch
in an artist pad

thereupon,
we realized that was
a new beginning,
a new journey
for our story to be
though we were
from across
oceans and lands
our meeting
was predestined
a destiny where
fate brought us
together to that day
in the same blue sky
like a perfectly
fited puzzle pieces
called "you and me"

somewhere
in far-off memory,
even to this day
still this love
I possess is
powerful than
any temptation
then until the sun
cease to shine,
and the time
stopped for me
Let me treasure
this story of
you and me.