I had to unravel
I had to break down piece by ******* piece
Tear down those rigid walls
Forgo those tight knit bridges
And plummet into my own abyss
Wake up unrecognizable
Welcome the hatred for the person id become
Feel the terror of being outside myself
Bare, raw, uncut
Against all my moral beliefs
I created this tormented shell of a woman
And demanding of her what I could not demand of myself
Bone dry honesty
And I got, I ******* got it
It tore the earth from my feet
The foundation I had relied on
And being someone else, I saw me
In true form
Who I once was, and I was enlightened
She was strong and proud
Honest and unwavering
I admired her courage
But I am no longer her
Now, in my pit
My rock ******* bottom
I know who I was
Who I can be again
And the smallest glimmer of hope shines through
The self-hatred and hopelessness
I will get back to you

In summer, the young tree bore many fruit.
Not large, nor well formed- as the tree was yet young and only in the second year of fruiting.

Yet the number of apples was many.
And this tree grew honestly.
It was not grafted, but planted, and came to maturity in the natural way - with years of patience.

Some time ago, before the new families moved in, someone had planted this tree, hoping it would grow, not knowing if they would be around to witness its fruiting.

And they were not.

Whomever the planter has been, their part had been played and none more is known.

Yet the tree grew.
And it began to learn it’s trade.


But the apples were of poor quality, the tree being new to the task. And, as is to be expected, more time must come to pass before the fruit may become beautiful.

These early-borne fruit fell often, never reaching full size. And they littered the dry lawn in multitudes.

The small apples would rot, and became gnawed and ****** upon by all matter of things. Birds, bugs, beasts - started to devour the littered horde, but never fully.

So half-carved fruit carcasses lay around the base of the tree and reached out past the extent of its shadow.







Take me at face value

I have ancestors that I don’t know if I can even believe in

And I am told everyday that I don’t deserve to have a voice anymore because of the sins of my father
(How long must I reject myself?)

We are all, each one of us, directly from everything that has ever happened

We are all human family :

So why to we still punish through the generations.

Why do we not share our stories, in earnest.

Why can we not finally
Heal?

A humble god
Would chose to be powerless
Seeking only to observe and learn.
A god which is not humble, is not god,
For selfishness and self service is a folly belonging only to that of the living.
It is the natural byproduct of the need to provide to one’s self in order to sustain and survive.
It is the folly shared by all living things:

I must take
Such that I may live.

To remove mortality
Is to remove any native proclivity for self service,

Therefore, a consciousness which needs not,
Asks not, and takes not

Does not seek to introduce, nor extend, the influences of its own
Will
Externally.

A humble god
Simply
Observes it’s own
Breath

As it decays
Into

Nothing .

Rolling downward ,
With the simple
Ease
Of
Gravity.

February 23, 2023

Story idea:

Two sadhakas are walking on the road, looking down, walking quietly in peace, until they bump into each other.

They are startled out of their meditation, look at one another in the eyes, and instantly fall in love. They are wrapped up and swirled in a whirlwind of love, affectionate words, feelings, making love.

And then when it all stops, they realize they are walking in opposite directions. One turns white, the other black, or silver and gold, or some other colors. They shed tears, spend a few days and nights saying their goodbyes.

And then ultimately continue on their ways.

The sun sets, the moon rises and sets, and the sun rises, and butterflies flutter.

Clouds pass each other
Kissing like Venn diagrams

Pin his tail
The butterfly too
Use what they were saying
the both of them too

Buildings touch the sky
But 10 times more stand behind the eye
The paths shine
I've walk them a million times

Try to catch me
Locate me
Fascinate and dissect me
Put me on display
For the crowds of imagined friends
Who aren't there

I'll collapse by the end of this bleep
Something immortal
Better than sleep

Her name was Serenity
She's a recurring theme
She drew everyone's attention
Because she walked around completely naked


I saw her first at university
Studying poetry

Then around the people and the music
The warehouses and the art



I saw her in the red light district too
Like me, she must have been two people too

She must have worked her way up, it seemed
And didn't have to take her clothes off
She was all clad in black
We said hello, making eye contact



Her name was Serenity
She's a recurring theme


I saw her at a festival, we kissed and she showed me things for free
It was like a bad dream





Her name was Serenity
She's a recurring theme

And there she is again
Smiling, she's in a good place
And I'm here too
Who was it? Who did that to us?
It was anybody's game

Like all artistic hearts, we felt that responsibility


Her name was Serenity
She's a recurring theme