you say, winter is coming
I say, it’s already here
you see I yearn to fight
I see you learned to fear
we both are afflicted
we both are afraid
we both wish to flee
so all delusions we obey
incurable and debilitating
until, a cure IS found
release the attachment
or crash to the ground
you say, winter is here
I say, it’s already passing
you see I yearn to love
yet it’s pain I’m amassing
we both fight affliction
we both shall be set free
we both feel the spark
but just you hold the key
(alternative title: fucking begging for it)
I want to cry
how is it possible
once again
to become an emotional wreck
of titanic proportions
at least still safely submerged
too sensitive
so overly sensitive!
Please!
Take the sensitivity away!
Sensory overload
at the slightest touch
and now — my imagination!
runs wildly & in wild ways
away
I’m a wreck
characters swarm my mind
barking at me
to write them down
and I cannot find my pen
where has it gone?
again!?
I cannot be barked at
any longer!
It doesn’t make me
any stronger!
I try and try
to not yearn to hear
words of kind sincerity
but again,
like salt water to quench my thirst
a taste and I am thirstier!
a taste and I need more!
Tell me I’m good
Tell me I’m GOOD
TELL me I’m good
Tell me I’M good
Tell ME I’m good
Am I good?
and even if you tell me
it doesn’t matter like it should!
because it’s my mind
that’s not good enough
to see reality clearly
to see past the real lies
deceptive tears, I moan, he cries
and I want him to pay dearly
but it’s that very fucked up mind
that wishes to take from others
in a selfish way,
to have others pay
for my debts owed –
No! No longer!
Although I cannot crucify myself
I can rectify by patiently accepting
while my inner voice still screams
I wish I was invisible
unknowable as I must be,
still the outer quiet spoke volumes
and the sound of silence resonates
reverberates off the walls
as darkness consumes
a single lamp put out
a black night falls
I was not as patient as I could
be I was not as kind as I would
like others to do unto me
A little dramatic, yes
(I wish I wasn’t so dramatic)
but nonetheless
it’s an artist’s reflection I see
Carry on
It’s not temporary happiness I crave
but full abandonment
of these unacceptable delusions
and the permanent happiness
resulting from the stainless mind
that realizes emptiness directly
Please!
Make my mind good
I am happy
despite circumstances
I am strong
despite my gloom
I am calm
despite storm
I am fearless
despite impending doom
I am giving
despite my poverty
I am glad
despite my lack
I am friendly
despite loneliness
I progress
despite setback
I give with bodhichitta
I give fearlessness and love
I give Dharma and materials
I offer sun and moon above
I offer each and every moment
of pure practice, I transform
I abandon all delusions
and only virtue I perform
But how could I achieve this?
certainly not alone
only through my Spiritual Guide,
and the Three Jewels upon his throne
I am not apart from my faith
but I am apart from people
from my mountain cave
I compose poems and songs
I meditate and I realize emptiness
and still the people come in throngs
to accuse me of such silliness
feelings that have long since
come and gone
for aeons, our own harm befalls us
but still we blame,
in mistaken consciousness
still the same
in all our actions ignorant
I am not apart from my faith
but I am apart from others
in their silence and their pain
I am apart from you
and here I fear I will remain
I started to lose interest
where it began, I cannot tell –
was it diseases of delusions?
or the medications as well?
Aversion to sugar
I dislike that sweet —
but a little too tart?
sours my treat
A dash of salt
is too salty still
when I want a
silly snack
Creamy vanilla
or buttered plain
are two with simple
lack
Yet mocha dark
or caramel glazed
are off my beaten
path
So what is it I fancy?
what is it I crave?
and what will satisfy me?
or quick become depraved?
For once a pleasure rises
a pleasure, she must fall
and he who sympathizes with
attachment
is he who loses all
For grasping at an object,
impermanent, illusion best
is ignorance, the birthplace
of delusions, all the rest
So what will satisfy me
external to my mind?
Nothing nothing no thing
for all that is
is named, is mind
a memory
it is not mine
upon a log I sit
‘neath the snowy pine
under darkened sky
beside earthen stove
a bitter wind kicks up
in the moonlit grove
the jingle of the horse & sleigh
as it carries him so far away
I cannot weep, I do not cry
a muted heart is breaking
and as the silence lies
a frozen bough is snapping – loud
to crack the quiet
still, expected in the freeze
I do not startle, there is no breeze
no wind at back to impel me
my bones have stiffened here
my mind is anything but clear
as the winter’s solitude
forces delusions rather rude
inner quietude never did follow outer
now it’s simply easier to hear
internal screaming
though the fire burns, continuous
it takes us not
because it cannot reach
what we refuse we got
buried below
alive and dead
some peace & love
blessings bestowed
how are these all stripped from me?
as he plods on down the snowy path
I know he won’t be coming back
so I’m wrecked to watch him leave
though it is not my memory
In my heart of hearts
I know
I know
what happiness is
I feel it exists
I know where it is to be found
under the bones, beneath the ribcage,
sub atomic the heart, in the subtle
in the very subtle mind
I know where all is found, created
produced phenomena
mistaken, mistaken
still mistaken
so there’s the rub
the grasp for external things
produced from an internal space
perceived from a point
moving through time and space
but a point, a personality nonetheless
— non-existent so to speak
yet hard to see (until it’s not)
and it’s the rub that’s missed
the feeling, the touch,
the understood cause
of pleasure, pain
the smack, the beating
and don’t get me started on the aural
— tongue lashings
to teach you tough lessons
What the fuck, right?
do you ever forget that people are real?
do you treat them too much like the dream characters you know they are?
can you feel – or is there a shelf in the way?
will someone please un-install the shelf!?
I think it can be recycled.
donate it. Please, help me.
the ledge is the safest place to be
if it perpetuates such refuge practice
but I don’t want to be there anymore
where do I want to be?
have I done the work, made the effort
that must render the results
effects I’ve created mindfully (somehow)
and somehow I’ll do it again
((blessings))
but oh! how I could do without
the melodramatic feeling!
the melancholy that arises,
such ache!
as if I am on the verge of losing
My Attachment
balancing
the moment, a magic moment
while seeing the potential – certain!
decease, death of these magic moments
no phenomena exists in the same way
for a second moment
care to think about that?
the certainty of change
still surprises you; cry about it
mourn the wisdom you missed
but receive what’s given to you
now — and why not happily?
you’ve got this
after all, you’ve got the lines —
just practice them
as an actor, rehearse rehearse
perchance to entertain… to fail…
to fly
imagination is all you need
to reach the end of the path
transform the melodrama
enjoy each step as you walk it
What the fuck, right?
the longer we willingly partake
the stronger our attachment grows
the more we grasp samsara’s pleasures
the more suffering we know
when will we learn
it’s time to go
Music: “I Wanted to Leave” by SYML
Video & Editing: K. Samways
Oil and Acrylic paintings
Please enjoy this conceptually abstract collection!
If you are interested in owning an original painting, contact me here.
If you are interested in owning an original painting, contact me here.
Dear Red,
My hands miss you even now. They miss the feel of your skin, the warmth of your body. They miss running through your hair, squeezing the soft skin around your neck, pinching your taught nipple, parting your lips, fingers swimming in the warm wetness, tight and strong, yielding walls.
My fingers miss you even now. They miss creating the causes for those small moans to escape your throat. They miss meeting your fingers in the push and pull games we would play. They miss tickles, and walking along the pale bumpy shore of your shoulder blades, raised pores, sensitive beyond measure. They miss control with tiny touch. They miss running for their lives to avoid being crushed in the roiling brawl, dark room, damp sheets, foot on floor, head on bed.
My head, it misses you even now. It spins and movies play across my lids. I yearn to close my eyes in every waking moment to bring you back to my here and now. My ears feel your lips, hear your whispers. My neck hair raises to think that near you passed. I smell the air hoping to catch the non-existent waft of your invisible scent – woodsy deodorant, dark amber and cotton candy.
My dearest Red, my soul misses you even now. It was as if it was whole until I bore into you and created the causes for my own misery. Misplaced attachment and tangible fear of loss to replace peace and joy and love. An uncontrolled desire that rewrites fact with lustful fiction on a cord I wrap ‘round both our necks.
Dear Red what mind is it that yearns for direct suffering as the product of a wish? What mind that reaches for the poison on the top shelf and strives to spill every last drop into its own being? What unabashed lust that craves bodily satisfaction over everlasting love? It is my mind. So in my mind we sit together now. All night long we have not stirred, and yet God has not said a word!
The Halfwit Writer