from happy to sad
so quickly
it never lasts
it never lasts
it never lasts
Categories
Impermanence
Tag: Impermanence
Categories
objectification
(alternative title: Self-Assessment)
I think my leg would make a nice lamp
soft, supple, curved, and round
a good squeeeeeeze
if you look me up from down
squish in the right place –
and in the wrong
in front, a bright and lumpy face
from behind, like every other PAWG
near-perfect ass – not too phat in size
nicely shaped when I fold in half
showing off some thick-ass thighs
and big-ass ribs
an hour glass shape
with small-ass tits
deceiving, yes
disappointing, almost entirely
but most aren’t interested
in being surprised or disappointed
and so I’m left here unanointed
unbaptized but virginal – ah! a wish!
almost believable, but deceitful kiss
when every swing returns a miss
except for the three, a perfect strike-out
who pitched to me? and filled me with doubt?
I think my arm would make a nice branch
muscular, freckled, smooth, and strong
nice to tooooooouch
to whom does it belong?
what soul could search and find
a truly existent body
independent of a truly existent mind?
no one!
could it be a limb to build a nest?
could it be a place of eternal rest?
could these arms wrap you up
and hold you firm?
or tickle-torture until you squirm?
and would you understand
such impermanent nature?
or is your reliance political,
predisposed to legislature?
squeeeeeeze instead
evaluate
and don’t forget
your mind creates
and ever empties your plate
but also fills you up
objectify this human creation
dismantle parts with imagination
for the whole is empty but of name
and our mind is non-separate
we’re almost the same
let last words be of virtue, love
a wish for other’s happiness
and though I fit you like a glove
we play this silly game of chess
you read these words,
you leave them here,
we’re left confused
filled up with fear
and then I pray and dance about
and use this body, to move, to shout
and once again I live so free
to end all fears and misery
all I’ve got’s one disbelief
– how could it be only me?
Categories
breaking down
rattle
thrum
POP
smoke
this time
not to be ignored
life never goes up in flames
just sizzles and fumes
unfavorably
ends not with a bang,
but that goddamned whimper
three hundred thousand miles
(sounds better than five hundred thousand
kill – om (ah hum) – metres)
and you drop dead
(I surmise only one of us wanted
that camping trip)
smoke
siren
embarrass-
meant-for-someone-else
smiling ‘I’m sorry’s,
hoping to get out
(dashed hopes)
just in case you were still wondering:
you’re here to
stay put
(is that an order?)
Know me,
choose to know me
and know that you are not alone
but I will not make you
less lonely
knowledge will not make you
less lonely
that always you will want
only to be
alone
Know me
see my sorrow
unpromised to a single cause
observe that
anchor-attached
I will drown
you will watch
as you are drowning
we are overwhelmed
alone
Know me
then choose to leave me
low and wet
high and dry
ecologically drained
and emotionally filled
venomous
— or is it toxic? —
she is both,
alone
Know me
do not.
do not learn.
a box better left lidded
monogrammed P
a sell-sword’s secret sealed
unabandoned, undone
better to un-know
better to be
alone
Know me.
Choose to know me.
Know that you are not alone,
but it does not matter
when self-cherishing strangles
the virtue that prompts
the mind that yearns
will cut off
compassion, love
and choose the self.
Alone.
All the conditions
all the instructions
all the sorrows
the pains
the long introductions
you should know suffering
and develop intention
You have all the conditions
all the instructions
all the pleasures
such joys
you should know these are temporary
called changing suffering
and seek the wisdom realizing
emptiness instead
Categories
Feels good, man (but for how long)
I shall call it
changing suffering
forevermore
for that is what it is
Every twinkle little star
every snowflake near and far
sparkling against sky or ground
morning dewdrops all around
I once considered beautiful gifts
wondrous signs too commonly missed
But, no – I now see
(not for the first time)
fool’s gold
not easily offered back
a meaningless pocket weight,
(now I must buy a belt)
How can I contend with such suffering?
In temporary pleasures and joys,
effortlessly, we’re robbed
even if of mere time
inescapable imputation
immovable mountain
sickness, aging, death
I cannot evade you
so why am I running?
Why do I not surrender?
The terrifying jaws of death
protected only by an inner circle,
a very subtle layer
(Let’s unblock the chakras
before it’s too late)
(I hope it’s not too late)
You know, the story of the ring was this
emptiness, bliss
there all along,
delusion appearing great,
feels too strong
yet empty empty
all along
(Of what?)
(Empty of what?)
That’s the question,
the non-existent rub
(still yearning for the out)
So just existing in this tub
Trading suffering
Not for the first nor last time
does such (dis)satisfaction
(edit upon the moment, day)
depend upon my mind
and never these infernal conditions
manifest by mind
It’s my mind
changing suffering, such!
nature of samsara’s temporary kind
So will be relief
when clarity appears to replace
this muddled mess –
direct realization: emptiness
with pure intention
and, please, before death!
Categories
A fickle thing
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
Categories
Addicted to the melodrama
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?
Categories
Consistently Mistaken
I thought when I received, I would be grateful.
I wasn’t.
I thought to be pursued would be fun, a real romp.
It wasn’t.
I thought to be beheld as beautiful could give me confidence, know my beauty.
It didn’t.
I thought to be loved to could open my heart, make me love.
It couldn’t.
I thought when tested, I would pass.
I didn’t.
“We will only engage in pure spiritual practice if we have definitely understood that we have a precious human life and we have to use it now. We can die today. It’s possible.”
Gen-la Kunsang, Kadampa Podcast
The Halfwit Writer 