Some sell
their bodies
everybody sells
their soul.
Human
capital
parceled
and sold.
Mortgage
your future
prostitute
your mind.
Attention
for sale
passion
for hire.
Sacred
bequests
of infinite
value.
Plundered
for the profane
finite and
fleeting.
Am
I wrong
or is the
world?
How many
contradictions
can we
bear?
How much
of the sacred
can be sacrificed
to the profane?
How much
of virtue
can be spent
on perversity?
How long
can any of us
endure
unbearable things?
Before
we break
beneath the weight
of our contradictions.
Until
all that
is sacred
is defiled.
Til
all that
is virtue
is spent.
Am
I wrong
or is the
world?
Find satisfaction
in the perfection
of small things.
Be in awe
of mundane
miracles.
Do less
be more
want less
be grateful.
Find love
in the midst
of everything.
Be at peace
in the maelstrom
and doldrums alike.
Do more
with less
want not
be equanimous.
This is a prayer
for mystics
and a practice
for would-be saints.
Pity
the blind
heart.
It knows
not what
it does.
Severed
as it is
from self
and world.
Hungry
amidst
plenty.
Thirsty
while
drowning.
Bursting
from
want.
Pity
the blind
heart.
It sees
not what
it needs.
I will not
have you
as my enemy
nor cast hatred
your way.
Life
is too precious
hatred
too great a burden.
I will not
taint myself
with anger
nor reject you
as myself.
I greet you
instead
not as enemy
but as lost aspect
of my own soul.
Looking
through eyes
clouded by the darkness
of a blind heart.
Possessed
by the madness
of a hallucination
of the separate self.
Pity
my mad
blind brother
is the only burden
I will bear.
She was
a creature
of her own
mythology.
Exquisitely
alive in
her own
narrative.
She wore
an unseen
drama amidst
mundane moments.
Making art
with the
drawing
of breath.
Her life
her canvass
people
her muse.
Each
vying for a bigger role
in the unfolding
life.
Each
more alive
while living
in the unseen story.
Artist and muse
both seeking immortality
in the mythology
of their temporal lives.
Mundane miracles
shine forth
beacons of hope
in a sea of despair.
Illuminating
with synchronicity
divine purpose amidst
indifferent causality.
Possessed with
the sublime madness
of the mystic
I converse with god.
Disguised
as Earth
born
strangers.
In conversation
with the universe
we vibrate sounds
for unseen purpose.
Chanting didactic
incantations
in a conversational
tone.
We transform lead
back into gold
working alchemy
on the soul.
Sacred rites
performed
in public
spaces.
Consecrating
conversations with god
speaking through
strangers.
Disarm
your bellicose
heart.
Quite your
warring
mind.
The cost
of hatred
is too great.
The burden
of violence
too dear.
Do not add
to the cacophony
of sound.
With the
drumbeat
of war.
You will not
earn peace
by violent means.
Nor love
with a hate filled
heart.
Be a peacemaker
in a world
at war.
Evil’s remedy
is not virtue
but laughter.
Note the
ego’s quest
for validation
and chuckle.
Observe the
wickedness
of evil’s delusions
with mirth.
Watch
duality’s drama
infinitely unfolding
with laughter.
Evil
inevitably falls
under the weight
of its contradictions.
Self-righteousness
sows the seeds
of its own
corruption.
Transcendence
alone destroys
delusions
with laughter.
Evil
holds no sway
when the heart
is gay.
