Fearless Reason

Fearless reason in an age of frightened absurdity.

I Lost My Perspective

My mind
wandered behind
their eyes.

To see
what they see
feel what they feel
know what they know.

I was blind
to the suffering
that was not mine.

Numb
to fear and pain
not personally
felt.

Ignorant of the cruelties
dispensed by those
lost behind their own eyes.

I lost my
perspective
behind that
gaze.

Eyes of the Oppressor

When I think about the Confederate monuments I try not to do so as a white man. I try to use my god given imagination to view them from the perspective of a person of color, who may be only a few generations removed from slavery and a generation removed from segregation. I try to think what it would be like, looking out of those eyes, to see flags and monuments on government property to an insurrection that sought to keep me and my ancestors in bondage….and it puts a cold chill in my stomach and fear in my heart. I can’t help but feel when looking out of those eyes, that a government that celebrates those symbols doesn’t represent me or people like me. Treating others as you would have them treat you means trying to look out of the other person’s eyes to see what they see and what they need and treating them accordingly. The eyes of the oppressor do not see the suffering of the oppressed.

This is a Slave World

This is
a slave
world.

Everyone
is a
slave.

Especially
the
masters.

Lured
by
desire.

Driven
by
fear.

Bound by duty
attachment
and desire.

Duty
to obligations
foolishly accepted.

Attachment
to impermanence
and distractions.

Desire
for illusions
naively believed.

Though
the body
is bound.

The soul
may be
free.

Liberation
is a state
of being.

Plundered

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?

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?

A Prayer for Mystics

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

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.

Pity My Mad Blind Brother

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.

Elbow to Elbow Eyes Astray

Electronic
hallucinations
crave our
attention.

While
cacophonous sound
competes for our
thoughts.

Elbow
to elbow
eyes
astray.

Sipping
comforting poisons
served
by the glass.

Drawn
together
by human
need.

Alone
together
in private worlds
of flashing screens.

Seeking
one another
elbow to elbow
eyes astray.

Creature of Her Own Mythology

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.