And what of the will? That most broken of organs Conditioned from birth we must never assert Instead, to be humble patient meek But are those that break the will humble patient meek? No! Anything but. My child, assert your will. Wield it. I will show you how I vow not to break it but to sharpen it Do not sheath this sword but hold it high with pride anger Yes, what of the will indeed What will we make of it?
When will we abandon the idol of labor for the god of life Drink! No, not the spoiled vinegar of success Take this cup of meaning of love Have we forgotten? That we can create for more than money? Why not beauty - for beauty's sake? But, instead - "Those who don't work are lazy" As if our work is important useful meaningful No, I say those who work are lazy They take the easy route the lazy route to life meaning passion There is more but we must search
I inhale, never ex- I think, never make In, never out Only now I overflow bursting at the seams Hesitate at the moment of opening What will pour out? What will burst forth? But I must I simply have no choice lest I grow sluggish and lazy on this diet of perception without conception
How can you see yourself as anything other than the epitome of beauty? When you speak, is there anything other than wisdom empathy kindness? Can everyone not perceive? Have I been struck with some lucky ability to recognize true beauty when it stands before me? You wear your heart on your sleeve You do not hide To be perfectly honest this terrifies and confuses me It's something I could never do I'm not as brave as you And yet, you are not naive you understand people you understand me you see right through me You are terrifying beauty You are wisely proud You are gently smart What more can I say?
In my mind there is no separation between you and passion I constantly sip from your beauty yet my thirst is never quenched I long for more with each taste The deeper I venture into your love the deeper I wish to go With each revelation of your heart your soul I see your true beauty more clearly You, the opposite of an empty vessel (superficial beauty but empty inside) You are beauty through and through
The carpenter sits at a workbench before hammer chisel and plank Slowly, deliberately, carefully carves, skillfully shapes Each line, grotesque knot, of original form The artist a splotch of moss hues of gray the delicate green of each leaf The gardener plants the lie among the truth The philosopher beholds, declares: before me stands a tree the truth is real undeniable simply open your eyes and you will not be deceived
It can happen on the quietest street or the busiest avenue; in the smallest house or the greatest mansion I found it sitting on the floor building trains with my son In the living room singing and dancing to Hamilton with my daughter Huddled over the crib whispering my baby to sleep I found it in Hyde park on an unusually sunny day just you and I when we were young It's there with my doodle's head resting on my feet as I work It's everywhere in everything at every moment I just have to remember to look
I'm not looking for love like wine drunk, fun, out of control I have love like water cool, clear, refreshing Love like the rapids is exhilerating and exhausting I'm here for the smooth, steady ride on the current We'll hold hands never growing tired watching the birds fly over our heads I used to think as we float down the river we'd get bored, drift apart that the current would weaken and slow How wrong I was How glad I am
Do you ever think of space, then worry, you'll float right out into it? Have you ever been on a plane, imagined the bottom disappeared? Then made yourself stop, too worried you might fall through? Did you once read an article, about space energy, so powerful and fast, it would obliterate the earth in a second and we'd never see it coming? But you can't think about it, in case you make it happen? Yeah, me neither...
I used to be so scared of death; Used to be, I couldn't talk, couldn't think about it My body felt so close, like it was ready to slip away at any moment; every little twinge and I thought "This is it" At least, until you came along; grabbed me by the shoulders, stared me square in the eyes I am going to die. So are you. So is everyone you love. Eventually, everything you've ever known, ever touched, will turn to dust; not even a memory You can't fight it You can't change it You can only pretend and deny it ignore it Or, accept it, embrace it, make the most of it
I have so many questions is it my super power or curse? I have so many questions no answers Always questions, never when it matters Plenty of questions, nothing interesting to say Full of questions looking for the laughter maybe some joy, too Full of longing not for the answers but meaning not looking for knowledge looking for life for belonging I've got questions and fear about what you'll say if I ask if I answer I've got questions but will I ask? Who will answer?
We're talking, but through a brick wall; I hear your words, sure, and you hear mine, but not my heart, not my soul I want you to hear it, I really do; I let out the faintest whisper, but no more Let's take out our hammers, smash holes in this wall Let me pour you a glass of my desire; an unfiltered cup of my adoration; I have so much to share My hammer is ready; I'll hire a wrecking crew, will you? But I won't, because you'll reject me and I'll be left without even the whisper that I hear now
To abandon expectation is to be rid of disappointment; All who let the shroud of desire fall to their feet, will notice also discontentment, lying dormant on the floor, a lathargic hound, his bite a distant memory; but now, which dogmatic montra to take up its place? That stoic aversion of all that does not align with nature? But which nature to align to? How about, an epicurean pursuit of pleasure? But which can one taste while shunning the tantalizing eye of desire? Perhaps only the silence of that final dream will bring the reprieve we seek; Shall we sit and wait or usher it forward? Better yet, can we accept, take up the path fortune designed? Can we simply enjoy the hike; divets, thorns, and all? Without searching for that mystic trail that does not exist
We are so far from even the smallest grain of knowledge; we have not yet tasted the sweet nectar of truth; yet we walk around like proud roosters ready to attack anything that approaches the coop we built for ourselves; we've confused the reflection in the puddle at our feet, for the stars in the sky
I stand on the precipice of insanity, curiously peering over, wondering at the feeling of that detached air caressing my face, whispering in my ear; at the attempt to lean further, the hands holding me grasp my attention, I will not dive, not to those unseen depths, I will not climb, not to those blasphemous heights; oh how I long to swim, no, fear to drown, in those other-wordly waters, oh how they draw me in; I will snap every connection in my brain like a glowstick, and walk in a light none other can ever see, I will float among the stars of a galaxy that belongs only to me; I look up at the mountain of delusion, scream for her avalanche to wipe me away, no, to wipe away my chains, to set me free; my wrists strain against their chains, no, your hands, even as my feet leave the ground; I will live in psychotic freedom, bathe in deranged waters, sup on the imaginary; if only I can escape, if only I can break, the grip of reality
I've seen true beauty; it was made, of the most dazzling blues, that even on a sunny day, made the sky, look gray; the richest browns, so pure and fine, that even the most gorgeous chocolate, grows mold in my eyes; and the brightest white, I cannot describe, that to everything else, now, I am blind
I think we should cut God some slack; he went, and had, a billion children; I'm going crazy, with just three
Stop! Don't be so quick to throw off that blanket of loneliness An ant with its colony never stops to think, where am I headed? But the heron, lonely, wary, proud, waits patiently, stalking the shore; no other chooses her nest, no leader pulls her to a lake, pointing, to say: there! fish! I shudder at the thought of being alone I am repulsed by the thought of being together Snug in this blanket, there is nothing left, except to confront myself I salute this coopers hawk circling, lonely in the sky; You heed none, except death In this temple I'm left with no choice but to consider myself
Does a mountain feel its grandeur? Does a lake know its depth? The dead don't attend our memorials don't heed our admiration Tomorrow will never come Next time will not exist So, let us love and cherish each other While we have the chance
Who am I? I don't want to know Even in front of the mirror, I close my eyes; Even in the quiet room of my thoughts, I hum a tune A little of you, a little gentler, a little less brave Am I the sun? Rising in the hopeful east, Setting in the lonely west A little of you, a little more open, a little less righteous Am I who I want to be? And how would I know? Even if you tell me, I'll cover my ears A little of you, a little more collected, a little more skeptical Am I the moon? Reflecting you, No life of my own Who am I? I want you to know
Why did you read my poems? They aren't for you This is an invasion of privacy Do you like them? They are about you What do they make you feel? They are about life Please don't tell anyone They are about truth and justice and love I hope you liked them and told all your friends how talented I am They're about sadness I'm so embarrassed Peoms end in lovers meeting Did you send them to your mother? I'm really not talented but one day I hope to be I listened while you called your sister, why didn't you tell her? I'm thinking of writing to a publisher I ran out of ideas I wrote three more today this is the depth of my soul, bared for you It really is a private notebook, you know I press my face against the door, you talk about the weather, your mother Poems end in lovers meeting It really is private, an invasion of privacy
Oh truth! Oh truth! You have to be real; If there's no truth, how can I know, right from wrong? If this pen is in my hand? Without truth, what can I know? My sweet child, my innocent child, what is this truth you seek? Can you point to it? Can you sense it? Don't be obtuse, I can't point to the truth but that doesn't make it any less true that this pen is in my hand, this blanket is grey And which part of the pen, which strands of fabric, hold that truth? You infernal skeptic! You dense man, it just means we both see it, we both feel it, over and over It's just a word that describes the reliability of experience
The foolish boy, what did he expect? He asked for patience, I gave him three energetic kids; He asked for wisdom, I gave him questions to answer; He asked for courage, I gave him difficult times Did he expect a bolt of courage from above? Wisdom slipped into his mind as he sleeps? No, I designed him with these muscles from the start All that's left is to exercise them; Shall I lift the weights for him? What's next, will he sneeze and pray for someone to wipe his nose?
I spend all my effort straining against the immutable past pulling toward an inextant future that I forget to apply the gentle pressure required to change the present
My three little critters rise before the dawn, Daddy, will you play with me? They cry and tug my arm Eyes open to open eyes, will pit against will; One to stay asleep, the other, to start the day I stumble to the bathroom, my three little ducks all in a row; Wash my face, brush teeth, change without privacy At the stairs, Daddy up! Do the silly run? Hey, what about me? Up and down again Will you eat a banana? No Cereal? No. Bagel? No. Then what do you want? Can I have a banana? Two coffees, four baristas, one dog ready to go out, one spilled milk, one childish squabble; Stop to take my zolies Trash to go out, dishes in the sink, did everyone eat? Is everyone dressed? The dog wants pets, Daddy ew! We need a diaper. My three little lovelies, ready for the day
I have a little problem with truth; It's just this: I can't figure out what it is; So I'm starting to worry, it doesn't exist I know what you'll say, truth has to exist! These words sit before me, we both know it's true Of course, I must ask, how do you know? What do we, if I disagree? The answer, obvious and simple We'll both take a look, investigate the claim, if our opinions come out the same, we've done it, found the truth But what have we found? Not an atom of truth; an agreement of opinion, a similarity of experience There is nothing to put under the microscope, even if there was, how would we know it's the truth? So, that's where I'm at, at odds with the truth
I set out to climb this mountain, to venture into the depths of the range, breathe deeply the cool highland air Before I leave, I sit on my front porch to lace my boots; I search for courage; ask, is this really what I want? Despite my fear, despite my reservations, I stand, begin to walk; my pace strong, my steps sure; I will reach my destination With each step, my heart begins to beat harder, first in anticipation; then, agony With each step, this mountain, this object that holds all my desire, she moves away from me I pause, soaking up the rejection; but how can I be angry at one who looms so large? Instead, this other me, this man I may never know, he smiles, wishes it the best, and heads home
Uneven love, is there any other kind? What's worse, to hand your heart over, or hold another's in your hands? To watch them treat it carelessly, or agonize over every misstep, lest you break it? And why would we agree, to such an arrangement, but that we have no other choice For uneven love, itself uneven; one day you hand your heart over, the next, I, mine Over and over, children in a game; shattering, mending, carefully and carelessly, until we are no more
I asked God the meaning of life, but it turns out, I disagree He claimed it to be all about Him and his majesty If I'm being perfectly honest that seems kind-of selfish and perhaps a bit pompous So I set out to ask that question to everyone I meet What I heard, family friendship love success power sadness death made no sense until I realized, life has only the meaning that we give it
Remember me, when I die; don't bury me in a tomb of wood, or stone, but of history To be hated by my neighbor is to be a nuisance, but by his kin, infamy To be loved by my son is a bond, but by his son, legacy Not my body will preserve, but this ink; It's not me they'll remember, but these words Immortality, out of reach, even with my name on every tongue; my memory, in every heart, for all of time Me? I'll be, a million, trillion particles, afloat in the universe
I sit on the sidewalk as you pass me by; hold out my hat, shake it a little; spare any praise, praise for the insecure? From the corner of your eye, you size me up, judge if I'm worthy As you walk away, I rise to my feet begin to dance begin to sing Anything you might want to hear Still, you walk faster begin to beg begin to scream Just a bit of praise for the insecure You turn around you face me down begin to laugh begin to jeer The whole street joins in I back down turn away run and hide Well, anyway, that's why I didn't share my idea
I love a good heresy, as much as the next guy Don't think that thought! I think I will Don't ask that question! Don't mind if I do What's got you so scared, scared to be wrong? Try it sometime, it's actually quite fun In fact, I'm doing it now being wrong, wrong in nine different ways The only problem, you see, is that I don't know how, don't know where, where I'm wrong For that I visit the church of heresy, kneel at the altar of curiosity There I meet God, which one? You might know. To find out you'll need a little heresy
What is justice but the good of the weaker? Can you imagine a king crying for justice? Can you imagine a ruler complaining of oppression? Only the powerless can beg for justice Only the powerful can give it But if the powerless can sway a ruler are they powerless? If the oppressed can move their king are they oppressed? Justice comes from the powerful when they think of the weak Injustice, when they think of themselves
Pleasure is the highest virtue Joy is the pleasure of the heart Wisdom is the pleasure of the mind Love is the pleasure of another Justice is the pleasure of the oppressed Worship is pleasure for God Kindness is pleasure for another Charity is pleasure for the poor Equality is pleasure for all All other virtues lead to pleasure
The crescendo, cacophony, a boorish wave strikes my drums The hammer smites my nerves, sensation places his shackles around my wrists, declares himself my master Let him have it, I say, that destitute shell; for after a tierce, I am away Journeying inward devoid of perception, Philo grasps my trembling hand, leading me to the court of Justicia, the hall of Sophia I study under their gaze, this inpenetrable fortress, this fraudulent solitude
The curse of the prince is to see the treasure in his hands as nothing more, than the commonest trash As he crawls through the mud he imagines himself the heir to the throne resplindent in majesty, he awaits his bride And lo, as she rides down from her castle high on the hill, she takes great pity on his plight From her white mare, she extends a hand, feeds him and drapes him in royal clothes She falls deeply in love, promising her undying devotion How does he repay her? With a spit in the face, a slap, a yell He curses and bemoans her as worthless Because the curse of the fool, is to think he's a prince, who sees the treasure in his hands, as nothing more than the commonest trash
As the default configuration is less than desirable, you should immediately consider the following tweaks First, you should note the sensors are linked directly to the controls. This is suboptimal because any input can cause an unwanted behavior You should reroute the sensors through the central processor, allowing it to determine what is to be done with each sensation However, one may find the velocity of sensation to quickly overwhelm the processor. This brings about the next change, that most input is to be ignored. Now you must manually assent to, deny, or withold judgement on each input But what should you assent to? Only that which is aligned with nature. Which is a made up concept that means: That which you think right.
What is wisdom? If someone has knowledge of the future, they are a seer or prophet If someone has knowledge of the past, they are a historian, or have memories If one has knowledge of that which is not perceptible, they are a clairvoyant If instead they have knowledge of reality, they may be a scientist, or said to be informed But what is left for wisdom? One with self-knowledge is enlightened, of the present is aware, of others-empathetic What if wisdom is nothing at all, but all of the above? When knowledge holds true — wise When fails — foolish
What is this feeling down in my chest? I'm being gripped squeezed, twisted If this is supposed to be a good life, how can anyone survive a bad life? If this is a rich life how empty is a poor life? Why can't I laugh Why can't I cry Why does it all feel so empty
Why is it that the things I know most intimately are the things I can explain least clearly? I think this thought, but what is it? I push my feelings away, but where do they go? I hold fast to these concepts until I try to touch them Only then do I discover the mirage
What if we're connected to the ones we love the most by an invisible cord that extends from host to host? The sensations of connection produced directly from this bond Think about it New love is hot because the link is newly smelted and has not yet cooled But as it has not set it may easily split Old love is steady because the link has hardened But when left unchecked it becomes inflexible Then, it may get in the way and must be painfully removed This link is why it hurt when we were far apart But once the link expanded the pain did fade away To keep its health I prescribe a regimine of heating cooling hammering twisting As long as it's attached
I wish I knew beautiful words Supine? Mellifluous? Propinquity? I don't know. Instead I know this, and that and not much else.
I built this house one brick at a time A wall here some stairs there a castle a cathederal a den a home I laid these bricks year after year Til it was done and I, safe inside Alas, I forgot to add a door
We walk together you and I in the dark unable to see We feel nothing yet from time to time one of us exclaims Here it is! I have found it! You may believe but I do not My hands may be empty but at least I know nothing is there
The passing traveler caught by the glimmer of your window Peers inside, for a moment blinded caught off guard What he beholds, a remote wonder stands strong and proud, filled with persian rugs, draped with antiquity, books of magic Unable to repress he opens the glass But he is swept away by the wind of will By the story of heartbreak and healing Despite pleas from his fellow travelers he dives into a current of life He accepts no branch nor rope He eludes the shore electing the depths For the traveler has found his destination