Death

The world is not simply a thing experienced
by a thing experiencing the world.
The world does not stop
When ours does.
Fade to black
As comfortable as sleep,
(At least the thing itself,
But not, perhaps, its prelude.)

The event-horizon of experience,
From which no thought escapes
Prevents death from ever being directly experienced –
No one dies.
There is only experiencing,
And then there is not.
Those few precious moments before experiencing stops
Are
Not
Few.

Toiling ‘til the end
Not a thought to spare
To plan for a death
That complements the book-end
Of our birth.
Like ants
We scurry to and fro
Absorbed in work
Ascribing significance greater than deserved
Desperate to give life meaning,
Desperate to muffle
What, we do not know.

It’s not as if we do not have enough time.
Drowning in the plethora of our ray of life,
We have time enough
For boredom.
We spend our lives killing time
Coughing and sputtering as the fountain of life
Proves too generous.

Boredom.
Yes.
Boredom.
Is anything so ever-present,
Yet so ignored?
Like a prophet
Never accepted in his own country.

Until “it” happens.
When our ray of life is shown
To be but a segment.
When the arrow of time is shown
To have arced towards our hearts from the moment of our birth.
Quick now!
Live!

Our rage, now quieted,
Humbled by death’s indifferent march,
Cannot see
With irony
Men, scurrying,
Like ants
carrying our corpse back to the hill
To be stripped bare –
Some to the queen
Some to the workers.
Fighting, even, over the scraps,
Blissfully ignorant of their participation
In the desecration of their own grave
And the spoliation of their own souls.

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Discovery

It’s amazing how people compromise,
Not just about what to eat or what to watch or what to do,
But about themselves.

They do what other people want them to do,
What other people think they should do,
What other people manipulate them to do,
Worried about what other people will think,
Whether that be
Assholes
Advertisers
Authorities or
Acquaintances.

Learning your authentic self
Seems like it should be some easy thing.

But it’s not.
When you do find your authentic self,
You’ll notice that it speaks
Continuously,
Quietly.
Some religions call this a still, small voice.
Some the Holy Spirit.
Some a conscience.
Some a chi.
Whatever it is, when you listen to it,
It frees you.
It is the ultimate truth that will set you free
From the walls of your own prison
Made for you by you.
It frees you from attachments that never should have been made.
It frees you to love, genuinely and unconditionally, for the first time.

I used to think that love was the great healer.
That if only other people would love me unconditionally
I would be healed.
Some people do love me unconditionally
In their own ways.
And as it turns out,
It’s not enough.
It’s never enough.
I thought it their duty to love,
To accept,
To embrace.
And I came to expect it,
To need it,
To demand it.
But it wasn’t enough.
It just made me greedier for it.
More, always more,
And better, do it better.
My own version of a needy, greedy childish asshole.

I thought it would fill the hole left by my mother
Who loved me unconditionally, surely,
But whose love wasn’t enough to save me from my father.
He wasn’t terrible
But, oh, he was damaging.
Like an ignorant giant fool
Stumbling and stomping his way through a village
Crushing tiny souls and tiny dreams.
How those dreams oozed
And squished,
Splattered into oblivion.
“What? That bothers you? Don’t be such a pussy.”

But you can only chase love for so long
Before you begin to realize that it retreats
From your relentless advance.
It is a thing to be given and not taken after all.
Continuing to chase becomes
Tiring
Disheartening
Desperate
Irrational
Smothering.
I become my own ignorant bumbling fool
Crushing the souls of those
Pouring themselves into the black hole of my soul –
The taskmaster overseeing a Sisyphean demand.

Even catching unconditional love won’t heal you.
Won’t revive those broken souls and those broken dreams.
Even though it is a mother’s duty to unconditionally love her son
It is not sufficient
For happiness
For healing
For being whole.

That comes from within.
From a laughing joyous acceptance of yourself
Even when you want to hide from yourself with shame by
Eating too much
Drinking too much
Drugging too much
Working too much
Fucking too much
Gaming too much
Watching too much
Escaping too much.
Shunning the escape
Abandoning the chase
Permits those scary moments
When you meet your authentic self,
When you chat about
What it is that you really want and need
And the responsibility for your happiness
Shifts from all those others
To you.
To a very lonely, fearful you.
Embracing your authentic self
Frees you from others’ demands
And frees you from being demanding of others.
It brings you peace and love
Internally, where it is needed most
And permits you to radiate peace and love.

Your authentic self is beautiful
And worthy.
You don’t need another’s validation of these facts
By their love and acceptance of you.
It wouldn’t be enough.
It’s never enough.
Until the love and acceptance comes from you.

Puzzles

Pieces scattered
haphazardly
across life’s table.
Nothing fits.
Dullness.

Then you.
Pieces extricated from the pile.
Gently floated to their rightful place.
Pieces wrenched, spraying others wildly.
Picking up the pieces.
Together.

Then came you
A rock tumbler you.
Constant grinding.
Hard edges knocked.
Corners hewed.
Pieces gone missing.
Found
planted in the soil of your soul
sprouted.
I look to see you growing from my soul.
Two puzzles.
Interlocked.

Scales fall
Horizons expand
Soul swells
A puzzle,
extended.