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Unbounded

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I am unbounded
in the light of the heavens
i found in
my heart where i’m standing.
and though the muse
is amusing,
biding her time,
and bruising that ego of mine,
i can’t find a reason
to lie about the seas
or the joy of the struggle,
the dance,
or the half-conscious glance at my phone.
but in the clouds i see her
and know that my virtual dimension of
inner comprehension
will fade away in the galaxy of her eyes.
and from this wellspring of emotive force
an inner strength of course
will arise:
the inspiring power of the space of the uncertain
lying between the bliss and the hurt and
the potential for sight beyond
where i might abscond out of fear.
but this fear is weak and dying as
i feel my heart flying.
Alive.
I am here, now, and I
don’t know what will come,
but when I see the face of my muse i know
it will run like a riverflow of bliss and light.
I know it will hit me when I least expect
from introspection
I will see it ignite.

And thus the death of my fear is known.
And thus my heart is home:
Unbounded.

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the door unlocked

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i keep the door unlocked
because she could stop by
but why?
why do i care
or stare
at the wall and the screen?
an ephemeral glimpse of a dream
a clandestine crush
your face a rush
of blood in my brain
i see the weight of the pain
but i am beyond the tears
the fears,
the doubts, the leers, on account
of the love of my friends
and myself
so leave me on the old bookshelf
as i so leave you, too, i rue
the day you came into my eye
everytime i think i die
but soon i’ll fly
free
and above the clouds i’ll see
the glimmer of light and power,
the shower, of love,
i have it,
within
And i‘m not giving it to you anymore
because i feel the shore
draws near, again
to my end
of growth
i awoke
inside my sin
of leaving the door unlocked
within
and without,
so the reaper will come in and shout:
“wake up you stupid fuck!
this dream is shit!”
from it i wish
to find my peace
never to see my heart so in pieces.
until the next “she” awakens my fears,
perhaps then wasted years,
perhaps i’ll have a few more beers;
to steer away from all this woe
there is no place i will not go.
so fucking fight me now, OK?
Today I love me. Today.

The Higher Death

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OM
It is mind; it is empty.
It is mind; it is empty.
It is all mind; it is all empty.
All this false being is intrinsically devoid of essence.

There is no “is.”
There is no “is not.”
Every phenomenal thing is trapped between being and non-being for eternity;
It is this neutral ground which holds the key-spark.

From this fundamental truth we can see our own true nature,
As well as that of all sentient beings.
All are the same.
All are naught.

Out of this void rises wisdom and compassion.
With these two-fold wings every being may know the highest peace.
They may transcend pain, and even non-pain.
They may transcend transcendence itself.

But transcending transcendence means nothing to an ordinary sentient being.
Beyond “beyond” is unfathomable.
One’s mind must know its own depths as unfathomable,
And through this see truth.

All that we see is mind, and yet we abide in ignorance.
All that we know is mind, and yet we abide in ignorance.
All that we experience is mind, and yet we abide in cyclic pain and despair and woe.
We ignore this pervasive void of essence, and so cannot see beyond the promise of bliss.

I too, am lost.
All beings are lost, until they taste of the well-spring of infinity.
This may only be found through the path of loss and renunciation.
But who can know that this renunciation is beyond mere possessions or perceptions?

To lose our very being, our souls;
To negate all pain with bliss, and all bliss with equanimity;
To let go of our very instincts of self-perservation, connection, reproduction, sustenance, and being;
To embrace demise and void as though a loving long-lost friend–this is the highest practice.

Find yourself in your Death.
Find Death that transcends the duality of mortal existence.
Seek the ultimate Death who resides at the core of life itself.
She is your lover and guide to a world beyond conception.

But It is still mind, It is still empty.
Yes, It is still mind, It is still empty.
Even here, It is all mind; even now It is all empty.
All this true being is even still devoid of essence.
SWAHA

sun and moon

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oh my longing for love
likens to that of how the
sun wishes to meet the
moon once again
how the shadows of
the deepest caverns
long to once again be
yielded to the light
as the dark becomes
enlightened and
the sun and moon
eclipse that what i
know is naught
feeling is devoid of truth
and this love to be felt
from the source
personified in a monad
of false self is
what i seek and yet not
as the goal and path
are united by this source of love

i am a human

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I am a human.
i do and say human things.
i sometimes like other humans,
though often i loathe them as well,
and no matter what i am committed
to the seemingly programmed aim
of benefiting my fellow humans.

But being a human can be tough sometimes
with all the silly systems and structures
put in place by some humans
to make life unnecessarily difficult
for other humans. i believe this
is because humans fear thinking,
which inevitably comes without something to distract our silly little ape minds.

It’s important to remember what we are,
to not take ourselves too seriously,
and to not forget that we basically
just shouldn’t harm each other or the planet.
All other silly ape desires you have are fine to pursue,
but they are just that.

Humans are dumb.
You are dumb.
I am dumb.

Let’s just play nice and have fun and
not stop other people from having fun.
If you think the other clothed apes are having fun wrong,
all you can do is show them how you
are having way more fun doing whatever you’re doing.
Telling them they’re having fun wrong
and arguing against them will change
nothing except making both you and them have less fun.

Have your fun, and
if you have enough of it,
others will join.
Because we’re just silly, fun-crazed apes after all.

a painting does not convey the poetry

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I stare at the wall
I stare beyond the wall
Beyond everything
My mind is the focal point
She sits, poking at her phone
Its bluish light illuminating her face with a faint glow
We say nothing
The room lies perfectly still
We are frozen like sculptures
Our minds explode with emotion
Anguish, fear, rage, despair
This is a scene of poetry.
These words are only a painting.
A painting does not convey the poetry.

 

The inspiration for this poem came from a friend of mine who told me that his philosophy in life was to see everything as poetry. Even an intense argument with your girlfriend is poetry. So last year, after or in the midst of a heated argument with my then girlfriend, i kept this in mind. And all i could think to do was to write a poem about it. So i did.

Self

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Lines of soul
Piles of self strewn across the floor
What do they mean?
A gateway to passion and wisdom
But a false idol!
And from the feet of the false idol in supplication we draw the blood of sub-existence
This is self
Broken. Empty. Nothing.
Like a beautiful lie–the vehicle of truth.
Bliss and truth rest in the effulgent over-being of all-ness
You knew it all along:
The idol was a signpost pointing the way to nourishment
And instead you tried to drink its blood

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