Merry Christmas

These hearts that we breath with
This infinite solitude of perfect symmetry and connectedness
The source of truth
The field of nothing
From where existence grew
The manifested form
Particles
Pebbles falling into the sea
and the battle with Maya can only be won by admitting complete defeat
With medicine too powerful
Curing a disease which does not exist
The cures the causes of the maladies they fix
What is there to fix if there is nothing wrong?
Like water flowing down stream
There is no resistance
The water has nowhere to go

Here we are
The winterberries
Falling
We have nowhere to go

Where am I?
Here
What time is it?
Now

Good morning winterberries
Hello to the dingbats
Children of the earth
Children of the universe
Children of the lie
As the petals fall
Inifinite potential

There was the void
But the void was whole
and so were we
Crushed by the insanity
Of the illusions of our creations
When there was nothing to do
Do was all we did
and we did what we had to do

God bless the winterberries
As we fall

HOLIDAY CHEER!!!

Searching around in cirles, looking for cigarrettes. The girl is sleeping, but I am wide awake. Almost like old times of natural sleeplessness, yet this one involves outside issues. Sometimes it’s nice to have a cold beer on ice at 6:30 in the morning when it’s cold and snowy outside, and you know that in two hours it’s wake-up time, because despite your best aspirations, and dreams, you are not Hunter S. Thompson, and it has gotten weird enough for you, and you want to go skiing in the morning like a spoiled unemployed person does. But it’s Saturday, so who really cares? I’m just out there with everybody. Isn’t that how it is? All us folks, cruising around in weirdo land. We’re just a bunch of lunatics. Get a bunch of lunatics together in an agreeable bunch and you get a bunch of lunatics spouting off the same limited perspective. Which is great. People relate and there is happiness, joy, unity, and anger at “them,” the dirtbag breed, whether in Land Rovers or in dilapidated Datsuns. There is something different about them. They think they are normal. We know they are not. And so it goes, with the bullshit collecting on main street, and all the little animals squirreling along for their next nugget of consume. How am I not myself? Another consumer? You betchA. There should be a whole worldwide support group for everybody, a new AA. It’s called Assholes Anonymous. Cause we are all just a bunch of assholes. But I mean that in the most wonderful Way. WE ARE ASSHOLES BUT WE ARE ALSO GOD. WE ARE THE INFINITE POTENTIALITY OF THE UNIVERSE. BUT WE DON’T PAY ATTENTION. WE DON’T TAKE THE HELP. WE ALLOW OUR ADDICTIONS TO KEEP US CIRCLING THE REDUNDENT LOOP AROUND THE BOTTOM OF THE MOUNTAIN OF ENLIGHTENMENT. WE JUST KEEP GOING ROUND AND ROUND. AND IT AIN’T ALL BAD. SHOW ME A MAN WHO IS NOT ADDICTED TO SOMETHING. TRY TAKING MEDITATION AWAY FROM A BUDDHIST MONK AND SEE THAT HE’S JUST AS ADDICTED TO IT AS ARE YOU WITH YOUR WHATEVER IT IS. THE DIFFERENCE IS THAT HIS ADDICTION MOVES HIM UP THE MOUNTAIN. MEDITATION OR MEDICATION… THAT IS THE QUESTION.

ICE COLD BEER

I love this guy!

Bush shakes hands with himself then does a little dance. How he loves to make us laugh!

Dogshit...

What I wrote before, forget it. Kingston already decided to take a dump in the office! How the hell did that happen? Also I climbed inside a giant industrial trash compactor to dig out a girls purse tonight. Just doing my part.

Don't write at 2:20 in the morning.

You don’t train the dog, the dog trains you; at least that’s what they say. Tonight my dog is making me feel like the luckiest guy in the world. He just spent almost 30 days in doggie treatment. In terms of Mr. Kingston, doggie treatment is the Cottonwood Kennels and Ranch, where he received training, in addition to day and evening care. I had to leave and I thought, why not kill two birds with one stone? Kingston came home a man. I think it was hard for him, and I’m not sure what tricks Ted the trainer used, but Kingston got to hang out with other dogs and chase pheasants, elk, and deer on a beautiful ranch about 11 miles outside of Paonia, Colorado. He came home a new man. He’s chewing his bone, and I feel like trying to flim the rhyme zone. So I waft anew. The apple pie blossom in bloom. Our little black dog, just another man, chilling in the room.

That is absolutely terrible writing. It is neither good poetry, nor prose. It’s smells stinky in my nose.

I’m going to stop now, but I think I’ll just post this anyway, as a demonstration of a potential for humility, and an ability to laugh at the corndog felch that I am capable of.

the crushingness

Aloha
The salty pure whispers take their time
Purifying the little tear drops
Down the line
Nothing was ever there
Nothing to hold onto
Nothing in the mirror
The purity of the obsolete
Slicing onions and forgetting yesterday
Another saturday night
Always climbing down these scary stairs
In dreams

Ramana Maharshi said what?

Why should you trouble yourself about the future? You do not even properly know about the present. Take care of the present, the future will take care of itself.

You couldn't even wait till Christmas?!!!

What is the deal these days, give me a break, I mean, how many times do we need to watch the universe melt? When do we say enough with all these illusions? Whatever it is in here, that we’ve been putting in this glass, to give our little lips the dry perfume of infinity, at some point we really just have to realize that it’s all the same. It’s just this pure line. It’s nothing. It’s everything. Fine. Great. Big deal. Stop getting drunk all the time.

Croissant Rouge

Another crackly flip top rolls along the edges
As the jelly begins to bounce
And the field mice scatter
Their home of rotten plywood
Where they lived harmoniously with centipedes
Is violently ripped away
And the little camouflage warriors
And tuxedo clad maestros
Attack each other with empty perceptions
The realities of their existence dug up
Obliterated by sutras

In a smudged glass display case
A number of pastries sit patiently
Waiting for their sweetness to be tasted
Or simply waste away
And Lama Zopa Rinpoche
Expounds on the emptiness of all the forms
And all their aggregates
As the perceiver looks into the pastry case
Watching the girl behind the counter
Place croissants in paper coffins
Offering her prayers to the sentient beings
And cleaning the glass shelves
With a wet green rag

navigating emptiness-the beginning

A stairway is not such a difficult thing to navigate, at least on the way up. There may be many steps to take, but if one is young, healthy, and vigorous, he has a good chance of climbing to the highest precipices. The stairway of life begins with birth; but from here, there is an infinite prismatic galaxy of different stairways leading in the multitude of directions, this labyrinth, with trap doors and passageways, diseases, addictions, abuses, madness, loves, family, dissolution, and certain death. Which way do we go? Our parents are generally quite important in this passage. One poor family keeps their offspring in their native land, in the face of adversity and struggle, and one gives up their child in adoption to a rich couple up north, who can’t conceive. These stairways lead in different directions, but what with all the unknown factors, there is no telling with any certainty that the child adopted into wealth will fair better than the one who is raised in physical poverty.
We climb these steps blind, as a rule, which is seldom rewarding, though every once in awhile we trip into an upward spiral by the turns of Fortuna’s wheel. We beat the game many times as we expand and disintegrate. We climb these stairs in the dark, in passion, in drunkenness, or we see just before us, but the stairs begin to curve, and we can’t see around the corner. Up and up we go, before we turn and look behind us, at what we have left in our wake. What passageways have we followed, and which have we passed by? Have we reached a cliff, with nowhere left behind us to go back to, must we step into the abyss, with all its mysteries?
How does one find the emptiness in this world of illusion, which begins the journey toward self-discovery, the emptiness which is preceded by the dissolution of the aggregate I’s we are to disintegrate in order to find our center in the wholeness of the universe, when we are aware of the hallucinations of our reality, created in our perceiving minds, and find One? Heavy question, loud walkman. Got my ear-pierced when I was 12, wore a gold playboy bunny in there, and felt pretty damn good about it, with my crystal pendant necklace and a burgeoning taste for smoking grass.
Before that, I threw grandmas cigarettes away, trying to get her to quit, then I just started stealing them and enjoying the mint fresh smokiness of the long black Moore’s in the green soft pack. Early lesson: if you can’t beat them, join them. We take lessons all the time, yet few of them, it seems, are setting us up for deep serenity, a peaceful mind, and a compassionate love of our fellow man. So we follow the steps laid before us by our circumstances and our decisions, conscious or unconscious. Even for the Atheist, this is a step of faith, but it’s alternative is often suicide, so it is a faith many take blindly.

TBC
ACS

waking the beast.

Watch out for that first step. It's a doozie.

so much depends