My creativity is not a commodity. My musical mind is not for sale. My worth is tied to something else, I’m afraid, my imprisonment is out on bail. You cannot buy my peace from me and leave ‘worry’ on my stoop. I will not open bills from the likes of those, living in a feedback loop.
My hope is not a bargaining chip, much less my cartwheels in the sun. I have developed calluses from a long race being run. The toughness of my tender heart, an oxymoron in the least – though you must mind my six foot sword, if you call yourself a beast.
Frivolity, like eating cake, is a business of my own. You might call my work a sort of ‘laziness,’ pout and lip at my poems. Meditation is nay a waste – for the productivity you seek. I’m waiting for that fateful day when progress ain’t so chic.
Take my clothes. Take my house. Do with possessions as you please. But carefully watch your materialisms falling to their knees. My creation equals sanity – a bottle rocket headed such. It’s just for me, all my own, if ya like it, thank ya much.
“One bright morning, when this life is over, I’ll fly away.”
I want you to notice how soft that line is; how light and divine. It’s like the sentence is angled into a crescendo somehow; like the end of the sentence is taking flight above the clouds.
Sing it over and over in your head. Get lost in the idea of flying away. Pick up and leave every heavy thing behind. I don’t have to name the heavy things. We all know what they are. We recite them again and again until the area between our brow wrinkles.
But letting go of every heavy thing sounds nice, doesn’t it? All those recitations suddenly forgotten completely. And instead, that line above replaces them. The morning is bright, the race is run, I’ll let go of everything and just fly.
No need to overcomplicate things; just flight and a new perspective from on high.
Asleep in a still pool of water;
the figure balances atop
without disturbing the
Even the thought of a ripple –
would rock the water awake,
the figure has cleared
Can you feel its quietness?
The sound of an empty mind
falling out of consciousness,
neither asleep nor awake?
It is hard to imagine
the sound of the space
and moment between
the two worlds we know best.
A third place, where the figure
finds his mind’s rest, is not
a beginning or a destination,
question or answer.
It is rather a state
of such tremendous peace,
that it brings a foe like worry
to its knees.
Close your eyes if you want to.
The nothing is something.
Maybe just an absence or a state of mind.
Allow yourself to feel the nothing.
It might be black.
It might be white.
Allow yourself to feel it.
Let it pour in.
Let it fill up to the top.
It’s ok if it has a quiet sound.
Like a buzzing.
Or a watch ticking that’s wrapped in something soft.
Allow yourself to feel it.
It’s ok if it swells and grows louder.
There might even be a rhythm to it.
It might invade a bit.
Happening more quickly than you expected.
Or it might take some time.
That’s also ok.
Are you there?
Has it happened?
Have you transcended this life and become a part of the nothing?
For as long as you wish.
For as long as it takes.
Let it roll on top of you like warm waves.
The nothing and eternity have something in common.
Can you make the connection?
If you don’t want to, that’s alright.
Today, it might be enough to simply say that they do.
You are connected to it as well.
So am I.
So is everyone who has ever been.
And everyone who will be.
There is a great force.
Causing everything to spin.
Making continuous revolutions.
Maybe, the force is pulling you closer.
Can you feel that?
The warmth of contact?
Open your eyes,
and give a name to the most important thing in your world