Truth, is

According to the Gita:

Action must be without Attachment

Krishna then says,

Action as Worship

And I say,

Worship without Attachment

Truth, is

Truth, is

I am not as here as I like to think I am

I have become thin

Petty annoyances piss me off

Can someone just say yes for fuck sake?

The no’s are our teachers, wisdom echoes

 

Truth, is

I am not as here as I’d like to be

It’s not rocket science

I know the calculus of sufficiency

Yet I do not use it

 

Truth, is

It all comes back to me

My reality orbits around my choice

As long as I choose to see it, and willing to answer

which is worse, the tyranny of smooth lies

or the brutality of naked fascism?

 

Truth, is

The impermanence of my cocoon will be upon me

Either I choose, or my choice will be made for me

 

Sanctuary

Morning is my friend

enveloping me in darkness

as I shuffle my way to the coffee maker

feet on cold floors and sleep eroding

under the assault of activity my mind is manifesting.

The limitless possibilities of imagination

and I grin at the luxury of sanctuary with myself.

Rabbit trails of thoughts, conquered empires and

improbable loves.

The curtain between this life and the other is translucent,

shadows miming to each other hard earned wisdom and possibilities.

Sometimes I write.

Sometimes breathe in the scent of Nag Champa.

Sometimes I listen to the white noise singing in my head

while the caffeine makes anything possible

until dawn breaks the spell

and my solitude goes to sleep until the early hours

of the next day when I will again relish

the sanctuary with myself.

Truth, is

I am tired of myself this way,

whining at the world in expectation

of a salvation delivered.

 

I am tired of myself this way,

shuffling from one unfinished room to the next

waiting for inspiration to move me to action.

 

I am tired of myself this way,

proclaiming meaningless truths to those I love

unseeing of the precious time I have wasted.

 

I am tired of myself this way,

finding roots of the undesired

run deep in my bones.

 

I am tired of myself this way,

failing to name what I am

and what I desire to be.

 

The hardest surrender

is to let go of that which is not named

and to be unknown even to myself.