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



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.



Kissing the Divine

We were finished.
Money was transferred, accounts were closed.
“Job well done,” we’d said.
And then the request appeared,
like a gravy stain on white linen.
Ignorant of our intentions.
“But wait. It’s not right,” they protested.
But. Can’t. Should’ve. Won’t.
I feigned politeness in my rejection.
They didn’t take it well.
Accusations. Protestations. Begrudging acquiescence.
“It shall be done,” I agreed in martyred surrender.
“To serve the Divine,”
the voice through the earbuds said,
“is the highest calling.”
Are you certain?
There is no other way?
To forgive,
to apologize,
is as a kiss.
And so I apologized,
against every desire of my ego.
And the Divine kissed me back.

If Only

Namaste, he says with a chosen smileScreen Shot 2014-02-15 at 6.22.25 AM
It’s the thing to say these days
when you are secular spiritual
Namaste, she replies
trading smug for trite
(though she is better looking)
They have the speech
of those in the know
Totes’ he winks
Totes’ she grins
And they move on
Gloating in their rendition
If only
If only they knew
If only they knew the gravity of their words
To say: Namaste
Is to: Bow to your holiness
And actually did
The impermanence of
Saying the right thing
Looking the right way
Knowing the right words
would disappear into white noise
Nothing would be left
save for the other
And we would
bow in supreme reverence