According to the Gita:
Action must be without Attachment
Krishna then says,
Action as Worship
And I say,
Worship without Attachment
poetry
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
Truth, is
In relationships and life, perfection is the enemy of love.
– RPT
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.
Truth, is
Worries that darken the day
in time slip away
like a fistful of sand
leaving only the regret of wasted time
Truth, is
Empty bucket lists haunt the maker
While the garden blooms
Fed from buckets
Filled with rain
Truth, is
I Am, said He
who was born from the One
He said We shall do all that He has done
and even greater things
yet we obsess on what He was
and miss who we are,
and what we are meant to do
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.”
Really?
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 smile
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
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
Succeeding in Life 