Beads

The door knew

As he closed it

That he wouldn’t 

Be coming home

That evening

The walls of that dull hallway 

Had watched him

All these years

As he came and went

They oozed a kind of

Sap-like substance

Sweated with him

Beads descending imperceptibly

Hardening like old veins

Catching his jacket

As he brushed passed

Knowing what lay ahead

But too afraid to turn sideways

And see for himself

Daydreamer

Your search is as real as your childhood daydreams, lying in summer grass, climbing through puffy clouds, swimming in the blueness.  Enjoy it, but don’t imagine that your search today has any relation with your search tomorrow….daydreams don’t join together; that’s why they’re so light.

Introduction

March 18th 2013               

Hi there,

How’s it going?  I just wanted to introduce myself. I feel a little awkward and embarrassed about this because I haven’t shared this much….I’m a bit anxious about how it’s going to come across.

You see, the thing is…how can I put this………I’m you. 

I know, I know, crazy, right?  Yes, I totally understand.  I know it absolutely looks like I’m someone else, over here, doing my own thing, with my own special name.  But honestly, I’m just another you, over here.

Yes, I look and sound a bit different and yes, we were born and will die at different times.  So I do understand why this sounds odd, even nonsense.

But, you see, there just aren’t lots of different kinds of us.  It’s hard for me to explain; trust me or trust yourself; it’s the same thing.  You see, I’m not calling you from outside…I’m trying to reach you from inside, you get me?

Put it like this, if you like……..there is only one personality here….life’s personality.  Do you follow me?

Anyway, really nice to meet you finally.

See you around.

Love,

You

Sinkhole

The child steps from immediate time into, what Krishnamurti called, “psychological time”; out of “what is” into a false dimension along which imaginary pursuits of escape, search and becoming could all take place in the imaginary phase of life called adulthood.

In truth, there is no escape but only the story of escape; no actual search, but merely an on-going story of “my search” and “my becoming”.  So when or how did this “false journeying” begin?

Perhaps the “confidence in the immediate” was slowly eroded by the growing belief in the reality of opposites.  (Note, an opposite has never been observed and has always run counter to our intuitive sense that this is one singular event.)

And the first opposites we are taught, perhaps life and death, good and bad set to work in multiplying like bacteria and over the years, like a sinkhole, we find that our insides have been eaten away, leaving a cavernous sense of apparently uncaused disquiet.

Unspoken

Any outstanding conversations

We need to have

Before we say goodbye?

Any admissions or apologies

From either side

That would make a difference?  

Anything I could say

Any message from my heart?

That could unite our souls

Before this lifelong friendship ends

And we can no longer share

The thought of tomorrow.