Tired of reading

Tired of writing

Tired of seeking

Answers without questions

Too much

I am no longer seeking a way

I am seeking my people

There is nothing that can describe my journey

I even lack the words

I give up

I give in

I am done

Did Buddha feel frustrated?

He tried so many things

He sat for so long

He deprived himself

And there it was

Was it not there before?

Or did he just not give up?

Only on giving up did he gain everything

And how much of that was illusion?

Translations upon translations

Yet I sit here at the source

It is what it is

Energies colliding



Particles being exchanged

Patterns maintained and then vanishing

I choose to see things differently

I choose to see things how they are

And still I sit

I am here on the floor

Aware of my body

Aware of my tiredness

Aware that I am aware

Keyboard at the tip of my fingers

Recording what I choose to record

Reality suffers from my fingers

This post goes on

You stopped reading a long time ago

Or you skipped down to here

If reality is of my own making, why am I making it like this?

Again, I give up

The song “I surrender all” courses through my head

Or at least pieces of it

There is truth in everything

If it is all of my own making, how can there not be truth in everything

If there is truth, are there also lies?

Can truth exist without lies?

What is in between truth and lies?


Locusts churring through the forest at night

Where is the goddamn bull?

Auspicious connections

Go forward without fear

Cultivate the flower

It is a process

Stop expecting enlightenment at every turn


To be freed from pain is all I ask now

Fuck enlightenment

It is overrated

There is only one moment in this life when I will receive true enlightenment

When that comes

I will no longer be here

Thoughts come and go

Feelings come and go

To deny them is to cling to them

Think them

Feel them

Watch them go

I scream this is it

This is not it

That is not my pain

That is my pain

The dis-identification is the identification

Let it wash through

Everything is impermanent

Nothing lasts

Take your time here and make the best of it

Make it as beautiful as you can

Then ball it up and throw it away

One day the sun will explode

The universe will expand until infinity

Or it will collapse upon itself

Heading towards maximum entropy

There will be nothing left

There will be everything

What a fucking ride

What a fucking dance

Beyond billions of unique expressions

Tightly wound and loosely coupled

Independent connected expressions

The beauty of the dance is different when seen from the 1st row

Versus the billionth row

Up close we see only a few dancers

But from far away we see the dance