I know all of the seven deadly sins at my core—lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy, pride—and I tend to them mindfully. And when I don’t, I notice that. I notice me saying that. I’m standing in an infinity mirror. I notice myself noticing and the whole thing with the mirrors, me saying that, me saying that I’m saying that and so on. How on Earth do I have a productive day like this?
The paragraphs are sinister. The depressing thing is depression itself, overlooking all else, failing to descriptively write out the positive and just… appreciate.
Discipline is key. Don’t let the negative shit (or the good shit) spoil it for you—and remember, your smallest actions, when in peace, are performed for the benefit of all living kind. The trick is to live mindfully and compassionately.
{Pierce deep down to subtle reality and as a poet invent unique language to describe that reality—not to be known as a poet and impress people, not even to call it poetry.}
When you really see, you can’t help but to be filled with compassion but it can quickly be turned to grief.
The act of chewing food in itself is beautiful. How you are perceived means nothing if you do not have powers of perception.
In metaphor we are the animals we admire—in mood, in courage, in war I am a tiger, I am the lion, I am mastering self.
Awakened, we touch the Earth for real, the writer touches the page, the page expands to make more room.
Kalika quietly washes
pats her tiny
front paw to her face
hardly anyone is looking
and her knowing this
is the solace she needs
to go on
Bananas over cereal staring at the walls so incredibly happy I begin to count all the bubbles in my orange juice and laugh to myself. A world harsh and awful, complicated and hard, is back there, up ahead, waiting to test me to the limits of patience, just like is available here in the hall, in the pagoda, and my room.
“That’s my yellow Porche in the parking lot. Live big ya’ll. You will be after this.” Oh, Vipashyana… I think some exaggerate your true essence.
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