Sunday, August 28, 2011

What to do about Heat, Death and Taxes and People who are mean to you

What to do about heat?
It's now some interestingly impossible heat in Austin,
I'll go ask the iPhone,
the modern device to amuse use and destroy all our telepathic abitilities:
while LA a mere 85 and Sonoma, for some reason, the place I left
as getting too warm with global warming: 77

La, la
What to do about the heat?

Be happy.

What to do about death?

You guessed it,
be happy.


Why not?
You aren't going to die until you die,
and then,
if you can walk down the street in 109 heat, or 77 or 85 and be happy,
how hard can it be
to just stop?

I mean each night
just stop/

and in a good meditation
just stop

and any argument we've ever had
and been tortured in
and then shifted the
shape of our ugly
just stopped

here's the game:

we can sit in chair A,
and think: shouldn't be so hot,
death isn't so great/ is bad/ is scary

then we can shift over to chair B
just stop
our thinking

and see what's left.

sometime's it's happiness

there are lots and lots more thinks to do,
to leave behind unhappy Chair A

that could be our assignment for the next hour:
find a couple of mental/ emotional places
that aren't so great

get in chair A and feel how ungood/ bad / yukky they feel

and then figure chair B, the just stop thinking chair,
and go there

and then
figure chair C
and do something else there

and chair D
and do something else there

and chair E
and... you know what.

Taxes, people who are mean to you?
if those bother you, try the game.

if not, have some trying anything that bothers you


Labels: , ,

Friday, August 19, 2011

Love poems to and from God

Hafiz first
a poem challenging those
with their small tiny gods/
tiny small hearts
who want to shove away sex from the
as if the sacrum isn't rotti toot toot to both:

Some god say, the tiny ones,
" I am not here in your vibrant
moist lips
that need to beach themselves on the shore
of a
naked body."

Some gods say," I am not the scared yearning of the unrequited soul,
I am not the blushing
of every star and planet--

I am not the applauding Creator of those
precious secretions
that can distill
the whole mind
into a perfect wincing jewel
--- if only for a moment

nor do I reside in every sweet warm dung
born of the Earth's gratuity."

Some gods say, the ones we need to hang,
"Your mouth was not designed to know His,
love was not conceived
to consume the luminous realms."

Dear ones beware
of the tiny gods frightened men

to bring an anesthetic control
to their sad



In my travels I spent some time with a great yogi.
Once he said to me,

"Become so
you hear the
flowing through your

One night as I sat in quite,
I seemed on the verge of
a world inside so
I know it is the source of
of us.

Again, this book has 12 mystics,
including people you haven't heard as mystics before:
St Thomas Aquinas, St John of the Cross
Love Poems from God

Labels: , , ,

Sunday, August 14, 2011

Lovers, all

if we forgot what we were
and just
remembered the glory

would that be enough?

I don't know.

But I suspect that it

Let's try for a while
and see what
no words in the head

ah, peace, empty
can't even say it
can we


pretty nice


And from Kabir:

I sat one day with a priest who expounded
on the doctrine of hell

I listened to him
for hours
and then he asked me,
what I thought of what he'd said.

I replied:

"This doctrine seems an inhuman cage.
No wonder all the
smart dogs
Run Away."

And from Mira:

I tried controlling myself
but it did
no good.
My senses are aflame.

I heard You singing.
that started all this blessed madness.

I openly made love with everything in sight
last night
and this morning.

The constable showed up and wrote over twenty citations.

I guess I shouldn't have jumped
on him
in front of his wife.

the hypocrite,
he wouldn't have complained at all

if we were

St Catherine of Siena:

If you cried in Heaven,
everyone would laugh

for they would know,
you were just kidding.

Poems are pointers
where do they point

and what if you read
them again

would the arrows
have sprouted branches
and the branches

and the leaves
light every which way?

Who knows
but you
and your experience
of this


me, gain, again, gain nothing
and it
all here
and the
big blue

the non me ones,
slightly shifted around,
Love Poems from God

Labels: , , , , , ,

Saturday, August 13, 2011

BEyond Suffering, life is freedom, and we can choice many many option

Let's just do this all up quite grand:

Pain is stuck
is lack of differentiation
is same old same old in an unsatisfying way

The way out:

Can be the shake the chains,
go beserk (from Norse warriors, foamed at mouth, destroyed all in sight,
and lots they couldn't see through the foam),
trash about,
do the opposite of our conditioning

and we're still slaves:
two ways of doing something is still slavery:
the way and the reaction to the way

So, here's what I realized:

Any feeling bad can begun to be broken
open into mindfulness
by coming home to ourselves and looking/ noticing/ awaring:

The thinking part of the feeling bad
(I'm no good, he's so awful, this is not fair, etc)

The Feeling part of the feeling bad
(sad, afraid, angry, annoyed,

The sensing part:
sensations in our body,
almost always restricted in feeling bad

and the
which is some lie about how small and little and separate
and unvaluable we are

That's just the start.

Then in each of those four areas:
how about at least four options;

Take the thought and see the difference if we perceive it as
an opinion or the truth

Take the thought and hear the voice to it, and make options
with that voice

Many, many more

Going MORE into the feeling

From that going less

The feeling plus constricted posture and breathing
the feeling plus upright posture and breathing

The feeling plus gratitude

many more

Where is it in us: make it more intense

Find the edges'

Sensing that part, plus the arms and legs

Sensing that part, plus looking outside of us and hearing outside of us

Movement and that sensation

Many, more


This feeling as if we have forever to live,
this feeling as if Life is this moment now

This feeling as a story people laid on us:
who is the real us underneath

This feeling watched from emptiness

Much more

I consult by phone.
and you can go and go and go
with this.

I hope you do.


Labels: , , , ,

Friday, August 05, 2011

Who is we

who is we?

You know the you in You
how sternly judges and looks down
You and him and her
growling out a string of whatever
with the undercurrent:
You are yuk

That one's not You

And the other side
Gestalt called it the underdog
we can call it the Victim
it looks out from it's sad little hole,
and thinks how mean, rough tough ufair
awful everyone
everything is
especially the long long long ago parent/ ex-spouse/ trauma
such pain, the scabs peeled back daily
as proof

that one's not you either

so what's left?

Go quiet
beneath the voices
any voice
listen to the birds and the wind
sense the spine and your fingers and toes and skin
look up into the blue, blue sky
don't talk even about how beautiful it all is

just experience:
that's you

Labels: ,