Mint On A Pillow

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"Cold Brew, please"

"Cold Brew, please"

Not really sure what that means but everybody’s doing it

and cool folks say it

so it must be right…

“Cold brew, please”

How I Know

Stopped looking in the eyes, got fixated on the safe mouth region.

Making love became something we had

All we had.

Nothing, did we make.

Old or new, we made nothing.

If one does not MAKE

Then we are only using what we have once made

That supply is not endless.

If you are not coming closer together than you are growing further apart

There is no standstill.

I believe that.

What if right now you were as good as you’ll ever need to be to do that thing you always wanted to do?

Addiction is craving fulfillment from something that cannot provide fulfillment.

She’s a junkie, but that’s not her name, that don’t define her.

There has always been a fine line between creativity and self-destruction… It requires everything – that is the price of genius.

Did genius create their torment? Or was it the anguish that created their genius?

You know, like how “bloodletting” was the cure to alleviate the evil desires of mad men.

Brilliant or sick? Maybe it’s some form of mental illness, maybe, she can do nothing but paint self-sacrifice.

“The blood jet is poetry and there is no stopping it” – Sylvia Plath… Keats, Byron, Shelley, Woolf, Sexton

What in life ultimately cast us over the edge?

Sacrifice. Every day. The Romans did it once a year, to them everyone was a genius, everyone had it inside them, it was spirit, it came when you gave.

She gives.

Genius is a matter of perception…

yea right- we know good work when we see it.

I am not gloating at my despair, at the terror of my possible downfall, but rather how my eyes can remain wide open at the moment I face my own firing squad.

How can we not be free?

On the day I beat myself down. I walk into a river and climb a tree. I sit among the birds. I listen. I flow with the tree. She goes left, I go left. She goes right, I go right. She sits in stillness. I love her. I sit and I soak, in what she is, everything.

I bow down
I bow down to Her who has conquered the story.


As a calm rock lashed by water
Turns into space and dust, 
Into the places we love most.


To the man who squints 
One lamp becomes two; (a headache ensues)
Where seen and seer are not two, ah! But the mind 
is working on the thingness of them both.


Though the street-lamps have been turned on, 
The lost live on in the dark. 
Though happiness is all-encompassing and close
To the cheated it remains always far far away.


Though there be many paths, ours is all that matters.
Though there may be many labels, one truth will conquer all. 
When the sun appears, the dark 
(however profound) will vanish.


Like a cloud that fills itself from the sea
Pulling up water the earth holds dear, 
And like the sky, the sea remains, without a complaint, without a worry
Untouched, never increasing or decreasing.


Then there is the us, who walk every road but our own                                                 Giving up bliss 
Seeking pleasure.
All that honey in our mouths will disappear if we don’t drink it.


Vegetable, animal, mineral do not understand
The world to be a miserable place.
Not you - Drink the honey that sits in your mouth                                          Waiting to be swallowed.


To the fly that likes the smell of rotting flesh
A carcass with the aroma of patchouli is foul. 
We who have stopped looking within
For our own actuality have already quit.


A footprint filled with water 
Will soon dry up; so with a full mind
Full of qualities that are not picture-perfect; 
(watch the puddle) These imperfections will in time dry up.


Like salt sea water that turns 
Sweet when drunk up by the clouds, 
So a steady and strong self, that works, watches
(without judgments) Will turn the poison into nectar.


If overflowing, never is one unsatisfied, 
If always as good as you could imagine, it must be bliss. 
Lately we’ve feared the thunderclap, 
Yet the crops ripen when it pours.


We are taught: It’s in the beginning, in the middle, and 
the end; yet end and beginning are nowhere and never were. 
All those with thoughts duped by time being anywhere else but now,
Two minds in two places, are doing their best to separate love and compassion.


Bees know that in flowers 
Honey can be found. 
That here and there, happy and unhappy are not two. 
How will the misinformed ever understand?


When the confused look in a mirror
They see a face, not a reflection. 
Like a mind without facts
Relies on that which is not true.


Though the fragrance of a flower cannot be touched, 
It can take over a room or a moment.
It’s always been the little things                                                                                  The unplanned moments.


The cold will turn water into ice, 
Sharp, hard as rock, must be handled with care. 
Those self destructive thoughts, lies we tell ourselves
(day after day) are just the cold turning the water into ice.


Flawless, spotless, in its very being, the way we enter this place
Who we are- can never be polluted. 
Just ask those who suffer over shiny stones, deep in mud 
in the moment they will not shine, but those babies will gleam.


Knowledge cannot shine in the dark, but when the darkness 
Is illumined, suffering disappears at once. 
The seed is complete, the seed is perfect: Sprouts grow from the seed 
And leaves from the sprouts.


Our minds have never been our compass, never been our guides.
Those who put all their weight in it, enter the world with it
are blindly walking into a raging fire with their eyes open— 
Who could be more deserving of compassion?


When sex becomes the cake and not the decoration.
Your cake is so good— and you haven’t even begun to taste it.
It’s like a man who leaves his house and standing at the door 
Asks a woman for reports on the days sensual pleasures.


The rise of robot forces in this world of nothingness 
Has given rise to seeking desire in so many ways. 
The search has left us
Has become outside of ourselves.


An empty pot can be filled.
A filled pot can be broken.
What remains – the self.
What always is always remains.


Your heart will never let you down.
Ignorance is bliss until you touch bliss.                                                                   Until we let go of everything that handcuffs us, 
Then (prideful) can we call ourselves alive.


Awareness will be our key to moment by moment perfection.
To freedom and liberation. To loving our captors. To LOVE.
A glass jar colored green is a priceless emerald; 
love your coke can like you love your mother. Simply LOVE unconditional.


Fake gold will make your neck green.
The lies will stain you.
There are better dreams made possible with our eyes open and hearts set free.
Our body and mind are perishable. Our true nature is eternal. Bliss supreme.


Under delusion’s power a herd of us will rush 
For the water in a mirage which is never found. 
Also, the tricked quench not their thirst, but the media’s-
Saying, that and this is real. “Peace keeping missiles” will never keep peace.


Memory is someone’s version of the truth. 
Memory has always been a story.
This is serenity, this is the happiest I am. THIS. THIS.
Friends, of this highest good become aware.


It’s not too late. It is hard work.
It is perfect and pure, and it is worth it.
It is unpolluted by the good or bad of worldliness. 
Like a lotus untouched by the mud from which it grows.


For sure, I know that all things must be seen as a magic spell. 
With certainty, you can CHOOSE a new thought. A healthier, happier way.
Heaven has always been on Earth, never anywhere else.
In you. In I. Inside us will be self, beyond thought and worry.


This world, is merely a reflection of all the shit we got going on inside.
It’s more beautiful than we can even begin to imagine.
Beyond our imagination, a continuous and unique meditation; 
It is everything. We haven’t even begun to let it shine.


Mind and intellect are our biggest enemies.                                                             Our goal is not too shut it off,                                                                              Rather to know it, become familiar with it.                                                          Train it. Tell it when to work, and thank it, like a loving pet who serves you.


Who can imagine desirelessness?                                                            Nothing to be disproved, nothing to be affirmed or grasped.
Freedom.                                                                                                                        That is what it is, Freedom.


From the things that no longer serve us.                                                                   The flowers of joy and pleasure and the leaves of glory grow.                            What is and what was and where and what is nothing.
But useful. Nothing but useful.
How can we not be free?


I GET feelings

Every step
Every breath
Every little thing

Me -
Inside Out
Outside In -
Still me

Fall apart, Pull together
Still me.