A Personal Sutta
here i am delivering my personal sutta: my life, my values, my traditions, and as it turns out, i’m the only one listening
Could it be that I have pushed away pain and sorrow and failure to the point that I have nothing to gain? That I have dumbly succeeded and that is what drives my misery now. This normal ho-hum day cycling on and on and on. I can feel it, this cycle, I know it exists…
i had a daydream then, as i was being drawn to the noose someone in the crowd yelled, traitor! it was so vivid as echoes on the old stone walls. the rope squeezed and i realized i’ve been traversing incomprehensible distances inside my own mind, while running the treadmill.
I’m just throwing incendiaries into the dark, to light this place up, hoping to catch a picture of what’s really going on.
Winter What a weird way to experience this. . . Something forgotten : everyone has a right to life. no matter the purpose or value I I stood outside on that cool nightwatching the clouds caught in streams of wind pass me by. seams stretchedby tufted fingers and downy swirlslayering, stackingthe only distinctionsbeing darker…
Sitting under spectacles of spires the rain falls like crows feet hitting the street have you ever wondered if there’s more than this the bell rings four times four times the bell rings and you think you’ve found god at the bottom of the stairs by the gutter under St. Ignatius’ chapel, but it’s mere…
We are also gardeners planting seeds in this palm scratch scratch scratching the surface we hash lines sinewsrun through pockets of fat-lined muscle marked with salmon scale boundaryPockets rich in sustenance …
If seeing clearly is the goal, why is it then that every time I see my conditioning clearly I muddy it in the days that follow. Muddied by thought, by my search to know more, until its nearly forgotten. If it wasn’t for this ground that holds all activity the insight wouldn’t bubble back to…
Don’t run my lovedon’t run from that quietude, embrace this silence — without it our voices could not carry, let it be the canvas on which we paint our lives. Take this cell for example. Its birth is violence, its product; beauty. Can you keep it. Can you hold the bursting. Hold it like the…
there’s always love available. our job is to find it. when we are stuck looking for where its not we won’t find it. only when we commit ourselves to finding the love that’s available, even in impossible situations, will we be able to find it. Some trees are already bare, and the leaves that remain,…