Assorted snippets of text that hover somewhere between writing and poetry, written by me at various points over the past few weeks.

 

Why are humans so preoccupied with self-pity so much of the time? People should start to see that the world they live in is fundamentally peaceful, alive, beautiful, and infinite.

You will not ‘screw up’ anything, ‘ruin’ anything, or even find that there was any reason to ever worry as long as you stay true to the rhythms and currents of your own true self-soul, which is something to be preserved and cherished as if it were infinite and ever-reaching, because it is! Rejoice! Say what you want to say, do what you want to do, and live free like you were made to.

All this talk of a world where communication is global, where ideas can zip around the earth in a matter of seconds, but we live in an era where people are so afraid to say what’s actually true, for really no reason at all! It’s very silly.

Faces face the altar like the planets face the Sun. Lives which may seem at an end have hardly yet begun.

The frameworks you have for the analysis and interpretation of the world around you will always be flawed and incomplete. The universe will always exceed all construction. Approach each day as if you were a babe, open to all possibility, and all truth.

Be not spiteful. Dwell not in sadness or in darkness. All life and all death is one great cycle, one universal round. All the temporary species of the world are the descendants and the predecessors of the same unifying perfection, and this perfection is the core of all. Your heart is filled with this same truth, and all the true things you do are full of its splendor and its grace. All your problems and sorrows are just scraps of paper in the serene gale of living. Do not flap wings; let the gale carry you on towards the pearly east edge of the sky. Stop. Look. Inhale. Be drowned in love.

The quest of art, philosophy, and words for truth is like trying to catch mist in a butterfly net … truth eludes every capture, defies any frame, because that is what makes truth, truth: it is a total unstoppable ecstasy of the heart.

At times in our life when the immutable force inside us, the eternal love, leaks through our bodies and permeates the world outside, some quality of its grace reflected in a story, in an image, in a note … this is how the zygote of an idea comes about. With proper gestation and nurturing, the idea, the art, can develop fully, and exit out into the world as a replica of that secret power inside everyone’s heart.

Out of the sky
Come the great trees,
The first children,
Roots made of silence
Leaves made of love

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