Showing posts with label Zen. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Zen. Show all posts

Monday, July 24, 2017

Life hacks

I have no idea what to tell you. I can tell you what I know from personal experience, which I'm afraid doesn't count as a universal rule. Bet let me compile a list anyway.

  • I don't think this level if existence is fair. I mean, how can anyone talk about fairness when there are kids with cancer, or leukemia? How is that in any way fair?
  • I don't know if there is any kind of higher order or justice. Judging by the fact politicians who destroy the lives of millions live just fine and thrive, there is no justice, human or otherwise.
  • Good deeds are not rewarded and bad deeds aren't punished. Just look around you.
  • Nothing happens for a purpose, or if it does, don't delude yourself that you know what that purpose is.
  • People are greedy, lazy and hate responsibility. Although they can do the greatest good, more often than not they'll choose to crawl in the mud and fling shit at each other. It's easier.
  • Love can't save you, because it isn't love unless you know yourself first. Knowing yourself is a life-long pursuit and not for the faint of heart.
  • Understanding doesn't exist. You can't understand others when every person grew up in a different way, trapped in their bodies and their senses, with so many different traumas, prejudices and cultural and religious norms clouding their judgement. Compassion, on the other hand, does exist.
  • Death isn't the answer the same way life isn't the answer.
  • I don't think anything we do makes the slightest difference on a greater scale. I mean, we count less than an amoeba's fart on the grand scheme of things, and I doubt there's a grand scheme of things to begin with.
  • Art matters only if viewed from within the human experience. For another species, our art probably means nothing.
  • Life is probably completely meaningless. What you do, or don't do, changes nothing on a large scale. I don't know if it's always been like this or something sealed this world in a bubble outside the reach of what I understand as divine. But that's how it is.

Okay then. If you take all these things out of the equation, what are we left with?

We're left with each other. And we are left with ourselves. 

My opinion? There is absolutely nothing I can do except keep on trying, because effort is what makes you build character. By character I mean what the Victorians meant. Honesty, self-discipline, commitment, and conviction. Character is in turn what makes one accept whatever life throws at them with a modicum of grace and dignity. And that's about the only power I have in my possession. That, and the ability to make the lives of the ones I love a little better by being in it.

That's my take on it, and it helps me sleep better at night. Take it or leave it. I can only talk about myself anyway. I am trapped in me. I'm sure you understand.

Monday, May 01, 2017


Photo by Alessandro Carboni

Heart within, as well as without,
Remove the barriers I've raised to your grace.
Soothe me at night, when doubt tortures me.
Push me through the day when every moment is agony.
Give me solutions my mind can't conceive.
Fill me with hope when life crushes me.
Embrace my darkness when I am scared of it.
Help me make every moment meaningful. 
Offer me understanding when I am given none.
Help me live with dignity while blind dogs snarl at my heels.
Offer me the justice this world denies.
Let me cross the bridge with no fear or regret.
May the skies of Forever take me
and let me rest inside you.
Thank you.

Saturday, February 11, 2017

The nature of daylight

I extend my hand in the twilight. The wind is blowing, the sky a mixture of blue and grey. The clouds travel fast, they rush out of view to other, faraway skies. The pine tree in my garden seems to shine; the lighter green ends of its branches are pale, diffused, in their own way luminescent. Further from the tender end, the foliage is darkening into cypress green and black. The tree slowly bleeds green into the approaching night while black engulfs it more and more, the nests of shadows in it growing, extending, darkening. It's a sight to behold.

The characters inside my head are chatting with each other. Each has a past, a present and a future. How can they not be real, if they have a past and decisions they regret, and mistakes, and people they've loved, and others that have persecuted them? Why are their lives any less important or real than mine and your life? What makes this overrated reality more important than countless others? I guess the answer would be, that's the reality you have at your disposal. But is it?

Can you tell reality apart from dreams? Some dreams I have are so real, so lifelike, that this reality pales in comparison. I've dreamt of the moment I came into being, not this lifetime, not this body. I was floating in a calm, shallow, warm sea, tranquil and fully conscious. Everything was black. There were no stars in the sky, no lights in the sea, because it was not now. There were no lights because there was no universe yet. No suns, nebulae, nothing. I was there and behind me was my mother. Paradoxically enough, or maybe not at all, there was no father. My mother was holding my head in her hands as she was pulling me out of the primordial sea and bringing me into being. Making me, not birthing me. Whole and conscious. Not a baby.

Shamans claim this reality is the dream, while dreams are far more real.
The first sign of shamanic talent in a person is that they start to go mad.
I'm not a shaman. 

This is not real. This reality, this state of being is not real. The pain you experience, the decisions you make, the things you consider important, none of it is real. But this does not make it any less important.

I remember watching my world die. The stars were falling from the sky like rain, moving erratically, burning, and my mother was behind me. I wanted to run, to hide, but where can you hide when the world ends?

Energy is never destroyed, only transmuted into something different. It perpetually changes forms like a little child wearing Halloween costumes, and believing, really believing in their role. Omnia mutantur, nihil interit. Everything changes, but nothing is truly lost.

The only thing we have is Love.
There is no time, no place but now.
What an astonishing multitude of boundless worlds you encompass in your infinite wisdom, in your devastating, magnificent totality.
May the Heart, Mother of everything, watch over them tonight.

"The angel Duma's tear, crystalline and clear, filled the vision of each of the onlookers. Reflected in it, they saw mercy, and miracles, and the knowledge that everything that is, has a purpose, and that purpose, somehow, included every one of them... on a deep and personal level."
Neil Gaiman, The Sandman 

Monday, March 10, 2014


Art by

We walk in circles under the same stars that travel in circles above our heads.
Millions of years and still they are at the same place
Millions of years and still I am at the same place.
Blind, useless, terrified, going around in circles, doing nothing and not once realising that
We’re breathing stars ourselves, waiting to be re-united with those above.
Why so much fear?
Because I want to live and life is about pain and estrangement and confinement while it should be about joy and ecstasy and the open skies.
I miss my wings.
I miss your gentle hand on my shoulder.
I miss your kind breath waking me up.
I miss your wings around mine.
I miss you so much.
You’ve watched me die a million times and not once could you do something to stop it.
One above, one below, one in the heavens and one in flesh, walking the empty halls, walking the empty streets, and it’s all gone and gone and gone. Forever gone.
I want to die.
I want to live.
I want to be released.
I miss you.
Who dares call love unholy, when you meet people who see the other person as the living Christ or the Goddess in flesh?
All flesh is sacred
All flesh demands
All is temporary, to pass away, all is forever, all is dust, all is eternity. All is one.
And here I am.
Blind, scared, walking around in circles and never going anywhere.
No-one wants to see. No-one wants to understand. No-one wants to change.
All men must change. All men must die. All men must love.
Circles, circles, circles, circles with no beginning or end, no meaning or purpose, nothing at all.
I wish I could say that this is Zen.

Saturday, May 14, 2011

Yet no man is an island...

Some people are clutching at straws to make sense of what's going on. I am clutching at pieces of paper. My entire life is nothing but piles of paper, heaps of paper, castles of fucking paper.

I think it's time to strike a match and to hell with it all.

I am just too tired for words and yet words are all I have left. Words and cathairs as well as cats, the avid producers of the aforesaid hairs. Enthusiastic producers they are for certain. I'll give them that.

Fifteen years old, and with a lovely voice. Raped, killed and thrown down the cliff. The razor straight, almost vertical cliffs of beautiful Ireland, going all the way down to the pounding sea.

Less than thirty. Slowly executed in a concentration camp, the kind of living death when every day you are stipped naked of everything that makes you human. It was a crime to be of gypsy blood. Seventy years later, it still is a crime.

Twenty three years old. Killed by her abusive, drunkard husband for having a relationship. What's new?

The thoughts and stories and little lives circle me tonight, cicle me like large goldfish, like dragonfish, all orange and green and golden, and they all want a piece of me.

Have a piece. It's all useless anyway. I am living a pretty much pointless life. It does not make much difference one way or the other. It's Zen, baby. Zen to the rotten core. That apple is zen. My life is zen. I am so fucking zen that the great masters of Zen stand ashamed in front of me. They slap their foreheads and wonder why they didn't think of it themselves; living a perfectly empty existence.

(The last strings were cut, cut free, cut clean, and even though I am floating the gravity of my own mind pulls me down, pulls me down viciously, and my soul feels like a lead balloon, and I don't want this kind of soul, I want a different one with lots of colours, not such an old, dirty and torn thing. I don't want this kind of soul with the weight of countless ages, the weight of so many deaths on my hands, on my memory, no no no, please take it away, please take it away, I DON'T WANT IT ANYMORE)

The art of living is such an easy thing. Breathe in, breathe out. The rest will follow.

I have never felt about any one thing that it could be such an exercise in futility as much as I feel it about my life. Never, ever in my life have I ever considered something as useless as those thirty something years here. What the hell do I struggle for? Why do I fight, why do I insist so much? Why do I torture my mind over so many pieces of paper, why do I work like a slave and say no to so many things, and put up with so much bullshit, and discuss about so many matters of utter stupidity with such a variety of idiotic people? Why do I bother sticking to my code of honour and asking what would be the best path of conduct, and brush my teeth and wash my hair and all that shit? Why oh why do I bother with all these, give me one valid reason why I bother, why I even try, why I spend so much time and put so much effort in this semblance of existence?

Poor Daisuke, poor little child of mine, birds of a feather always flock together, don't they? You just came into my head uninvited one day, just like we all come and all leave one day, you came to stay and all I can say is that I am sorry, I am so sorry my little boy. I am sorry because I am not a story weaver. I am a teller of tales, which means a witness. I am merely a witness to what's happening anyway, behind closed doors, by people with no conscience. I know why you can't connect. Don't let it bother you anyway, it's the same here. Some things are not meant to be, and I cannot be like them because I know, and they cannot be like me because they don't. And I don't blame them one bit if they don't want to know after all. I chose knowledge and look where it got me anyway. To the madhouse, in a room with a view.

Don't let it bother you one bit.
Just raise your gun and shoot once. Aim true. Make it impeccable. Make it a mercy killing, make it a banquet. Make it like I am sleeping. Make it like I was torn apart by wolves. Make it any way you like, it doesn't really bother me at all. What truly bothers me is this so-called life.

To hell with it all.