Reaching for Nirvana

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If my survival,

my humanity is

my adaptation,

could I be the

Hubris they’re looking for?

 

How could you adapt to change

If change is all you’ve known?

If change is your comfort zone?

 

How do you live

After the death

of security?

 

After the death

Of the ego?

The World in “Why?”

An open letter to critical thinking.

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 The same sights, the same sacred, lonely people. The same puddles, trees, cars.  I’m stuck in another cage. Is this all there is? Transcending through one cage after another, imagining some framework to progress, but we don’t move progress or regress. We move horizontally, shifting to a different cage, but still just as trapped as when we started.

There are varying grades of containment. In the heart of the woods, on the ocean front, at the mountain slopes, forgotten wetlands, I feel most free. The natural is fleeting landmarks to human spirituality. Simultaneously cruel and nurturing. A multitude of spiritual paradoxes deep within despite whether or not we know or acknowledge it.

I reach out to expand, to grow, but they’ve clipped my wings, they push my curious head back into my cage. They obstruct the view of potential in the outside world and I can’t have it. I’m ready to pull my hair out, to mutilate, disfigure, until someone listens.

There’s something to this. The self-expression, a window to Aristotle’s divine manifestation, (http://classics.mit.edu/Plato/republic.3.ii.html) and though I’m stuck in a cage in nature, I’m closer to transcending than ever.

Reality consists of perspective.

Death is not a thing to be feared, death is not something to be cherished.

It is simply the unknown. We only have one life, but we’re contained by the limitations of our body,

we can’t imagine what it would be like to be free of our aging bodies, but we’ve been given an opportunity.

A break from the eternal after. A chance to suffer, to show who we are, and what we’re willing to do with the chords that chime so intimately.

Proving what our love can do in another realm from the norm. We have all of eternity to be in the bliss of after, this is our chance to suffer, and have something to show for it.

This is the time to discover Humanity.  If you can, please, try something new today. Open a book about a subject you haven’t explored, a genre of music or literature.

Please anything to stimulate the mind. There’s so much to learn in the folds of history, so many skills mastered through the practice. It is a constant struggle to keep the mind elastic, but learning to be flexible in every facet of one’s life is an important, fulfilling skill. Curiosity trumps all.

Caught Between Death and Empathy

 

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This is actually a journal entry, the beginning is an echo of my fear of the medical complications of type one diabetes, (For more information on the disease:  https://www.nlm.nih.gov/medlineplus/ency/article/000305.htm) at a cross section between my anxiety over being kept in the dorm room with some falling friends during 2014.

There’s too much of it. I want to live dammit, let me live. Don’t keep me locked in your grasp. More cage than arms, more entrapping than adoring, let me free. The sun shines, raise the blinds and see it. The world is full of many multitudes of beauty. Just get outside and see it. Take a step outside of paradigm and experience all that makes you Human.

 

If writing  from a first hand experience about diabetes is something that interests you, please comment below, and I’ll look in my goody bag and in the following days I will publish several posts on the subject.

Where to Find Relief.

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That life

In all its tediousness

All its suffering

With a  white washed brain

And a luxurious

Lobotomy

(Day time television)

It will all end

The thread will split

The engine will run out of gas

In the center of oncoming traffic

I grab the wheel, brace myself

For another reality

At the center

Transcending in blue light

The acceptance of love

Impermanence

I am not bitter

 

Math 114

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I don’t give a shit

About your xs and ys

When I realize the best

Option are that these pupils

At the center of America’s

Eye of destruction

Watching over the world

Making sure we’re the only tyrant.

The best option being

Unless the all mighty They

Are too dumb to

Understand simple minded

Sentences

For I fear if not

The world

And colleges everywhere

Will be buried alive

In biochemical warfare

And the largest of all of history’s

Mass grave

Filled with the ashes

Of the black

Latin American

Asian

Nonwhite

Poor

These Tired Tracks

My time is like a speeding train

And each person

Each commitment

Is another box car

Each mile

The speed increases

Broken tracks and curves

The chain breaks

I lose a car

My frame tilts and shakes

Praying it won’t pull me from the tracks

When it does,

I pry myself from the red mud

And the shattered glass

Of my fallen friends

Dented and tarnished

If I fall again

I will surely die

And I can see

The boxcar behind

Teeter.

Paranoia to the Masses

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You’re all a bunch

Of lab rats

Being tested, traced

Controlled

Each with another set

Of variables

They push and test

Until they get

Their reaction

I’m their lab

Rat too.

We’re all a swarm

Of roaches

Followed by a

School yard

Chum

Getting his jollies

With each crunch

The sound of murder

Under his loafer

Contained Within Monotony

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Working within the confines of

Their schedule trudging

Like cement walkways

All of the windows are

Barred

And the residents are

Snickering in sinister

Corners

Conniving

Picking up litter from

The interstate

Or sizzling bovine

Flip the burger

We all have our routine

Every one of these cats

In our cells of ever present

Euthanasia.

A Feminine Ball of Yarn

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*Written from a woman’s perspective.

 

Tufts of thread out of the palm of his hand. A spool of yarn slowly undone down curling dirt roads. Our steps are not our own as we’re dragged down the trail littered with pot holes, but we refuse to let the yarn hit the ground as we grow smaller and the man’s smiling face is far, his only sign a taut string following the curves in the horizon. I know I must be minuscule before I can gather myself to that smiling man for I am unwound. The strand frays and I struggle to stay inches above the cakes of mud.