last moments on earth

our last moments on earth are always a surprise
we find things here anew
things that we have always had
now seeing them with a perspective of limited time
when we ask ourselves how we know we are alive
it is only measured by knowing we too will die
we all shall pass be it by our hearts or heads
into the universe where we have always been
last moments are the same as every moment
they are the here and now whether we count them or not
the only question is how to act
knowing that this too shall pass
yet realization unfolds with pollinated experience
where thought becomes deed, where we live towards death
only to see death in life
what a paradox to consider in being aware
the moment can not carry fear or anything we hold dear
put down our bags for to watch the moment
layback for the fireworks to unfold being the fire
wade in the stream to unfold being the water
open the gateless gate to unfold being moments last
we will surprise ourselves being here
if we are aware we will know we wont always be here
we will always be here

simple

walking barefoot
counting toes
a clear day
clears woes away

simple is as simple does
it is what is
and not what was

sitting silent
grass and skin
words set free
a mind not me

simple is as simple does
it is what is
and not what was

empty knowing
finding wise
experience
never nonsense

simple is as simple does
it is what is
and not what was

inhale simply
simply be
simply be
exhale simply

Look Into The Eye Of a Universe

I close my eyes and withdrawal down inside,
and there, the eye of my universe.
In a reflecting pool of evaporating time,
the images swirl.
Sensed by the soul, braille for the heart,
a message which read with feeling.
The slug of humidity breathing sand,
which is known to exfoliate emotion.
A handshake connected to compassion
leading a peacemaker,
as the moon waves the tides
through coconut trees.
The image was still.
The punctured stars in the sky
shed light like fingers, like spiny sea anemone.
In slight angle to the green sea of my retina
was a shimmery shadow of a man,
wading above and below the surface
of a mystery shifting,
with the great horizon of awareness
encircling the scene.
Be it me or be it not me,
reflecting is a universe
which no other can see,
for others would mean another me.
Another universe might see differently.

Unique Humanosity

I’m just a simple man,
Singing a simple song.
Why can’t we all just get along.
This is our unique humanosity:
The innate ability for inner peace,
And inner peace means outer peace,
Means a world that gets along.
It’s a simple song
Of what I call
Our humanosity.
Unique humanosity
Sets our ability for feeling,
For understanding freedom.
Unique humanosity
Grants us the unbounded creativity
Both in and outside the boundaries,
A paradox of individuality and interconnectivity
Humanosity:
An unlimited spectrum of perceptions.
I say it’s a simple choice
To create your reality
Being aware of Being,
That’s unique humanosity
That’s the art of being.

Enviro-Moments Yosemite National Park

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So much has happened in this world of my being. I am grateful for every step I've taken. I have decided to join the peace corps and fight for peace (oxymoron?). I can only hope to grow beyond my dreams, beyond Americana hopes, and beyond politics and borders. There is much to come, much to do, and already much excitement in the air. I will update and upload, for the upside of smiles is over and under the rainbow. much peace.

Down River

Where to my hopes will foam,
And where to the feathers
Call their home,
Just down river.
Some days I find my heart’s
Gravity in a muddy
whirlpool, a spinning nitty-gritty,
Just down river.
Ending at free will
Falls, the landing of manifest destiny,
The beginning of being,
Just down river.
And to nowhere the universe
Flows, the star silt clay floats
With buoyant divine undertows,
Just down river.

Lifted and Grounded
lifted from my imaginary weight,
what was thought,
weighed more than what was not,
and if we congraulated
based on thoughts,
would we shake each others hands
every moment we were caught.
so why feel that we can go
anywhere from here
when every second contains
all potential, all the same.

Thought for the Day: " One can't believe impossible things, "Alice said. "I daresay you haven't had much practice," said the Queen. "When I was your age, I always did it for half an hour a day. Why, sometimes I've believed as many as 6 impossible things before breakfast."
~Alice in Wonderland ~

All Too Serious

I see the world as two children playing,
My left hand and my right hand.

Everyone is going places, leaving, arriving,
With only one foot foreword, one behind.

The teacher and pupil, doctor and patient,
Need each other to find themselves.

The potter molds his own soul into matter,
Because creation is growing limbs out of the creator.

Tips of mountains and ocean floors, there is one way.
Throw away your razors, everywhere is their edge.

The hilarious are me, the tortured are me, all in-between.
Children, don’t take my dream too seriously.

"We have to function in the world. So don't walk around trying to be smart. Instead what we do is function in the world as ourselves. Be yourself. If you are yourself, then you're safe. In other words, you're not trying to be anything. Just be yourself.

What does it mean to be yourself? To live spontaneously. Most of us live from the past, as you know, and we worry about what we are going to do in the future. If you learn to forget about the past and the future, you are safe. If you live spontaneously you would have no have time to think, and that is when you become the witness. Thoughts are simply about the past and the future. True? You want to act in the moment. When you are acting in the moment you can not think because you are acting. Therefore, your thoughts are only on what you're doing and that stops other thoughts. Then you go on to the next thing. You should not try to analyze the thing at all. Everything will work out whether it's good or bad, whether you're making something out of it or not, whether it's in your favor or against you. All that has got to go."
~Robert Adams~

I Will Know When

I’m beginning this message my self,

To the self that is listening: why did we

Ever separate.

My message writes with the ink of all my thoughts,

With each sunrise and sundown spent inscribing

Hemispheres to ask the question

Of completion.

The slower I act, the more action is delivered,

Delivered in parts.

What it is, it tries to tell, describing dichotomy.

For my cause, I look to the world and that old world is

Just new words asking me

For its cause.

What in return is ever written but absence of experience? To pretend

To be that which I am not is valuable enough.

A process by eliminating experience to know that

Which I am.

When no longer have I plagiarized points of view, I will

Seal it.

When no longer I search for the address, I will

Post it.

And when I know my message is me,

I will open it.

Piece of Wisdom for Peace
Which parts do we see, conditions arising from other conditions, our own projection as to what is real? What exists of itself? We build things from materials, those materials come from somewhere else; the mind thinks of the plan and sets it forth, so where does it exist first? The raw materials all come from outside us. The tree is wood, which was grown from carbon that was taken from our very breath. A breath given from that tree releasing oxygen from the process of growing, so where do our bodies stand? What do we have to prove we inherently exist, riddle me this. We eat an apple and parts of the apple become us, we break it down and use the molecules to create energy. When it comes down to it, we trick ourselves into believing our separateness – this person, that blade of grass, the energy of the sun, the cardinal sitting in the dogwood tree. We isolate these experiences and filter them into bipolar vision – the ‘this’ and ‘that’.
To understand this concept is what Buddhists call emptiness – which means things do not exist in and of themselves. Emptiness does not mean, in Buddhist reasoning, that nothing exists. Rather, everything is a compilation of causes and conditions which appear to us at this point in time to be ‘something’, but we rarely contemplate their parts, how they got to be, and what made them that way. When we start out on this question, we find that everything is causing everything to happen, and when we put ourselves in the equation we begin to dismantle the illusion of who we think we are.
Everything is constantly changing; every moment is different than the previous one. Is there anything that remains constant? Contemplate this, and expand your awareness a hundred years, even a thousand years if you can – you may find realize that the phenomena which you perceive daily is likely to be different in the future. The body ages every second, cells die and are regenerated, mutations occur, our bodies do not stay the same. Despite what commercials are telling us, even a diamond will not last forever; it too is subject to impermanence and change.
It is our consciousness that creates it that way. The way we think creates for us this world which is merely a product of our ignorance brought to us by karma. It is the ignorance of not knowing who we are, and the karmas we create by acting out of ignorance – this cycle perpetuates itself – we continue to create from ignorant action and that action shows us an illusionary view of the world, which we believe to be true. We may be happy one moment, then sad the next, desiring love then repelling it; it is hardly satisfying. So why still grasp to the phenomena of our own creation, when we know it can never bring us lasting peace. We may seem to suffer, but the reality is that suffering is even part of the illusion. What may be pleasure to one, may be pain to another. What is delicious to one, is repugnant to another. Show me the dessert that I can constantly eat without getting sick of it. These things are not in and of themselves satisfying, it is only the thoughts that we hold of them to be; if they were then they would always provide satisfaction no matter how often we partake of them.
The question then remains, what view will bring us peace, what way of thinking can we adopt to remove our illusions and ultimately allows us have a deeper state of being? At any moment we have the potential to be fulfilled, satisfied, content, peaceful, joyful, blissful and in harmony – it is not some future state dependant on external conditions. This path of thinking starts at the only point we can be, in the moment. Awareness and a determination to just fully be allows the illusions to fade away. When we are not grasping, we are observing. Without attachment, sufferings have no where to stick, and we might find ourselves expanding in the moment. Gaining the wisdom of peace is this consciousness which is content in all situations, all places, and with all people.

"To be a human is easy, to live a human life is hard; to desire to be a human a second time, we fear is even harder. If you wish to be born into the Happy Lands, there is one easy way - say what is really in your heart, then you'll reach your goal."
-God's Chinese Son, pg 45-

Haikus

Resting as a corpse,
Rocks become smooth in the stream,
Leaves give up purpose.

Clinging on dead twigs,
The sun reveals every color,
Bubbles are lifetimes.

Rapids create sound,
A mind lets go of hearing,
The rain from last night.

Liberated seeds
Wind reveals its true nature
Geese take advantage

Itching in the past
A mosquito memory
Sacrifice the now

Peeking from tall grass
A strand of spider’s silk shines
It’s not just a rock

Clouds swirl overhead,
A breeze enlightens pine trees,
The sky becomes clear.

John Fire Lame Deer in "Lame Deer, Seeker of Visions":
"A medicine man shouldn't be a saint. He should experience and feel all the ups and downs. The despair and joy, the magic and the reality, the courage and the fear, of his people. He should be able to sink as low as a bug, or soar as high as an eagle. Unless he can experience both, he is no good as a medicine man.
"Sickness, jail, poverty, getting drunk - I had to experience all that myself. Sinning makes the world go round. You can't be so stuck up, so inhuman that you want to be pure, your soul wrapped up in a plastic bag, all the time. You have to be God and the devil, both of them. Being a good medicine man means being right in the midst of the turmoil, not shielding yourself from it. It means experiencing life in all its phases. It means not being afraid of cutting up and playing the fool now and then. That's sacred too.
"Nature, the Great Spirit - they are not perfect. the world couldn't stand that perfection. The spirit has a good side and a bad side. Sometimes the bad side gives me more knowledge than the good side."

Stems

When simplicity courses
Through blood and sap,
A tree connecting biology
Of man and simple thoughts,
Life becomes one. A white
Wall is the written work
Of man and simple thoughts,
The consistency of novels
Never made. How to progress
On a circular path, the addition
Of man and simple thoughts,
Defies the dimensions of one.
Just to be, casts out society,
Breaks down the education
Of time, let it be known
In blood. It is the heart and soul
Of man and simple thoughts.

My Motor

When I was young, I took
apart many toys to learn
the workings. The gadgets
of a child explored, to put
back together again, a drive
to know how and why
the wheel spins and speakers beep.
The motors of remote controlled
cars found new use in coming apart,
in concepts coming together,
I never stopped asking and testing
magnets, coils, motors, all foiled
to only know why was the easy
part, giving up was twice as hard.
Moved on to teenage fascination driven
by an image, hooked up Hondas came to pieces.
expensive education of tow truck drivers,
mechanics putting back together
my questions, my riddles. Pieces
of engines became gears in my mind,
turning for why, turning for how. This
classroom of a garage was greasy, I
spent more time reading, tinkering, bleeding
with frustrations and cut knuckles,
the chuckles of family and friends
misunderstanding why I why, to fend
off my own enemies, concepts and theories
never satisfied hunger, thirst, the hole
in my thoughts that was shaped for only one
question. Now, my training in probing, asking,
seeking lends me science to figure me out,
why am I? The taking apart
of thoughts, the pondering
of the self that ponders, I look for the motor
and trace to the Source of Power.

be the only you,
i'll be me
and reflect the you
in me.
the eyes are a mirror,
the seen and unseen,
what you view by me,
your loves and fears,
critiques and praise,
it's yourself judging self,
why not just set it free?

Tathagata

Thus come, thus gone,
What is between?
Nothing obtained.

Thus come, Thus gone,
How many times?
Never lived it.

Cricket chirps in night; existing.

Thus come, thus gone,
Did you see who?
Nobody there.

Thus come, thus gone,
Why do you say?
Never named it.

Rain showers over grass; nature.

Thus come, thus gone,
When is it so?
Not serious.

Thus come, thus gone,
Will it return?
Never dreamed it.

Cup of green tea brewing; emptied.

Nothing obtained, never lived it,
Nobody there, never named it,
Not serious, never dreamed it.

Thus come, thus gone; Tathagata.

Backstage

A change of form, different colored
Clothes and thrift store masks, creation
And re-creation. Do we weep with the changing
Leaves, do we lament when they fall
To give life to the earth? Understand the everlasting
Principal, to have no attachment eating your drumsticks,
A best friend dead and you’re swatting at flies, when
People starve in silent African lands and people blown
By the falling of a silent bomb, understanding a change
Of form, nothing dies but concepts. It is selfish to ask
Monotony, it all stays the same but never in front of our
Eyes. It’s just a change of form, from the wardrobe
Of the seasons, it’s creation and re-creation.
When children become the teachers, when grandparents
Complain it’s not how it used to be, they don’t
Really see that it’s always been the same, in and
Throughout all things, the undying principal eternal
Makes puppets and divine plays for itself, poor
Become beggars, rich become presidents, a swan stays
In the pond, a chicken is caged and slaughtered,
A murderer is euthanized, a child is diseased. We build
Monuments out of fallen forests to glorify
Fallen heroes, yet never glorify this fallen moment. We
Are creating and we are re-creating. The self
Hums to itself, the self knows only One Self.

I AM THE SUN

I AM THE NEVER SETTING NOW,
I AM THE SILENCE STANDING THE HORIZON,
I AM THE ALL PIERCING RAY OF AWARNESS,
I AM THE THOUGHT UNLIMITED ALWAYS NEAR,
I AM THE DAWN AND DUSK IN EVERY BREATH,
I AM THE BURNING FUSION OF SELF REALIZATION,
I AM THE SOURCE, I AM THE SPARK, I AM.

Ablaze

I search the freezer with mind, Sweat bubbling
On the tips of baby hairs, air sweltering and stagnant,
The wind cures embers, pavement black, flesh
Buckets burned, evaporation wounds, mind
The freezer found, Opened to let the cold condense into a thick
White rolling fog, a crisp plastic bag frozen
With soy, let the rambling blood cease, the snow
Flake door with suction
Magnetized, sealed to skin on my shoulder stung with
Ice, tap-water white, medicinal and potent, Dropped
In a chasm at poles, snapping dynamics, dry,
Compressed, conditioned, at the moment I have
No unit, ablaze with chills.


To Peel a Banana

An elongated elation
Banana with a crunch in whole grain cereal
Banana as a quick pick me up of insulin
A cramp defender packed with potassium
Sweet and salty with Peanut butter protein
A tropical climate brought
A peel, a peel, a peel
Banana mashed in cooked oats
Banana sliced to company fellow fruits
Over ripped bruised to blend, bake, and rise
A secret banana in pocket
A locket for taste to remember
The taste of tropics which the eye never sees
A bite of hard shelled green boomerangs
Antiperspirant on the palate
Banana splits into three
A fleshy Tri-chotomy
I’ve held finger sized bananas
Bananas in yellow bunches
Thai fried in coconut batter
To peel a banana is a process
Begun with a seed
In the ever equatorial sun leafed jungles
Bananas are regional
Yet the stomach draws no borders

Angles or Demons

Angels or demons,
Can’t we just be?
Look at paws
To see a part of me
Dissected.
Who can I see,
Reflected,
With a veil
Shading?

Adding to the list
Of limitations,
Charting the path
To imprisonment.
Where is the problem
In letting things be?
All things be or else
They wouldn’t be.

Isness I AM.
This business
Of boxing
Squares
Leaves no room
For circles.

Entities from One,
That never defines
Should and Shouldn’t,
None be evil,
None be good.
Man sets his
Standard
To stay in suffering.

As all is divine,
In the thought
Is where we
Confine
Connection.
Dismissing selves
Miss the path,
Of no path
But being bliss.

A Birth to Night

I recognize my God,
To not employ faith
Anymore. The reflecting saw
How to accept the vain
In a leaf as its own.
I drawl my inherited
Claim. Sleep no more
Takes me with outstretched arms
Pleading to let a dream
Rest at the wake. I bless
A transition into the right
Light of thought, to kiss
A dimension of twinkling
Dirt and blackened root. A mess
As birth smiles.

The Last Asking

She called me again with wanting

Stinking on her breath, this time
Was the last time, I was asleep
Until the dream desired more,

I am angered
That she only sees me

As a tool and banker, I still give
Her time, a Friendship pulls
Buckets until the well of response

Runs dry, once more I have

To give out of sweeping love
To hollow my heart larger

To know there is
Enough.

As It Is

Flowering
To connectivity takes petal
To petal, an expanding
Of chest, a breath
Of giving, being all
In a body emerging without
Suckling, another breath

Of giving, reading the world
As an autobiography
Of a seed, cycles of yourself
As a creator and gardener,
With moments

To fertilize, and one plant
To care for, our earth
Is round, our bodies
Are round, our spirits circle
Enslaved neurons, life dies
As we see it, immortal
As we live it.

See, Answer.

How many births, how many
Deaths must I see before me,
Before I will see, as stillness,
I count time in numbers before
The Roman Christus calendar,
How many risings, how many
Settings, look up but to see the orange
Fettered cloud whitening, one
Before, one behind – grey
And curved for darkness,
A shimmer of one more
Gone, a reflection of past again,
So I say how many until I
Weather, loosing grip willingly,
To the core of my eye where
I will see,
A day in perspective,
Elephant, mosquito and
A turning away and to,
A revolution not counted
By them, yet number to us,
What are the additions for, when
We can multiply the living
Of a second and get the same enduring
Answer.

Peach Memories

My palm holds the
Texture of security and
Sent of endless summers
And nectar squeezed from
Lips of passions past.

But now I hold the memory
Before I entered this
Flesh dance of destiny.
How about this peach, forever
One letter away from peace.

EMF
I am trapped in the hollows of incandescence.
The penetrating hums of air conditioners
This summer night, makes me feel
Cold in search of a healing space.
I stroll empty of my human silence.
The electricity numbing a humanity
Mesmerized by light, makes me forget
Of wisdom only legible by night.
I am blind in the fields of fluorescence

Much can be learned by listening. I fear we have placed too much emphasis on sight, that we are blind of our other senses. Are not they just as adequate at perceiving? Indeed we have overdeveloped our sense of eye sight as to practically neglect our other senses, and nearly loose our even finer ones. For is not everything just a vibration, a switching of on and off of nerves, this binary code that sends messages to the brain – 0 or 1? How else could we model our computers? Our senses are just developed to pick up different frequencies of these vibrations, and these vibrations may have infinite frequencies, for the breadth I can not know of. Science has found that the brain can only process one of our senses at a time. Though our neurons are quick, at any moment we limited to use only one of our senses. This theory I have found to be true, for when I deeply listen to music I seem to forget my surroundings, even when my eyes remain wide open. I have come back from a delightful symphony to recall I don’t remember seeing anything at all! Ask a blind person what do they perceive and they may tell a world of sounds and textures, a world alien to most of us sightseers. The Rishis of India are seers, though one can not compare our common sight with theirs. They see the divine in everything – a frequency lost unto the majority. Indeed it is yoga that teaches me to perceive the more subtle vibrations of life through blocking off the lower senses, and concentrating on a different channel of receptivity. So I say if you want to know the beauty of the world, shut your eyes and listen first. You may then be propelled to take deep breath in through the olfactory and learn what is afloat. Above all, follow your intuition, do not trust your eyes but your heart, for it is the greatest perceiver we have. When your heart is able to listen to the heart of all things, then it may speak as well. And when your heart speaks it can only sing of bliss; this is the only frequency that may befall the ears of Truth. So when we are ready to fully see our reality we need only to ask with the vibrations of our heart.
If we are to know sound, we must know the soundless.

The microwave scrolls “PRESS START” across its indigo screen. There was one second left before I stopped it from further radiating my oatmeal. What’s one second anyway? One second less of the bombarding waves. One second less agitating for my molecules. Would I miss one second of my life if it was taken from me? What would I do with one more second?
The BEEP.
Finished.
Done cooking.
STOP/CLEAR.
The plateau
Of motionless.

It is not the separation of states that divide countrymen; it is the multitude of churches that estrange us. For what need do we have to put a different church or temple on every corner, save to support our capitalistic desires, competition I say. Freedom of religion? but this phrase is rooted in our forefather’s freedom of economy; every man for himself – the richest men can make the laws. Name, if you will, any religion which is truly free, which one will not ask you to attend to it? It is only the naturalist which may claim nature as having such qualities, but it would be a misnomer to call Her a religion, for Nature asks naught of us. Which religion could survive without any human benefactors? Religion is but of Man, while Nature depends not on Man for Her survival, in fact, she implores Him to do nothing at all. One may point to the Native peoples as having a religion of the Earth, however, we must see that they know nothing of religion and everything of a way of living. If they merely believed, as one does in a religion, then we may not know of them at all, for faith in something suggests separation from it, and they lived only to hold no such thoughts. To be separated from such a power, indeed our source, is to die a slow, chilling death. Evidence of such a claim may be found in modern man, captive in his zoos, possibly in your mirror.
So why is it I was told I must go to church every Sunday? Does it matter not which church I choose? Oh, but it does – it must be the church of my fathers, else I will not be saved. Saved from what? Man creates his own poisons, undoubtedly, and I might be well enough to stay away from all that Man has constructed. I must claim it is only the James which can save me from thoughts of separation. It is Sunday and I take to my best Sunday clothes and hop on my bicycle. Riding through Richmond this morning, the churches are not without their custard. People gathering to enter their holy places spy me with a pity in their eyes as to suggest I might be a lost gorilla, but did they see the pity reflected in mine? The children’s energy speaks differently, their eyes ask if they could worship where I’m going today – “no, no child, you’re already here, you might as well go through with it,” the tall ones say. From one church to the next, as the road I take passes at least six of these medieval buildings, they feel the same to me - all of them splitting the city into race and class. Though I have known solace in a church before, it was only when nobody was around to tell me what to think, or how to pray. There is a peace that survives in the echoes of tall halls, but it all gets pushed out when too many bodies are forced in a place they wouldn’t rather be, with their minds in a place they ought not to be. So I take to the River James as both a place I want to be, and a place I ought to be, for gorillas have no life in the city.

the scene
Save the humanS

Bi-Cycles
The decomposing purple fructose
The battlefield of red stickyness
Stops me and my squeaky seventies bicycle
For a double take
Can it be true? What a rare treasure –
And where have all the pirates gone to plunder?
For surly I can not be the first to acknowledge
This scene
Yet, they float among the outstretched branches
Rubies in fruit form: Plums in the city!
The pavement explains the history of weeks –
The flesh of matured soldiers did their best to carry
Out their purpose
And now the others wait for their time
Following in the same fashion of their brothers
A shake of a branch and two drop into my sack
Another shake and more fall
I rescue what I can, but I can not save you all
It is rare when a city seed can serve its purpose
Even rarer still
Are those who stop their self constructed cycles
To participate in the one they were born into

Seeing
He said phrases like “let me dingle with it” and
“If you want to see God, look into a mirror”
It was a blur of speech, my mind didn’t have time to drink his gushing words
“When you’re asking three questions you know your dealing with a Hindu”
It was like opening your mouth in a snowstorm, with flakes flying all around,
You can see thousands of them, but it takes a while
Before you get just one flake on your tongue
He spoke with satire and a sandpaper Hindu accent
He was hairy too
Hair grew all over, and I could see it. I wasn’t looking for it
But it was almost all I could see, except for his squirrelly brown eyes
He wore a tight white tang top
“If someone came to you saying they could walk on water, you say: Ahh, that’s very nice my friend, now come with me and let’s get on this boat.”
He looked like a professional wrestler
Ready to throw me against the ropes of my own spirituality
He had running shorts that didn’t fit his body,
And a belly overlapping the leather fanny pack
The shorts were maroon and covered just enough to be legal
“When they come with exclamations of truth and dogma,
its ok, let the dog bite the dogma.”
His forested legs shot massive trunks into black high top army boots
“We are all allowed to have happiness in our dreams,
just don’t force your dreams on another.”
They were laced so tight that his calves were molting over the top of his boots.
“Under the soul of things, there’s always something more”
Like a scoop of ice cream on a mini cone
“There’s no Cielo out there, Cielo means heaven in Latin, we got telescopes that have seen as far as four hundred years into the past and future. You want to find heaven, look right here,” he taps the worn glass countertop, “look, oh, but you scratched it.”
His laugh turns into a cough that’s unnatural
“I’ve been meditating for thirty years.”
Out walks the wrestler self titled “the Hindu priest”
In walks the Man – photo badge says department of state
The kind that still thinks he’s a high school jock – calls this place a head shop
Makes jokes about drugs, he bets there’s drugs in the back
He won’t tell anyone
Questions the validity of the magnetic copper bracelets under the worn glass countertop
Conduct a scientifically controlled experiment and sue for false advertising
“I love bullshit like that just so I can prove it wrong”
Cynical – bullshitting, he calls Christian Science bullshit
“I want to see it”
Metaphysics is bullshit
“What are you doing working at a bullshit head shop like this?”
After he finds out I’m a VCU senior about to graduate in environmental studies
He gives me fatherly advice and admits he’s sounding like my father
He hopes he’s giving me wisdom
“I hope I’m giving you some wisdom here”
Oh he is – if he only knows the universe I see in him
“Religion is such bullshit, show me the proof, right? I mean, come on…”
When you have such a hard shell, there must me something you are trying to protect
So dearly
Something so vulnerable that you surround yourself with jagged overconfidence
“Why don’t you have any self hypnosis CD’s? You think you would at least have that”
I saw it peak out, checking if the coast was clear
“I gave him all these great opportunities. I talked with some people to get him a job with NATO. But he didn’t want to, now he works at a cleaners
Where the most intelligent thing he says all day is ‘um, that’s $1.75.’
When I was a kid no one gave me those opportunities, no one gave me anything”
You thought I was your son, you brought me up. I played along, because.
We talked about global warming, bullshit,
“I’m going to live till one hundred and twenty”
Seriously, with a straight face.
“I’m not that old now, but I remember Virginia Beach and how the beach houses
had more than fifty feet of beach, now its all gone to shit.”
The bullshitting made the air smell like Napoleon
Like a battle had been fought down to a drawl
Out walks the suit
In walks twenty something tattooed girl
She buys the magnetic copper bracelet under the worn glass countertop
“I love copper”
Next customer
“You look familiar, have I seen you before?”
God is everywhere
Am I looking into the mirror yet?