Interpretation of a dream

I found my passion

it was a picture I saw
a long time ago in
Time magazine of a monk
Indian style on a sidewalk.
He was on fire and
according to the caption he
was silent.  So deep in
whatever else there is that
being on fire was something
else to him.  Something painless.

In the dream I knew that the
monk in the picture was me
as I looked for the metaphor
all I could know was that
there was one.

On the white at the
bottom of the picture was written:

Passion.

And then in much smaller writing set

in parenthesis 

it said (don't look for the lady

in the picture

find her in your arms.).
There was a winking smiley face
that looked like this: ;)

I looked at the picture again.

I saw in this picture

that I found in my mind

a landscape.

This landscape was within me

as if I were a glass sculpture

standing on a lone golden meadow

surrounded by a forest

which grew on the side of a mountain.

It was a particularly beautiful day.

Anyone would want to be there.

This territory was the Earth --

the Mother -- and I was to be integrated

with the Earth.  My mind,

this fire, my figure, were in the Timeless

never going to die

but I can only see them for this little while,

I said to myself.

And then I woke up.

It is true that nowhere is the darkness forever

It is true

that nowhere is the darkness forever.

 

Point a super telescope

at the darkest part of the sky

 

even there

in time

there will be light.

Some Saturday, 12th Grade

Hey mom,  sorry for not calling earlier

I'll be home late, after curfew actually.

I'm drinking heavily and won't remember

leaving this message tomorrow I'm sure.

I'm about to go out with people I don't really know

to a party at a house I've never been to

and don't know the address of

and the driver has only had five or six beers

so he's fine.  We'll all be fine.

We're in the car smoking marijuana

that we bought from some dudes

who went to the city recently.

They said it was the best of Mexico

and the ecstasy is 95 percent pure

so not much risk there

but I feel hot, on my skin,

and my mind cannot be distinguished

from any other thing.  I wonder if I'm here

if I'm alive but I'm okay

it's just philosophy.

Love you forever.

Sorry for the long message.

Okay love you.  See you tomorrow.

Bye.

Samsara, Impermanence, and the Will of Love

Always self-identified as a Buddhist
and so believed that escaping from the cycle
of suffering that is Life was it. That was the goal.
But I've met you now and am confused
like I was before I met the Buddha.
I now think, well, if you're coming back
then I'm coming back, too.
Again and again I'll come back with you.

And I have this poem I read back in high school
getting all jumbled up with my own ending here
and it goes like,
I have many lives to live before I leave.
And I have many lives to live before I leave.

Amidst folly and war and laughter and risk
there is togetherness.
We decide if it is permanent.
And if we decide that it is,
then it is, isn't it?

hold your tongue

You might have ten thousand clever responses. 
It is heartbreaking when you realize that
keeping your mouth shut is the best of them.

I am an artist.

I used to say it with pride.  Maybe too much pride.  But, whatever.  I now say it as a statement of fact: I am an artist.  It is something that I have learned about myself over the years.  

Whether you know it or not, I am an artist. Whether anyone in the world pays me for my art or not, I am an artist.  Whether I am or am not introduced as a poet who writes music and plays a little guitar and even has a few paintings and drawings, I am an artist.  I am that poet.  Heck, in my mind, I am also that poem, that song, those paintings and drawings.  I am those things, too.

Whether I tell you or not; whether you see it in my eyes or can tell after a little while or not; whether you believe it, acknowledge me as such or not, guess what?

That's totally cool.  It's not on you to tell me who or what I am, or to care.  But, I'm just saying, because it finally sunk in and feels kind of good: I'm an artist.

I'm an artist, I'm an artist.  

It's fucking beautiful, I'm gonna go write a song about it.

meu lar no futuro

Eu, no meio de um campo
numa casa rodeada por
coisas verdes, montanhas

um forno à lenha
café e pão integral que compro
da avó do Zé
porque o dela é o melhor
que eu já experimentei na minha vida.

Tudo tem que ficar
no alcance da internet
ou, seja o que for quando chegar
neste futuro.

As vezes, vinho,
visitantes, amantes
deitados na escuridão
especulando sobre a possibilidade
de vida lá no além,
nosso lugar no universo,
perguntas sem respostas
uma desculpa para conversar até o sol nascer.

O vácuo meu teto
brilhando com dúvidas
e propósitos
todos dos quais morrerão

está tudo bem
pois, é meu lar,
meu próprio lar.