only game

they talk of the coming the going the next thing the next wave of consciousness, where humanity is heading. i am only interested in me right now, the limitations and the release of pain, from me right now. not tomorrows or yesterdays. endure, complete acceptance, pain, turmoil, transcendence. what is it i have lost my reference points. what i feel now, i dont know what it used to feel like, i cant compare it to some other feeling, it seems to obliterate all memories and time. the weekend was a horror of frustration and anxiety. on top of that i must endure the complaints of those around me criticizing my feelings and questioning my reactions. fine i am going through hell and am keeping on, on into the inevitable end, whatever that may be,for i have lost sight of what that is, and when i do regain some idea, it passes with the next transition, there is no end, no beginning, just now and there should be something to reflect on but the instant doesnt have that in its power. i am a child and old man, hot and cold, fat and thin horny and chaste, loving and angry. there is nothing i am not and everything i would surrender if that were only part of what i go through, but somehow i am not calling the tunes or picking my dance partners. i could close it down but its the only game in town. so i review what has happened and see only what is and not was or will be and i find i can only keep faith in myself and endure and continue and if this is the way to die then so be it and let it come, i have no particular reason to think anything else would be preferable.

endless

the oppression of darkness
the desperation of daylight
where the two intersect madness
the painful reminders of living
in the endless transitions
where is the fire burning
how does the midnight end
endless night endless light
in a unverse of change

the blog will not be televised

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self winding

i approach my life as if it were my own personal toy, a lovely gimbeled swiss watch kind of a thing that i have modified and added on to over many decades until it is like almost part of me. a little precious piece of myself that i cannot part with. the very experience of what i am and who i want to be. but the truth is its who it wants to be and does what it wants me to. i some times have so little control i feel like it is wearing me rather than the other way around. i imagine i wind and wash and set and program and manage this little thing but it doesnt turn out that way. when it feels pain so do i when it is happy i am ecstatic, when it has problems, i go to pieces.how did things ever get this way. i know i had help and plenty of excuses for staying in the guidelines and limitations of my set values and expectations. but i played loose with the rules to a point, i didnt want to be like all the others, dishing out dirt on those that depended on them. but what did i know, what made my choices any better or worse? i feel the pain of torturing myself and easing my frustrations like a dog licking himself after a vicious fight.the light is empty for me and the dark a well of nightmares. some i have lived others i can only imagine.
now i try to do the best thing the right thing the only thing. i stay in my heart and in my psychic, but when i come out of it everything dissolves into chaos and corruption, fright and self loathing, what was i doing , what was i thinking, how can i make this stop?
but there is no off key and the only motion is on, straight ahead, oblivion and damnation, sure collapse and complete humiliation for wanting something that no one cares about but you. i try to make it work for everyone but that just heaps the scorn and anger higher, the degradation and contempt, the pain is like glass shards under the fingernails hot with infection and swelling. meditation comes and goes, sometimes the perfection of release after the agony of dismal obscurities and unending attachments are cast off, other times the release never comes. is there love in here or is that just my own imagination, what can i trust in this world or in the world i think i am in. its all more than a game and less than mine,i feel like a tool and a plodder a craftsperson not the artisan, somewhere the truth is hiding keeping a sharp eye out that i do not find it, so i make my own and wonder, is this what i really am, a solipsistic conundrum searching for validation and experiences that mean nothing except they exist as do i somewhere in this chaotic mess.

what is mine

i look where there is nothing expecting something, thinking there is something there something i need or will make me feel better than just feeling this unending emptiness. i want to be empty but i feel full of it full of the negative feelings about what i have done. nothing goes away and all revisits me whenever i feel like i have been foolish or unthinking or just uncaring about what i am trying to achieve or manifest or become whatever this aspiration is pointed to. and that is the reality the deadly aspiration. the ending of this life to start another that has no face or form. what is that but death and its unknowable face. i eat my bowl of fruit and oatmeal, wanting to taste something sweet in this sour place. too many masters too many saying we know whats best, you dont. your doing it wrong, your not progressing fast enough, your getting it mixed up, whats wrong with you.......
and then the perfect, im just sharing my truth, whatever it is, i still love you no matter what, like thats all i need.sure i need love but not as a booby prize, not for just existing, not for being a loser. i follow my self and find a trail of pain and passivity, i want to take action and get hatred and anger, what i want or need is of no consequence to anyone but me.so i stumble and fall and pick myself up, the desert of my life becoming drier and drier, the mirages less tangible, the reality all too real. its not the mother or sri aurobindo i identify with in all these books, its the lowly satprem and his pain and dejection. i am so undone i feel only identification with the creator of fantasies the lover of tales the believer not the being. how is that for aspiration, to be the water boy of the saints and the receiver of instructions.

lastings

i feel uncovered unprotected assaulted from all sides
and no part of me is free
the joy others feel is lost on me
i am separated from the happiness the ananda
only the pain and attachments are mine
and i am done
even siddhartha says something is wrong
i should be experiencing more ananda at this point
i should not be involved with these distractions
i should not commit to anything
be wary of unexpected enthusiasm
you will be caught up in more attachments and
be diverted from your practice
from this siren song that leaves me unfulfilled
dangling where i dont want to be
committing to things i cant support
taking anything i have and turning it against me
if i could be free of this
i would still be trapped
what i have done is all too real in this world
and the strain of maintaining everyones desires
is killing me

intransient

the cockroaches of the mind, the attachments and fears of the ego. the plane of samsakaras, the well of despair. take your pick, all are illusions, nothing satisfies or destroys. there is nothing that will endure. your own world is destroyed when you sleep, recreated when you awaken, with subtle differences.we recreate the world as we want, as we feel, as we believe and this changes constantly. one day we love our children, the next they are the objects of our failure and success, the next they are agents of our bondage, every moment we switch our needs our desires our painful attachments to that which makes us feel alive. for its life, in all its feeling and activity that we are drawn, yet nothing lasts, nothing goes beyond this moment, for in the next we need to reexpeience that which we just held just experienced, its reality already fading our needs reasserting into our consciousness, we are incomplete our reality in danger or happy only when this desire or that need is satisfied. and then we start all over a new cycle and repeat that which worked in the past.the endless attempts to go beyond, just make it more defined, more powerfully exposed.the truth of my feeling is the despair the wall and well of pain that all these attachments leave me with, the sense that nothing i do can release the pain i bring myself, the things i do for love become the very agents of absolute attachment and bondage. the realization that even the entanglement of spiritual experience becomes the fog of actions that empty the self and destroy the world, and leave the broken remains unable to move in any direction and the force of the hard realization breaking the bones of the hearts wanting, and the souls yearning until i understand there is no way for me to escape from myself as long as i want to be loved.