Poetry

I consume ideas

I consume ideas like sweets.
I taste them like treasures
And fear that if I lose them,
I become less.
I consume ideas like
I’ve never heard of novelty
Like I’ll never hear of it again.
I consume ideas to form myself
To stretch myself
To make me   e x p a n d
I consume ideas because
I’m thirsty for it all
I’m forever unquenched and
Forever unsatisfied
I consume ideas
With six senses
With an undone mind and a full heart
I consume ideas greedily
Like they are the green cloths of money
And the best are the one hundred bills
They enlighten
And the one dollars are the token mainstreams
They conform
Yet still, they are all essential.
I consume ideas like my life depends on it.
And my life depends on it.
I consume ideas to learn of the universe that
The Great Mystery has created
And we humans have collectively
brought into our consciousness
and expounded.
I consume ideas
And they are forever unconsumed…

 

Meditation

Eight minutes.
Eight minutes is everything.
Hold still. Feel the breath.
You are the breath and the being.
Any attachments between the world and this soul
Are imagined.
“I have an itch.”
“No! Don’t move—”
With a touch
The world drops
The concentration falters
The interruption is appeased.
With that movement, that moment
We resigned.
The discomfort always passes.
In your infinity
That itch will be scratched.
We strayed from the mystical meaning
Of just being. Just breathing.
For an itch.
“It feels better now though.”
“I know.”
Let’s start again. Let’s forgive it.
Just sit with it.
Eight minutes.
Breathe infinite for eight minutes.
In and out. Slowly.
And so it goes.

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