Red Moon

So I went out in the rain
To find this red moon
I didn’t see it but I’d be lying if I didn’t say
I danced a little

I found my way back to bed
And thanked my lucky stars
For this beautiful life.

I don’t know the ways to express
this feeling of being left or being gone
and how it mixes with this feeling of being right or being present

Its all mixed up, I’m all mixed up

All I can say is that
This time
I know it’s done.


Which way?
I’m not sure anymore which way is up. I get scrambled and tangled too often.
What exploration, what matter, what the fuck is the need to ask the questions I cannot answer?

Maybe the moon knows, maybe Sonnabend knew, maybe somewhere (I’d like to believe) I know.
Who knows.

How Do the Leaves Know When It's Time?

I rarely do.
I leave too early
I stay too late.

I staccato through sentences
I stammer, I ramble.

And the leaving is always the hardest.
Fall fast approaches

It’s Always Lighter Than You Know

“We do not have to be ashamed of what we are. As sentient beings we have wonderful backgrounds. These backgrounds may not be particularly enlightened or peaceful or intelligent. Nevertheless, we have soil good enough to cultivate; we can plant anything in it.”
― Chögyam TrungpaCutting Through Spiritual Materialism

Let’s see here
And here
And here
There is a certain something, Isn’t there?

Before I have even started to look, I’d found that sound in the cicada songs
and maybe in the sound of the thunder.

Sure, I was alone and it was night but now, I question that.
It always feels like, seems like, looks like light.

When the guru passed did we know? Did we get the message?
Lean in,
Lean in,
Lean in,
This is going to be his last word but what is it that we all hear, here?

Chogyam, dear rinpoche, what did you say? “Pass me another gin”?

The Art of Getting Down To It

it seems to elude me today.