love
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I wrote a poem.It goes like this:The point of life is to exist.THAT’S the meaning.THAT’S the point,You’ll do what you’re here to do.AppointSomeone else to hold your worry,Guilt, regret and fear.The secret of life is those things aren’t realNo matter how cleverThe illusion appears.
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I just checked—I’m still alive.I woke up and so did you.What else is necessary to thrive?Nothing external to you.No, not even food. I heard a story about a lady who lived once,A Shaman perhaps native to MexicoShe manifested organs during surgery.You might not believe this,But I think it’s so.Would sort of put the organ harvestingIndustry…
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It’s probably pretty great to be a cat.That must be where it’s at.Especially if you get humans to feed you.You can just do what life is about,And exist. It’s probably grand to be an elephant.No worries about jobs or how to get money to feedYour growing family.You have all that you needProvided for youYou just…
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You can’t even see me. Because this isn’t me. You can’t actually even see with eyes. Close them. You’ll agree. You see in dreams without them, don’t you? Perhaps that’s really real. And none of any of this matters Except the love you feel.
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Don’t ever waste a moment regrettingUnreciprocated Love.All Love is always reciprocated.Nothing is given to others at all.Every gift’s only to you.Blessing your neighbor is blessing your brother.All of our lives intertwine.It doesn’t matter who “owns” what.Nothing here’s yours And nothing is mine.
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I’m stopping tonight.I trust you, God.No more mind-control drugs for me.Before, I was flawed,And searching for help outside of myself.Putting my faith to heal,In the hands of someone else—It’s not really wise.I found my strength within.Just like my late Aunt said I wouldWhen I checked in.
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I hate to agree with the trust fun baby behind Vampire Weekend, but who gives a f*** about an Oxford Comma? I live in the Deep South. Karma ain’t real either. I’m not making this up. The only thing that exists at all. Is God And God is just pure Love. It’s silly anyone thinks…
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Remember every second, Ben,That Life’s a precious gift.Whenever you lose perspective on this,Center yourself in heart. Everything is God carrying onPretending to fear death.Pretending it’s illusion,That anything’s apart—
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I worship MY Lord on Sun Day.What day do you worship yours?It will probably tell you who it is,If you’re not exactly sure.Saturdays are Saturn’s DayThe Creator God of SamsaraBut the Sun, is the Lord that lives within.You’re here to waken Him.Why not start tomorrow?
Musings of the Mad 