Sardonic affectation
Malaised Elation
Confused creator
Crazed creation
A piece of God’s imagination
Partially made
And in the making
A Song of War
Underlined References: MLK, Thoreau, Gandhi & 5 major religions
Prologue
As if books and pens
Would come to our defense,
When they split the atom,
We hid under our desks
Took a third
Of our paychecks
Spent it on weapons…
They swore only to use…
In our defense
But it wasn’t true
Budgets grew and grew
We The People
And lawmakers
Never refused
Sam ground chuck Charlie
Into workhorse mules
Would-be heroes were led
By narcissist fools
The only true heroes
Broke the rules
The only “right ideal”
Is the one we refuse
Act I
The only sworn enemy in all of the land
Is the dutiful faith of an ignorant man
When good men do the bidding of tyrannical minds
It’s good men who’ve committed the most ungodly crimes
The left blamed the right, and the right blamed the left
The north blamed the south, and the east blamed the west
Christians blamed Muslims who blamed Hindus and Jews
Everyone else blamed social media and 24-hour news
Every side stood for some elusive cause
Though no one knew exactly what it was
Each party devised its own makeshift enemy
Justice waged war on freedom vs. liberty
They all pointed fingers above from below
Guiltless blame compounded as it passed up the totem pole
The whole world became a reenactment of Nuremberg Trials
No one took responsibility, and everyone complied
They called peace a weakness and carnage a strength
It took a thousand times more courage to resist than to obey
This is the One Truth that gets lost in the trust:
Corruption can’t function without us
Friends became soldiers, rife with vengeance
Dying was the Catch-22 of winning
The colonel said, “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
No matter what happens, God’s just testing us”
Part and parcel, impartial, not impugn, coerced
Every last soldier rode home in a hearse
Dug into their trenches, as they laid in wait
They died for three inches of foreign terrain
The pageantry of death, a flag draped over a coffin
They sounded a bugle, shot their guns off at God
The pomp and propaganda rallied more for their cause
And that’s how the war carried on… and on…
Act II
This sphere has no sides from where God sits
Yet everyone’s assured, “God wants our side to win”
They say, “Everything in this world kills for a living”
Yes, but who in this world has the will to forgive us?
If death was your duty, death was your only friend
There were 8 billion ways to lose and only one way to win
The only “united nations” were the Ticos and Swiss
Who laid down their arms and unclenched their fists
The only “good guys” took aim to miss
The only “good guys” resolutely resist
The blind led the blind with an eye for an eye
They all used holy books to justify their crimes
From slavery to war to mass genocide
Everyone always said God was on their side
Of the dove and the lion of Mecca and Zion
In the words of Jibreel and the tears of Jeremiah
Violence is the lost cause of the mire of maya
The only real fight is with the silence inside us
Act III
The servile servants of the sycophant circus
Hid their egotist’s crimes behind red curtains
No accounting for actions, reactions fired back
Shotgun always goes off in the third act
Our rebellion of the heart refused to take part
In the crimes against nature before they could start
Non-violent protestors only allegiances:
Conscientious objection and civil disobedience
We are the voice who is always listening
Our commitment is to truth, not to consistency
We’re no-mans-land’s borders, and our only mission:
To remain humane in spite of inhuman resistance
We are the voice who is always listening
Our commitment is to truth, not to consistency
We are no one’s belief, and no one’s opinion,
Nobody’s ideals, and nobody’s minions
We are no one’s reaction, no nobody’s response
We’re no one’s faction at nobody’s cost
We’re no one’s nation, religion or race
We are responsible for the world we make
THE END
∞
THE END ∞
Badmash blooms
Badmash blooms
When his bane is his boon
Poignantly poised
For the plague
Which is his perk
For the blessing
Which is a curse
To earn his worth
Prodigally
To return to earth
Crawling
To learn to fly
By falling
For the Daimon’s Tao
With his horns
For the Daemon’s rose
With her thorns
For the Lord of Job
Rascal trickster
With Lucifer’s nose
Growing bigger
For the bane
Of His existence
Is aptly named
“The Light Bringer”
For Good and Evil
Are just for show
The Way
For him to know
A life beyond
A world of woe
Of friends and foes
Of hots and colds
Of duplicitous modes
Of binary codes
Of twofold folds
Of bipolar poles
Is to embrace them both
Red
Red cardinal in a collage
Of green, brown and gray
What prompted thee
To evolve in that way?
The sparrows and robins
Blend in with the land
You’re camouflaged
For the Martian sand
Oh, avian archetype
Augury of wonder
Lest ye pillage
Lest ye plunder
Blood, wine, war and love
Are the only things painted that color
‘M’ & ‘E’ In Macro Ethic
In the middle of all the bad and the good
Man unmasks the mire of meaning
Malevolence moves among all that he’s misunderstood
His mind mustn’t malign with its misconceiving
Commandments he mimicked and mimed through childhood
Must be immobilized to keep myths of morality from impeding
(After all, it’s his life which he’s leading)
To misinterpret a single word
Is to miss the mark completely
The mild-mannered man meandered Mother Earth
Feigning virtue as he moved so meekly
But the meek will inherit only the dirt
May they still meet their maker, if ever so bittersweetly
(After all, it’s his dream which he’s dreaming)
To moderate man’s moderation
To pursue modesty immodestly
Remove all rules and regulations
Remove all molds of man-made myth and prophecy, monotonously
Past minefields of morality, move the mind in contemplation
Make amends with the mime in the mirror who was always mimicking and mocking me
(After all, it was my life which seemed to be lost on me)
Macro Ethic is the mean, median and mode of all preconceived notions
Macro Ethic is One metric by which man counts all blessings
One unites 10,000 gods in energy, body, mind and emotion
One unites the paradox of all of God’s lessons
Macro Ethic is the union of opposites in stillness and in motion
Macro Ethic melds man’s morality with all his misconceptions
(After all, Macro Ethic is singular, beyond good and bad, hell and heaven)
An Inordinately Buddhist Digression
I guess faith is surrendering everything to nothing, expecting nothing.
I used to expect respect, dignity, love and success, but I'm a lot better off now that I expect nothing.
I guess compassion is seeing myself all broken up and mourning the broken parts of me in you.
Trying to fix you isn't compassion.
Seeing us both as broken pieces of the same nothingness, expecting nothing from you, accepting nothing in our brokenness.
With no expectations and nothing left to surrender or lose, I accept everything as it is and everyone as they are.
What more is there? Nothing.
Why I Quit & Why I Left
WHY I QUIT
I quit because quitting was harder than winning
Still as shit was harder than shit-eating grinning
Sitting was harder than sinning
Giving up was harder than giving or getting
Making up was harder than making it
Giving in was harder than taking shit
The path of most resistance is a bitch
Giving up on noise for silence is fucked
In the newness of nothing,
Everything is enough
Biting the bullet is harder
Than biting the dust
Nothing was harder than stuff
I gave it all away, and I gave up
17 years was enough
WHY I LEFT
With respect to Creator and Creation alike
Good riddance to this world of samsaric psych
Goodbye to the ancient wheel of time
So long to the body, farewell to the mind
I came into this world on a full moon night
I burnt off the remnants of many lifetimes
In my wake, I left breadcrumbs for the fallen to find
With the moon at peak fullness, I left this world behind
Two Poems To Put In Your Face
Two More Cuntingly Crafted Poems Crammed Assfuckingly Between Two Pages of A Notebook Between 7 a.m. and 7:20 a.m. on August 20th, 2023
NARCISSUS FOUND A LOVER, PT. 2
The pain and purported purposelessness of pain provoked me to cram another can of kratom, in jest, to test its ingested effect or affect, except that its an addict who accepts that its better to see the first sun with glee as he begins to peak his head over the trees, than for misery to sew what the miser reaps in sobriety at seven a.m. over me, for it’s him who sees his reflection in the pond every day, not me, yet it’s me who falls in love and it’s me who falls in, and I doubt the sun even knows how to swim, alas, again and again, the past falls short of my whim, and the present rises also again, as the blathering blew me along with the wind, an analysis of beauty falls short of blooming, precisely on time, dead on the vine, a truth only known in rhythm and rhyme, a riddle a riddler could never confine, to see grace in flight, and attempt to own her, a ring to a finger, a cage to a bird, this is the riddler forcing beauty into words, for no matter his wisdom, no match for his wit, no matter how he mangles the words, beauty won’t fit, for it can’t be confined, it can’t be contained, it can’t analyze grace, so the pain dissipates with the mist on the pond, and the sun sees himself in everything as soon as it’s gone, so my eye sees only what I already Am, and if I Am That I Am, I must also be that resurrection, and I’ve fallen in love with much more than my reflection, I Am the lesson learned, and I Am the lesson, I’m the sun and the pond and the past evanescing, I’m the rise and the fall and the wax and the wane, I’m the good and the bad and the pleasure and pain, so when I fall in love with beauty, I’ve fallen in love with I Am, and even the pain is I Am, I Am, That I Am is beauty, again and again, That I Am is beauty at seven a.m.
SECOND PAGE TYPED FOR YOUR FLUFFY LITTLE FACE HOLES
To feel as though this body actually belongs to me, however temporarily, to rid the dread and loathing of the old anhedonia, the phony holy sewing seeds of Sardonia, artificial kiss I’m holding up on stilts of sticks I picked up amongst this amiss bliss with clenched fists, fits of restlessness, shivers and shits, the every-other-day addict arises against the midst, the mean and mode of man-made malaised mist evaporating alone, a drop of the ocean, a flash in the pan, a thought ever in motion which seeks only to be still in a world of dogs eating dogs, kill or be killed, can’t understand, can’t fathom man, wheels of time, cogs, delirious dogs, none of whom are Sirius, and gods to whom I used to honor like this, with words and sounds provoked into being with the artificial kiss of this amiss bliss, a leaf (kratom) or a flower (opium) or a fermented fruit (alcohol), a fungi I found on cow shit (psilocybin), all of which I presumed were God’s gifts, though I’ve learned through the years that each kiss is a curse and a gift which can only be discerned by the tongue after it hit or missed the sense, and the only real value is in the awareness it gets, and the thought is useless if it never sits, stays, never rolls over, these are dog-eat-dog tricks, shake or break a leg, if it’s not still, it’s still amiss, and if it’s amiss, it’s not truly bliss, so the dog goes for another walk around the wheel of time with a sense of relief, however benign, however unholy, unworthy of the ache of life, and the dog honors God with the gift of riddling rhyme, out of synch, off kilter, still in time, disappointed in his inability to find the rhythm of the divine, begging for bread and wine beneath the dinner table, yearning for praise, guidance, or some piece of God’s mind.
Please send your strongly worded letters to this address:
Richard Milhous Nixon
c/o Accompanying Devil/Demon
3538 Gunston Rd
Alexandria, VA 22302
The Serpent
144,000 on the ark with Noah
Somewhere south of Pleiades
I was throttled by Speirema, the mighty boa
She snapped my spine in three
Ida was a coy and quiet cobra
The rattler, Sol, shook the seven seas
Seven Sleepers awoke and threw me over
Sirius, the guard dog, stormed the breach
I sank beneath the waves with Jonah
No one but Saraswati heard my screams
The subterranean river I’d never known of
Swung the Chimah hinge which bound the world to me
Was this Leviathan they’d told of?
When it rises up, the mighty… retreat
Am I caduceus to this mighty boa?
Was She Nehushtan or Chalkydri?
Was She seraph nahash of old Jehovah?
Was this Naassenes’ and Ophians’ Paraclete?
Just as Issa / Isa / Isha spoke of Moses
Would Naga lift up the Son of Man in me?
This has been
A poem by TAFKA LaSalle
Written between crises
Scouring the web for “clues”
October 4, 2023
At Redbug Cabin, U.S.A.
Now for some hand-picked Quotes i’ve gathered after 3 years of kundalini despair, on Why Pain & Suffering Aren’t Always All Bad:
“In our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart until, in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom through the awful grace of God.”
“The way of love is not a subtle argument; the door there is devastation; birds make great sky circles of their freedom, how do they learn that? They fall, and falling, they’re given wings.”
“This dark contemplation is in its beginnings painful likewise to the soul; for, as this Divine infused contemplation has many excellences that are extremely good, and the soul that receives them, not being purged, has many miseries that are likewise extremely bad, hence it follows that, as two contraries cannot coexist in one subject —the soul— it must of necessity have pain and suffering, since it is the subject wherein these two contraries war against each other, working the one against the other, by reason of the purgation of the imperfections of the soul which comes to pass through this contemplation.”
“...that power filled the room. It seemed to be in one’s eyes and breath. It comes into being, suddenly and most unexpectedly, with a force and intensity that is quite overpowering and at other times it’s there, quietly and serenely. But it’s there, whether one wants it or not. There is no possibility of getting used to it for it has never been nor will it ever be.”
“Then Jesus continued and said to them... “Blessed are you who are reviled and not esteemed on account of the love their lord has for them. Blessed are you who weep and are oppressed by those without hope, for you will be released from every bondage. Watch and pray that you not come to be in the flesh, but rather that you come forth from the bondage of the bitterness of this life.””
“And now, because you have known madness and despair, and because you will grow desperate again before you come to evening, we who have stormed the ramparts of the furious earth and been hurled back, we who have been maddened by the unknowable and bitter mystery of love, we who have hungered after fame and savored all of life, the tumult, pain, and frenzy, and now sit quietly by our windows watching all that henceforth never more shall touch us - we call upon you to take heart, for we can swear to you that these things pass.”
“A mystic swims in the same waters in which a psychotic drowns.”
“If you have to ask whether you’re experiencing kundalini or not, you’re not.”
friends & family
”don’t get it”:
“A man receives only what he is ready to receive, whether physically or intellectually or morally, as animals conceive at certain seasons their kind only. We hear and apprehend only what we already half know.”
“A prophet is not without honor except in his own country, among his own relatives, and in his own house.”
“It is no measure of health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society.”
“I have heard many things like these; you are miserable comforters, all of you!”
“They are blind who hope to see it by the light of reason, that reason which is the cause of separation — The House of Reason is very far away!”
“The ‘Don’t worry, be happy’ people have committed suicide!”
More “growth through suffering”
quotes from the bible:
“Be continually alert, remembering that for 3 years I did not cease to admonish each one with tears.”
“[God] will not suffer you to be tempted beyond that which ye are able to bear, but with the temptation will also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.”
“Lest I should be exalted above measure by the abundance of the revelations, a thorn in the flesh was given to me, a messenger of Satan to buffet me, lest I be exalted above measure. Concerning this thing I pleaded with the Lord three times that it might depart from me. And He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore most gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in needs, in persecutions, in distresses, for Christ’s sake. For when I am weak, then I am strong.”
“Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.”
“And though the Lord give you the bread of adversity and the water of affliction, yet your Teacher will not hide himself anymore, but your eyes shall see your Teacher. And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, “This is the way, walk in it,” when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left.”
“Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us.”
“In all this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that the proven genuineness of your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed.”
“Finally friends, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is gracious, if there be any virtue and if there be any praise, meditate on these things.”
p.s. encore!
two taoist parables
on why fortune & misfortune
are indiscernible:
“May Be”
There is a Taoist story of an old farmer who had worked his crops for many years. One day his horse ran away. Upon hearing the news, his neighbors came to visit. "Such bad luck," they said sympathetically. "May be," the farmer replied.
The next morning the horse returned, bringing with it three other wild horses. "How wonderful," the neighbors exclaimed. "May be," replied the old man.
The following day, his son tried to ride one of the untamed horses, was thrown, and broke his leg. The neighbors again came to offer their sympathy on his misfortune. "May be," answered the farmer.
The day after, military officials came to the village to draft young men into the army. Seeing that the son's leg was broken, they passed him by. The neighbors congratulated the farmer on how well things had turned out. "May be," said the farmer.
“Is that So?”
A beautiful girl in the village was pregnant. Her angry parents demanded to know who was the father. At first resistant to confess, the anxious and embarrassed girl finally pointed to Hakuin, the Zen master whom everyone previously revered for living such a pure life. When the outraged parents confronted Hakuin with their daughter's accusation, he simply replied "Is that so?"
When the child was born, the parents brought it to the Hakuin, who now was viewed as a pariah by the whole village. They demanded that he take care of the child since it was his responsibility. "Is that so?" Hakuin said calmly as he accepted the child.
For many months he took very good care of the child until the daughter could no longer withstand the lie she had told. She confessed that the real father was a young man in the village whom she had tried to protect. The parents immediately went to Hakuin to see if he would return the baby. With profuse apologies they explained what had happened. "Is that so?" Hakuin said as he handed them the child.