Sardonic affectation
Malaised Elation
Confused creator
Crazed creation
A piece of God’s imagination
Partially made
And in the making
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
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 ouroboros or caduceus to this mighty boa?
Was She Mehen, Nehushtan, Jörmungandr 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.