Saturday morning

We lay in bed on a Saturday morning in San Francisco. Heat creeps through the cracks in the doors and windows as summer has just barely made itself known, still behind the mask of a March spring that stares back the foggy and rainy winter months.

Laying side by side, our arms barely touching, and looking out of our own eyes. Our bellies rise and fall at a perfectly mismatched rhythm—hers, at its fullest when mine is exhaled, and mine inhaled when hers has released.

These mornings, I have time to wonder. And not only time, but courage, laying next to her. My thoughts are of adventures and possibilities, all dressed in happiness and ecstasy. This, freed from the anxieties of corners and code and other certainties in a weekday world. I wonder about where we will go today, what we will achieve. With all the means in our pockets and handfuls of ends to choose from.

I wonder if we might take the ferry across the bay to Sausalito. Or drive across the bridge and climb Mount Tam. Or even find a corner of a coffee shop to pour our adventures and possibilities onto paper and canvas—thus to have literature and painting as mediums of our ecstasy, just the same as we would have played them out in reality.

I wonder, as she reads a book of poetry that she has picked off the bookshelf at the foot of my bed. I smile to myself, so deeply satisfied to be with someone who will pick up a book to read as I write. I should not form my beloved in the shape of my own desires but sometimes I cannot help it.

Lifetime

I tell the artist she has a time limit to write me a poem.

She says, “I’m an artist. I don’t work on a time limit.”

I say, “You have a lifetime. You’re always working on a time limit.”

Then she looked as if she would cry. But I could see her realize she didn’t have time. She dried her eyes and started to write furiously.

Flashing lights

In the crowd, I face the stage. She faces me, with her eyes closed. She opens her eyes. 

I ask, “What are you looking at?”

She says, “Just you.”

I ask, “What do I look like?”

She says, “Flashing lights.”

Walk away

When I walk away
the things you tend to say
make me feel alright
enough to stay the night.

But when the morning comes
as it always does
my heart grows light
and again begins our plight.

Ego

I’m ego-obsessed. I want power, intelligence, and love. I’m constantly self-focused to make myself better. Even my relationships are conditional on that person making me better.

I wonder: Does this keep me from loving to my fullest? And from truly empathizing with others and writing characters other than myself?

There is a tension: Between me, as separate, acting for the good of myself, and me, as connected to the One, acting for the good of all unified creation, of which I am part.

I must die to myself. It is not my true nature. My true power to do good comes from the One. My highest happiness comes from connection to the One. I’m cut off from the true nature of existence when I’m trapped in my ego self.

It doesn’t matter what I do, as long as: I do it with love, and to the best of my ability. Returning to reality the potential energy inside of me, and letting it return from reality back through me. Remember, that we are all One: every human is you, with you, in the same unified whole.

She

She has the strength to weaken me, and the weakness to strengthen.

Antelope Island

On Antelope Island, we park the car on the side of the road, get out, and run the plains like natives.

An island of plains, surrounded on all sides by water, and the water, surrounded by mountains. In the center of the island, the plains fold up into the hills, and the hills into snow-capped peaks.

At the foot of the peaks begins a much more vertical climb. Slipping on piles of broken and jagged black rocks, some of which get displaced and tumble down, and enlist some others in their fall.

At some parts, we must really hug tight to the mountain face, and dig our toes into the dirt and snow, and balance with our hands.

At the jagged top, we set into meditation to claim the peace we came for. I am first to settle in, laying on my back and starting to breathe. Brother stays standing for a little while longer to take in the glassy water and snowy mountains around us. Then, he too, lays down to settle in.

On our own in the beginning. I meditate on the scenery, opening my eyes to see the blue and cool landscape, then closing them to remember it.

Brother meditates on something else, until I start to make my breathing louder and vibrate in my deeper throat. Brother joins. We are not exactly in tandem; his breaths are longer than mine. We add to the volume, especially when our vibrations overlap.

We grow louder and louder and start to sings in a low and deep mountain tone. Brother instructs me to bring the white energy down through myself and into the earth. When we open our eyes, it has begun to snow.

Love

It is difficult to truly love when still attached to the ego. Because the ego is motivated by itself. The highest love from the ego is what Rand describes: an acknowledgment of value in the beloved, based on the lover’s value system. But you see how this is necessarily self-motivated.

In other words, “I” have this need for love, and it is specific to my own philosophical values, so that the highest love of which “I,” in the sense of my own ego, am capable, is to seek out the “you” which most perfectly satisfies my philosophical value system.

This, is really only an intellectual graduation from its physical antecedent in that we are sexually attracted to the mate that is best suited for our evolutionary value system, i.e., most likely to produce offspring that survive and excel in the physical world.

However, when one comes unattached from the ego, and finds oneself rooted as part of the whole One, it becomes unnecessary to concentrate and channel love through this one particular, justified, and logical Randian framework—albeit, this framework seems to be the highest love on the mental plane, and therefore of the Western world, in the sense that it is at least not random, and the greatest thing one can achieve mentally is to be right, and insofar as we say that what is “right” in regards to human decisions is what is rational, i.e., what is “best” in the sense that it produces the max utility for said human, and utility is relative to the desires and the intellectual value system of said human, then we can call this the highest love in the same way that we would say economically that a perfect buyer and seller have met in the marketplace and found a sort of synergy to produce the most value and therefore are motivated and self-interested in a very logical way to “stay together” and not buy from or sell to anyone else in the market. Still, this is a lower love than one unattached from the ego.

When we detach from the ego, we gain access to a much higher and “bigger” love, whereby we are no longer the same “I” attached just to our one body, mind, and soul with a particular set of interests and values all within our one self. We have now graduated to what seems to be our truest self as part of the One—all of creation as one interconnected living organism—whereby we tap into a much larger need and ability when it comes to love in that we are part of the motivation system that rules everything, which is motivated to love everything, and therefore unlocks us from the pigeon-holed Randian mental love and gives us both the power and desire to express a much “larger” love unconditionally to everyone and everything.

Rand was on the right track when she wrote in The Fountainhead, “To say ‘I love you’ one must first know how to say the ‘I.'” She understood the necessity of knowing ourselves in order to love anyone else. But the Randian “self” is solipsistic, and unaccommodating of a metaphysical reality with connections between us all that make us all part of the same entity, and thus makes possible this “larger” love. 

Mindfulness

I am starting to “see,” literally, the variability in my mindfulness. My vision sharpens and dulls as I watch the picture in front of my eyes becomes less or more blurry.

And the pictures in my mind tradeoff with the sharpness I see in the picture of reality, like my mental images are holographically printed over what I see of the real world.

For example, I see my mother and wonder who will take care of her when she is older; even though, in the present reality, I am holding a half-eaten sandwich at lunchtime. I have entirely forgotten about it and replaced it with the mental image of my mother and the emotions that came along with thinking of her.

Until, of a sudden, I think to myself, “I am not being mindful.” Or, “I am not present.” Or something else to remind me of my present and physical state, so that I really start to “see” again, and register the picture of my hand holding a sandwich, as the mental idea of my mother floats away.

Freedom

I just hope
it was the freedom
you first mentioned
which we were after
all this time.

Otherwise it seems
we may have slipped
into an accidental bondage
whilst chasing after
a breakage thereof.

Gasp

I try to write whole pieces with exclusively the parts that make the reader gasp, so that the reader has to get on reading the whole thing without taking a breath.

Squaa

Foreign to the rest of the world, was our whole manner of living—reading, writing, consuming, creating, thinking, talking, training, exercising, sitting in meditation, learning new skills, cooking meals, learning new languages.

We all were fierce competitive scholars and athletes for no reason other than we enjoyed it and it made our lives better and reached our relationships to higher levels. We woke up every morning going after all of it in a different way, without being confined to the downtrodden channels.

We had each already before pursued this manner of living alone. The relationships, however, are essential. You can not maximize a man’s potential without involving his social persuasion.

A result of our having higher desires, but also higher abilities to satisfy them. A positive feedback loop, where our desires motivate forming new abilities, which in turn allow us to satisfy higher desires, and so on.

Sidewalk

We walk on sidewalks and don’t step out on the street to avoid getting hit by a car; everywhere, we walk on little sidewalks to safely get where we’re going. But I wonder about the alternate routes and the walks on the other sides.

Postive feedback loop

A result of our having higher desires, but also higher abilities to satisfy them. A positive feedback loop, where our desires motivate forming new abilities, which in turn allow us to satisfy higher desires, and so on.

Artist

I really do believe if I were just slightly more attractive to the world, I wouldn’t be so interested in art and counter-culture. At some point I realized that even though I was good at their game, I was never going to be the best. Because I wasn’t born with perfectly straight teeth to just the right family. So at some point I said forget it, and started to build my own worlds.

Dreams and Poems

Dreams are like poems
insofar as I do not know
where they come from,
only that they resemble
places I've been and
things I seem to've known
at one point or another.

Money and Love

I used to think I needed to know more truths to make more money, but money is a man-made thing and truth is not; what I need to know more of is man.

And so too with love: I used to think I needed to get stronger and more attractive and richer; but I really needed only to know more of love itself.

Art

As long as it doesn’t really matter, there is room for so much art in the world. Every decision we make could be art.

Ability and desire

My abilities are not so much determined by the ones I have as they are by which desires happen to call upon them. This makes it very difficult to write a consistent novel, as my desires change and so too do my abilities, specifically my style of writing.

Death

I‘m artistically, rather than scientifically, interested in death; it is the artistic argument which almost has me convinced to try it. But of course, I like to live, and science says I cannot have both.

Day

I wake up
to nearly
the same day
as yesterday
and wonder
about what
we could do
in one day
if we really
wanted to.

American hero

I’m an American; I speak English. Yes, I want to learn other languages and move to Europe, but I am who I am and need to start owning it. Instead of seeing all the heroes of other categories and wanting to be in that category for the sake of the hero, I need to own my own category and take the spot of an original hero.

Before

I think of something and say to myself, “Surely I have written that before.” But when I start to write, and am halfway through, I realize I have never written it before. What a shame it would have been if I just let that slip.

Characters

I have to go out and meet my characters before I can write them, or I will write them all from within myself.

A poem I wrote at yoga

i like to find
i've opened time
and made it big
so it doesn't matter 
anymore

i like to hear
the clamor clear
and really start
to listen

i like to hope
beyond hope
that after this
there is a this
still to be

but then again
i start to sin
and stumble

which is when
i like to find
i've opened time
and made it big
so it doesn't matter 
anymore

Creativity

His creativity comes from somewhere else and visits him at night. It works on it own and knocks on the door when it has something. His only job is to keep reading and experiencing and meeting interesting people and feeding all this through the door to his subconscious so that the creativity wizards have more materials to work with.

Morning

It would seem 
in the morning 
that all has begun, 
fresh and anew. 

If not for 
the scenes and 
objects and body 
that you remember. 

So you go about 
doing what you’ve always done 
or what you planned 
the night before.

City

In a city, walking along, if your head is held high, you will see the beautiful building tops, sunshine shimmering off the windows, and pretty women waving from the patios; if your head is laid low, you will see the sewer gates, the trash, and the homeless men laying on cardboard. What you perceive depends on where you are looking.

My name is

My name is. I walk through this field. It is dusk, and I will walk until I can’t, touching cat tails with my palms and then lay down to sleep.

It’s been three years since I left. I barely remember why anymore. But so much has happened since then that it doesn’t really matter.

Just barely not wanting more

I am convinced that for the most part people just bump around and move along until they get slotted into a channel in which they are satisfied and comfortable enough to keep on going just barely not wanting more.

This continues until the subtle beginning of old age, when nothing can be done anymore. But luckily by then, the desires too, have gone with the abilities. And that scares the hell out of me. Even the slightest possibility of looking back and asking, “What if?”

Game

Life is a game. Stop asking so many questions about the rules; just play and get better for the love of the sport.

You

as well as it was
with you here
i'm just as good
without you near