We can only grow our compassionate selves by listening to stories
Stories stories of the different people and places.
Stories stories of the several crows and coyotes.
Stories stories of the much love and hate.
Stories stories of the intense hard and hurt.
Stories stories of the clinging grief and god.
Stories stories of the perishing mind and heart.
Oh yes, Stories stories of you and me too.

-

Existed
Yesterday, at the supermarket, I saw something that reminded me of you, something you bought for me, or something that existed when you were here-
I smiled.
Today, in the car, as I looked out the window, I saw a car you once had, the car that existed when you were here-
And tomorrow, as I continue looking everywhere for you, you remind me. You remind me that you existed.
Is there a way to somehow console my heart? Because the mind is understanding. It’s bare and honest - rudely.
I can’t help but wonder how incredible I am, to make all these theories of you still existing, you looking at me from above and everything.
How long am I capable of doing that?
Oh how long am I running away through time from when you used to exist?
Or
Existed.

-

Blubbering on yet another dark night.
For I’ll never be completely understood by anyone.
For I’ll be a little alone forever, and that’s okay.

-

To deal with unfairness of life..
To look outside the window, to see a luxurious car and a beggar sitting next to it, to see an ailing youngster holding onto a wise old man, to see a smoking man carrying a new born baby, to see incomplete construction and hard working people, to see conversations and hear silence,
Take everything in.. take everything in…
Feel it deep in your heart, deeper in your gut.
Ask “Why and How” questions.
Oh to deal with unfairness of life,
When life in itself thrives in resentment.

-

“Giving” is a superpower.

(Choose what you give)

Because it is gnivig the same.

-

What is the beauty in grief?
To every time realise that you were real.

-

The opportunity of another second in life is the mystery of life.

-

It’s all a game of agains.

-

Of late, I have been fond of dark places.
Often times, it is where I remain,
where I thrive from all the resentment,
from where I peek to get a glimpse of the light everyone’s talking about,
to wonder if I could sneak a little and fit in,
to rip my soul out and to wear a costume,
a costume seeming to be warm and cozy,
I can dance and jump around as it eats my skin,
nonetheless, I enjoy the sound freedom of what I seemingly wanted,
But in a jiffy, all again, I run back to my neck of the woods of zero photons.

-

Why! Why? Why. Why, Why…

-