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| A mandala painting, via icollector.com |
FUCK FEAR
There’s a lot of talk of fear of failure
If you waste your youth
As I did mine
Actually, I was a prolific waster of youth
Or maybe I just had a lot to squander
I never thought I’d live this long
My opportunities to fail were legion
And if you ask my parents I was still a greedy bitch
Fear of failure sounded like a Zen koan to me
Of course I longed for fame and riches
It consumes every child’s dreams
But I’m a grown up, mostly, now
I couldn’t give a half-hearted fuck for failure
And I’ve given one, even more, for things prized higher
The mercy fuck, the-I’m-too-tired-to-not give a fuck, the “a fuck for this guy will actually be a service to the world at large” fuck
But I’ve never fucked for success
Only an idiot writes poetry seeking fame and fortune
That’s why they invented screenplays
Though the odds are better if you buy a lottery ticket
Success doesn’t elude poets because they fear success
It eludes us because our primary audience is other poets
The Irish are correct when they say
“If you want to see how God feels about money, see who gets it”
Success may be getting what you want, but invariably a new place called “success” appears just at the horizon.
If you are quick, you’re going to figure out that the new place is the same as the old place, and you’re just a hamster on a wheel.
If you’re stubborn, it might take a few more tries, but on the bright side, those hamster wheels are great cardio, and will get you a magnificent ass.
I’m no believer in perpetual happiness as an end goal
Failure is the salt that sweetens tequila and caramel
It’s the amuse bouche life provides
So the joyous times, however brief, are worth the striving
Even if they occur when we’ve just stepped in dog shit
Or when bird’s aim was perhaps too good, and covered a shoulder in crap
Or are followed by having the one to whom we risked our heart return it
grilled in garlic and hot spices
No matter how wonderful, how special, how destined for greatness in another life, any of us may be
There are billions and billions of us
At least a billion extraordinary folks who will never know what my parents called “success”
Special has never been the criteria that determines worldly accomplishment
What is the actual price of trying and failing?
It’s exactly the same life we already have
Fear of failure is only meaningful if success is important
And what moron decided that?
Besides my parents, of course
Doing what you love, what you are moved to do by unseen forces,
For no good reason beyond the fact that time disappears while you’re doing it
And every once in a while, create something you love,
Regardless how anyone else feels about it
(As long as you aren’t expecting anyone else to support your endeavors)
That IS success my friends, and if it’s what you’re doing
You have made yourself a very special life
AGENT OF CHAOS
I'm an agent of chaos sent to make sure calm consistency is the one thing he never gets.
Be careful what you wish for, and never make a vow you can't keep
Ask to churn the depths of Samsara
Don't expect margaritas with salt
The Lamas speak of terrifying charnel grounds to do your Chöd practice
When the demons, ghosts and monsters come for you
Stay still, and offer your own flesh to feed their hunger
Silly bunny, kicks are for kids
The punchline to an old joke I don't remember, but still think is funny as hell
I’ve never been in a graveyard that scared me
It's where we went to get stoned
Visiting the Sharon Tate house on Cielo, Murder in this sky
But I've been tortured by doctors my whole life
So the demons come to me
Mostly kind, with good intentions
The sort that will probably ensure that these words die barely heard
And I offer up my flesh with the best humor I can muster
I know a charnel ground when I'm in it
And I’ve never broken a vow
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