tiny light

buddhism in poetry

the springing

the neutral
infant that
rests weightless
as light on the

and glimpse
the impact

like sexual smoke
into the notion
of emptiness

leap into
an aura of feathers
when the thought

sit between
two naked fires

neither assume
the primitive illusion
of a total universe
nor entertain
the harmony
of its idea

listen for the echo
of the beginning

and the drunken
river of time
that travels
the ancient wrinkle
of being

may shrivel
into a single
drop of stillness.



Nihilistic Poetry


Empty Buddha

Spit it out
Cough up the phlegm of phenomena
The chunks of feeling caught between your teeth
The stench of memories
The bleeding gums that dawn, love and despair have corroded
Hurl the amalgam of sensation that never concentrates into meaning
Release a belch from the oozing pit of pain
Drool a tiny string of age
Sneeze a jazz sound, a Pollock suspended in air
Spurt out onto napkins the vaulted skies
Sweat the burnt clay of slow and gentle hour
Let it out in trickles or exhalations the muddle and the smoke
Be done hurry become empty
Be empty before the fat feeds the fire
Before the bone becomes abysmal
Be empty – hurry



Absurd Poetry

total truth

The greatest liberation
came when I dropped
the pretension to happiness.
It was freedom from category,
from hope, from knowledge,
from purpose.
I immediately recognized
that reality has no meaning,
no destination, no description.
All happiness seemed trivial in its
relation to one condition or circumstance.
I preferred truth.
I did not find it in the philosophies, religions
and sciences.
The dawn of despair set in,
total and unequivocal,
but despite the existential ache that ensued,
it brought with its gloomy light the necessary
vision to initiate in truth:
the denial of all former values.
If existence was factually beyond
the reach of words,
it could not be grasped in recorded knowledge;
it could not be explained by the logical sequence
of premises and postulates;
if it had a truth, it needed to be
immediate and self-evident.
Truth cannot be imposed onto reality,
it would distort it otherwise.
Reality is the only truth –
and to discover what it is
I had to drop all attempts to define it…

merely become aware of it
and allow its transmutations
to speak its truth.


Nihilistic Poetry Blog

if there were

If there were something
to unify
I’d build a bridge
between partial reality
and the wholeness of nirvana;
had there been
something to rescue
I’d make an ark
from the planks of essence,
letting in, one by one, the species
of the invisible –
if there were something
with purpose
I’d carry it on my shoulders
till I could set it free
in a new meadow of illusion; –

if only there
were there something
other than me
around here.


Nihilistic Poetry Blog

when there is pain and surreal anxiety

I am heaping like an
of instances
dispersing as the floral
loop of sleep
tangibly draped with invisibility
the static beeping of my departure
witnessing the burst of egos
so uncontrollably distant from each other
in the topography of my identity
I am lost between the trees and the forest
I can’t see the wood
for the raw wildfire of my
all I am saying is that I have no control
in moments like these
being a Buddhist
would have been a good idea.

Modern Poetry Blog 

a chinese dream


It’s 3:10
I’m sober
reading Bukowski
still recovering
from my 48 hour
birthday binge,
the universe is still
a made-up word
for this bathroom
and the filling air,
yet I wish
I’d be reading
the great Chinese
soaring over improbable
lifting my veil of ignorance
seeing through the deceits of
untroubled by the vicissitudes
of time
at one with the universe
which is to say
inseparably and eternally here
with this white-tiled bathroom
and the air
that encircles me,
in drowning


nihilistic poetry

The troubled individual of our age

For the short period that is our recorded history we have identified myriad of diseases. The causes of many of these ills were unknown until the development of science came along. But nowadays besides the countless evils that are deleterious to our body the great majority of humanity suffers from a disease of a quite different nature, this virus is psychological. This problem has been touched by many people and I will here briefly mentioned a few that come to mind. Albert Camus did not clearly recognized the cause but was able to recognize the problem and he gave it the name of the Absurd (The Myth of Sisyphus). The absurdity by which this disease is manifested has enslaved us in convulsion. Philosopher Alan Watts thinks the cause of this discomfort is a sense of mistaken identity. Basing his metaphysical principles in the teachings of Oriental philosophy, he thinks the human being is alienated from himself and his external world because we take ourselves to be an “isolated ego locked up in a bag of skin.” The true self is not this illusory ego but the whole cosmos. This, Watts thinks, is the cause of our incorrigible dismay. The discoveries in the fields of sociology suggest that the individual has lost his identity, whatever this is, by the growing enterprise of capitalism and globalization. For this reason, the contemporary human being feels worthless and insignificant in the whole scheme of things. Buddhism, in its very intricate doctrines, recommends meditation as a healing source for the wounds created by the chattering of the mind. The problem of thinking too much can be the cause of our interminable sufferings. Psychiatrist Viktor E. Frankl thinks that the motivating force in human beings is the search for meaning. Our inability to find an everlasting meaning for our daily drudgery may be the cause for our bewildering states of mind.

This disease is not apparent at all times nor is it clearly definable. That is why we hardly speak of it and most of the times we ignored it and select different causes for its origin. If I had to give it a name it would be called the Invisible Enemy. And we are fighting almost daily against this unknown adversary, throwing punches in the dark so to expect recovery from our repulsion for this life. The motives of this invisible enemy are unknown, his presence is only detectable by his fury which is measured by our general discomfort. Suffering too much from the Absurd can almost lead you into insanity. In fact, it is almost acceptable to assert that recognizing the Absurd as a real feature of reality is your ticket to lunacy.This paradoxical sentiment can be traced in all aspects of our human life. The moment when all past, current and future endeavors seem empty of purpose, your aspirations and your struggles are viewed from above as vain, and the insipid idea of surviving is felt to be downright ridiculous. We feel as if we have no control and there are no answers to be found. I am sure that most of you may have had this feeling, however transitory it may be. But imagine to be under this spell day in and day out. Suicide seems to be the last solution but even then the idea of suicide seems worthless to the captive of this invisible enemy. No, the person goes on, feeling the awkwardness of living for the future and rebels against it but unfortunately he’s labeled by the eyes of our society as a madman. Perhaps it is time we start sympathizing with these alienated people.

As with all diseases the first step is to identify the cause of the disease. Since this matter is kind of elusive we must explore it from all different points of view. It is necessary to bring into view the findings in philosophy and metaphysics, psychology and sociology, religion and spirituality, and the sciences of the human body. Perhaps one day we will be able to answer this impending question; who are we fighting against?