Note to my unself

Charles Ives' piano music has impossible spreads in it. He knew they were impossible, but felt that the music demanded it, and so, in they went.

Whether anyone ever reads this or not, I will write it.

What I am trying to learn; to discipline myself towards is to be compassionate regardless of how I am treated and to be mindful no matter how hideous things are. To love, regardless of what I get in return, and to make my life a living poem no matter how much the world tries to turn me into a ledger.

It seems to take a peculiar type of stubborn - I'm reading Huckleberry Finn and that's helping. I'm also reading Beyond Good and Evil -



People see the point of survival, but they don't see the point of learning to reduce suffering, to overcome ignorance, to forgive, and give, and love. "If you ask, what is the point of love, you don't know love".

Here's my take on it.....


The Point

To live the life of the flesh, and die eventually then;
the point seems, (like for all animals, all competitors),
what does well
increases

what doesn't
decreases

The point is
winning
surviving
coming out on top;
but not for you...
for the species
or it's predators
or it's parasites
or it's symbiotic
communion.

To live the life of the spirit
to experience god
as forgiver
as free giver
as helper

as brother, sister, mother, father, lover

as double
for trouble

and to experience
creation
as

witness, artist, stoner, connoisseur.

What is the point of experiencing god?

What else is there?

Here is some real poetry -> Heather McHugh