Just One Tea Bag from Perfection

Empty platitudes and bullshit bumper sticker wisdom…

If only I could live my dream, follow my heart and realise my true potential,

hear the rhythm of my soul and the great dance of my spirit

then surely a wonderful choir of angels would descend, wrap me in bliss

and abundant, free-flowing dollar bills and carry me away to the promised land,

home of enlightened ones, social media prophets and bendy, good looking yoga teachers.

If I just read enough uplifting quotes and empty, well-crafted inspirational memes

then I’d be sure to transcend, embrace, heal and forgive

every well-meaning, ego-driven, self-image enhancing, surface-scratching urge

that ever marred my otherwise flawless and perfect state of absolute beingness.

I’m just one tea bag from bliss I’m sure of it…

Who would have thought that perfect freedom would be such a strain on the bladder?

I know, I know, I’m just as guilty as the next manwomanhumanbeingthing,

I can’t help reaching for the wild fucking miracle that hangs just beyond the reach

of words and hands and eyes. I get lost in superlatives and wonder,

in star tapestries and love like a thousand burning suns,

in hearts that burst with light and feet that love the ground that owns them

I want people to read and drop and remember,

just as I want to write and drop and remember

the impossible, undeniable strangeness and mind-melting mystery of existence.

My motives are good (I think…)

But if there is one thing we have always been very good at as a species

it’s the turning of well-meant phrases, rules and wisdom

into clubs with which to beat our already bizarre mental structures

into even more limiting shapes for us to squeeze and contain

the great, foaming river flood of life.

The very seed of universe and the one tree of life

held back in chains built of good intentions and the beautiful dream of being ‘better’,

of becoming, of unfurling and unfolding, of spreading wings long forgotten.

That very longing that drives us deeper into the maze

creating door upon fractal door for us to bash our hearts bloody against,

is the key of light.

Draw your heart up to the pain,

dare to ache,

dare to grieve,

dare to feel.

Don’t buy the cardboard they are trying to sell you

and you are trying to sell to yourself

you now it tastes shit and leaves you empty and hungry.

Go to the woods and listen,

go to the birds and weep with them,

let children smile at you

and watch universes open behind their eyes.

Bow down at the feet of old men dying and pregnant women life-giving.

This is what you have been searching for,

this perfect, extraordinary moment

that all the bloody bumper stickers are banging on about.

Don’t let them fool you that it is empty

don’t turn away in disgust as you read another half-truth that points to the heart

of hearts and ends up only pointing where the sun don’t shine,

Never mistake that badly smelling finger for the moon.

Dig up the chest of pirate gold that is right under your feet

and when you find it empty,

do not despair and turn away to search through glitter and dreams once again,

Curl up next to it in the grass and flowers

soften in the stillness and the emptiness within

be at peace my love

and let the great forever be the canvas on which

your simple, aching, holy life unfolds.

‘Oh my God.. it’s full of stars’