Foggy Friday

Its foggy Friday.
Looking through the mist
It seems as if I am twenty years old
Its seems that speed
And the direction of my thoughts
Aligned with the speed
And the direction of the world.

But its not true.
I am really not that young
And definitely not that
Disciplined and strong
I spend my days
Just fighting trough the fog
I spend my days
Just fighting with the world.

And that's the way it is.
When foggy Friday comes
Its difficult for us
Not think of our past
Just gazing into fog
Forgetting what we are
Forgetting that its time
Get up and fight the world.

tears

the business of crying
is not an easy business
especially for men my age.

but there are times
when the clouds are really low
and you have nothing to hold on to.

its okay. let it out.
count to five as if you are lost
and then stop.

never again. not until the clouds
are lower than they are now or
until you are alone among trees.

tears are immortal symbol
of both helplessness and hope.
cherish them.

use them to wave 'good bye'
to your soldier grandfather
to lay him to rest among trees and clouds.

tears are ancient companion
of love and death.
be your tears.

Magic quadrant

The mind circa 2006
Is weaker than the mind circa 2000
The body circa 2006
Is stronger than body circa 2000.

And this version of mind body problem
Is not entirely unusual
Among the former intellectuals
Who discovered the pleasures of sports.

The irony in their story
Is that they have it backwards
The glory in their story
Is that they have it all.

If you look across the times
You will see that they are living
In the very magic quadrant
Of this mind body problem.

So by spanning space and time
They become awaken Buddhas
And they strive to be awaken
And they try to have it all.

Their bodies, their minds
Fly through different dimensions
In the marathon of seeking
Peace and meaning in the world.

Death

Death is neither sparse nor dense
At first it is burning hot
Then it is itching cold
With salty waterish in between
Getting inside our souls
And under our skins.

It walks through the front door
Both unexpected and inevitable
Pale, calculating, numbing
And spares us the humiliation
Strips us of our origin and memories
Turning us back into the raw material.

And those who stay after we go
Will stay full of tears and fear
Forever changed by our last glance
Shaken and humble, speechless
Tightly gripping the empty space
Mindful of their very own mortality.