Month: July 2013

Everything is unseen gestures (for Rebecca, my moon)

Posted on Leave a comment

A student approached the Buddha and said “I want happiness.” The Buddha replied, “Get rid of the ‘I,’ which is ego.” “Get rid of want, which is desire. Finally, you are left with happiness.”

 

Everything is unseen gestures

ImageImageImage

Her love for me requires 

no punctuation

no pronunciation

 

She makes me 

take my medications

every day with gentle reminders

 

She washes the shit stains 

out of my underwear 

from my colitis

 

She listens to Mother’s demented ramblings

soothing clucks and sighs

she pats her hand

 

She makes supper 

healthy and hearty

for the family

 

She scrubs the kitchen floor

she gets on her knees

when required

 

She gets hospital coffee

for my father

and intently listens to his recollections

 

She cries

when I cry

I cry 

when she cries

 

When the lights go dim

she wraps her arms around me

keeping me from harm

 

The words, when spoken,

are clear
You belong to me

I love you

Be here

Breathe

Man of Un-Constant Sorrow…

Posted on 1 Comment

Man of Un-Constant Sorrow…

 

~~~Wm. Andrew Turman, 2012 

 

Man of Un-Constant Sorrow:

All through my days I yo-yo… up

then down, walking the dog

longer than I wish.  

 

How I love the burn—I yearn

for it to last, but it is bittersweet

for I know that the crash,

though not in view in the flame

of the moment, it hovers

waiting to drown me in tears. 

 

I break the chemical restraints

THEY have put me on

time and time again.

 

Each exotic cocktail, psychopharmalogical,

lasts for only so long

before I feel the scales tipping. 

 

I hate what happens to me.

The rapid cycle, the mixed states, the suicidal ideation,

the surly irritation, the fact that I have no skin, like I am on fire. 

 

I love what happens to me.

The rapid cycle, the mixed states, the suicidal ideation, the surly irritation, the fact that I have no skin, like I am on fire. 

 

A friend mentioned to me that I need to find serenity,

to find the balance.

She inspires me.

She works hard to push through the fog.

As must I.

 

Buddha and Benzos, my Amazing Grace….

How sweet the sound…

High above the chimney tops, 

until the other shoe drops. 

 

Dum spiro spero means “While I breathe, I hope”

and that, really, is all I have. 

That one day, the cycling might stop. 

 

~~~zen image bliss, 2013  

 

 

 

 

 

stk64827cor Woman lying on a bed holding an open bottle of pills Getty Images/Stockbyte

Insomniac Apocalypse

Posted on Leave a comment

“I’m goin’ to hell—who’s comin’ with me?”   —Emenim

 

or as Mr. Samuel Clemens said:

“I’m not worried about going to heaven or hell—I am sure I have friends in both places!”

 

 

Insomniac Apocalypse

by WmAT

12/4/11

 

The clock is 

running    the piano

has been drinking

 

How long can a person go

without sleeping?

I have been up

way up

for thirty hours or

is it minutes?

 

Whirling dervishes

swirl in hallucinigenic nightmares

I wake up scared

I wake up strange

I am afraid

I am never going to change and 

that nothing is ever going to be the same

 

What do you do when 

Another shall be Another’s

forever? 

Do you take down 

the shrine 

dismantle the choir

or pass up the crown

of the clown?

 

I have replaced 

my dearest

with another for

lack of contact

and because the new poet 

is epic in her own write.

 

She gives me 

all and expects

nothing.

Her therapy is not mine

She uses ink and

I use paint.

 

Somehow the song remains the same.

 

1Like ·  · Unfollow Post · Promote · Share

Experiment with Google ‘translate,’ number two. English to Latin and Back

Posted on Leave a comment

“Even through blackest phase
Be thin or thick
Always someone walks brave
Here under my skin
 
constant appetite
always
 
Maybe a magnet attracts
Every soul toward
Or maybe it is life itself,
For wisdom feeds
to youth
 
constant appetite
He always was. “
 
— Kd lang
 
 
“It may be desired are not to be compared to a fire. Catch fire, if disaster? Whether to happiness, If we shall say,” Behold, O how I love beautiful colors beautiful but fire and the color red: They remain on the colors of the wind, and catch up, we would find some of the body of a pain to enter. And if we wish to consider the UN to learn the causes of the pain that I have had this that fire. The infomation we will, I hope, to the fire. the fire to go along with is so, and that to know is not to be linked. We did not hate it either. We can not measure the fire? This is a film, a warm, when the fire has a place, but in us not to burn. ‘—- Ajahn Sumedo, in “The Teachings of Buddist Monk”
 
 
In the early morning hours
it will be easy
pious and devoted
I like to be alone
burning with my thoughts.
 
I smoke
the garage
or deck
electricy shooting
from the touch.
 
Fresh from the hospital
read the journal
I have written before
I left my wife.
 
most listing
Tables waiting
to be done,
But she mentioned noticing
“Culture of madness”
at the time when he lived.
 
I am trying to figure out
that has been changed
I learn that
because of that turbulent time.
 
My life is much simpler now
Until then, and as he put
I keep the same hour
I took care of a lot of my attention.
 
embers of desire
still smoking, but
like all
dying.
 
I want to be free
with someone
who is not entitled.
 
INSIGHT orange # 9: perfect!
Alp

Birth of Water

Posted on Leave a comment

for LA

 

David Parham: …it builds collects us puddling innards until overflow erupts the rim succumbs history spills out rivulets now identify

 

Rebecca Gibaszewski:crystal clear the brook flows gurgling a tune in time with the birds choir as the sun sparkles gently on your faces prinkled by the tree’s branches soft shadea gentle smile plays on your lips to enticing to pass for a kiss eye brush your lips with a kiss feather soft my lover eye listen to your heart beating that steady beat the sound of time

 

Birth of Water

 

I lie on my back 

naked 

floating

 

not touching the sides

of the pool

floating

 

the sound of her voice

calms me like the roar of 

a lawnmower in the distance

 

my breakfast she made me

of dry toast and black coffee

awaiits me on the table

 

my eyes are closed

the sun bright as 

a dancing star

 

fingers outstreatched 

warm as a summer day

in Tennessee

 

shadows from the oak

tree hover low near 

the fenceline

 

spiraling sparrows

cheerful chirps

playful in the branches

 

hair stands on end 

when electric spirits

fill the air

 

amused, I feel

at the simplicity

of the answer

 

I wade to the 

stairs and reach 

for my towel

 

sitting at the table

I light a cigarette and

take the deep inhale

 

I want to love

I want to listen

I want to be brave

 

rivulets streaming down

my legs and skin

pimpling in the breeze

 

I am astounded 

that I have witnessed 

the birth of water.

 

“Birth of Water”

 

“The best lovers were murderers first” —Othello

 

Portrait of the artist as a young lad

 

 

Zen Insight #18: Solitude Musings

Posted on Leave a comment

“I don’t need anybody

Because I learned to be alone”

~~~Tom Waits, “Anywhere I Lay My Head”

 

My tombstone will read

as they bury me outside the graveyard:

“Did not do well in groups.”

 

Some people just are

not made for this world

and I think I fall into that catagory.

 

Having Bipolar Disorder

was not a choice; rather,

some freak genetic mutation.

 

I did not choose 

this life, but it

certainly chose me.

 

No matter what I try,

No matter what I do,

No matter at all.

 

It wasn’t always this way.

Growing up as a military brat,

I learned to adapt well.

 

Now, divorced, 

living in my parents basement,

because I had nowhere else to be.

 

I tend to push people 

away, now. Few friendships

are lasting.

 

I can fake joviality,

charisma when I am

manic.

 

However, the most common 

state that I find 

myself in?

 

The depression is the worst.

 

I had a doctor tell me

that, statistically, I am

more likely to kill myself than recover from this illness.

 

Like that is good news…

 

So, I struggle daily.

Put on a good face,

for my parents, for my son.

 

I am not really an addict,

as I have been wont to

portray myself.

 

Unless you count

being addicted to

being manic.

 

I love my highs.

And hate my lows.

Rarely do I find the middle.

 

But the funny thing is

that with others,

quite the opposite is true.

 

I am more manageable

when my mood is

the opposite of what I prefer.

 

“But I am a mental patient.

I am supposed to act out!”

That will get one bounced right out of the hospital.

 

I took up Buddhism

so that I would learn

how to be happy with who I am.

 

It can be so lonely.

 

It ain’t easy being me,

but it ain’t easy being

around me either. 

 

Still searching….

 

“Contagin” acrylic on canvas Wm. Andrew Turman 2012

Collaboration with Jay Marvin, “manic depression” and Wm. Andrew Turman (ZDT)

Posted on Leave a comment

manic depression

 

smash it against the wall

shatter complex web of bone and flesh

smash it against the wall until it bleeds 

leave a bubblng red trail to mark the spot

made by a human paint brush

split in two, right down the fucking middle

the slab of skin, nail and capillaries

listen to the sound of the blade

the ping and scrape from cold flesh contact

feel it coil up your spine

replacing dark with white, hot light

try to control it 

with medication paid for out-of-pocket

wait for it to pass; now on its second day

hide in the corner knowing what awaits

on the long downhill slide to the other side

“Scary Dreams”

 

“mixed state”