In the moment you discover
that your thoughts are mostly noise,
you can begin to find the peace
that is always there beneath them.

What’s so special
about the present moment
is that it’s all there ever really is.
​
All our other moments
are just ideas,
thoughts about moments passed,
or moments yet to be.
​
Endless hours roll by
while we ruminate
about what happened,
or what might happen,
while what IS happening
passes by us,
unnoticed.
​
This is the tragedy of our lives:
that the more time we spend
assembling and assessing
our lives’ stories,
the less time we spend
actually living.

There is a certain thrill
in feeling right,
when the ego swells with pride,
extolling itself
at the expense of another.

Sometimes the hunt
for right and wrong
is not a search for truth,
but only a struggle
for a stronger sense of self.

And perhaps
there are no bad people -
only bad ideas.

Treat those you disagree with
with compassion and respect,
and perhaps your words will reach them,
and maybe even help to heal
their own troubled, toxic thoughts.

Nothing is always what it appears to be,
and nothing always stays the same.

Let go of certainty, and your eyes will open
to the boundless realm of all that is possible.

As I think about the aches and pains
of my daily life as time creeps on,
they form a story of entropy,
which leads inexorably
to the story’s end.

Nothing lasts forever,
and so the story goes,
that one day
there will be a future
that I’m not in.

So I am left with the present,
alive and able to respond
to life’s vicissitudes,
free each day
to remake the story of my life,
choosing anew
what makes it worth living.

I grow tired of people
appearing to want things
that I feel obliged to give,
unless I feel inclined
to discount and disparage
what they seem to want.

It’s the sad old dance
of one ego grasping at another,
a tangled tango of attachment,
desire, and fear.

Why is it so hard
to cast off this burden
and stand before another human
free of wanting,
open to the give and take
of spontaneous being?

When I open myself up,
sadness sometimes creeps in,
old stories of defeat and regret,
the pain of unmet expectations
lurking always in the background,
the underbelly of my experience.

And then,
when I give my full attention
to what is happening within me,
and around me,
there is this richness,
the immediacy
of all that bathes my senses,
and the sadness drifts away,
like a cloud dispersing,
and I am back
where I belong.

I am eating a hotdog,
leaning against my car
in the IKEA parking lot,
watching planes land
against a dappled sky.

In this perfect moment,
there is nothing missing,
and everything is enough.