In You, As You

The Dalai Lama thinks that I should shut the fuck up.
Well, if he could use efficient curse words
and trill off that phonetic juiciness required from years of dreams
slipping through fingers and many nights a woman
that was within me was scorned.
Peace.
The kind of silence that is a requirement
ever so a lone and a part of the
uniquely unencroachable undivided attention
that can only manifest in still waters.
For we know, that they run deep. An
over thought cliche that gets to the nitty gritty of specific
environments and how a ripple in the water
cast by a stone creates a wave
which is oddly specific
and symbolical
of how a tsunami in my throat wants to utter
vowels, consonants and verbs of nothing
but curse words.
Stillness.
forget the nuances that accompany daily living
held by the grind of worker's sweat and
sticky peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, snot rubbed off of
a toddlers nose and a fresh Koo-laid stain on cream carpet.
Dammit.
If I could just say these words, hypothesize my inner thoughts
and emotions and have them eloquently wrapped in a sentence
full of gargantuan syntax that even a professor would be envious of,
I would say something prolific. Perhaps quotable. But what I need, right now,
is to be still.
Even the stimuli has a stimuli
The bees buzzing outside becomes electrified and I swear I hear an electric
heartbeat from that fuzzy little bastard that annoys me
his little sting a bigger match than my mighty swatter.
There is too much noise.
Too much pollution in the airwaves, too much loud yelling
and bass talking, loud thumping and speak frolicking. My ears,
subdued to the keenness of listening, cannot block the thoughts
within my head and now I am trembling
reaching in the auditory path of what I am trying to be
and I sit here in falsetto
humming a woo-sah in what I have become to be.
Inner peace, huh?
The kind that grows on trees,
the kind that is abundant and rich, and its right before our eyes
only we need to get around some false tom foolery and just adjust the pace
of how often we are acquainted with it.
Look under a rock,
He's there. No need to find an edifice or be a flock in millions
only adorned with carpeted floors, cool air conditioning and a pulpit of
the same saints that are sinners.
I can just sit here, and gain peace. Talk. But, in silence. I can just
wrap my mind around controlling my cerebellum
and choose my thoughts, my patterns, my experiences
just as I change my underwear
folded neatly in a drawer. I can undress myself
just as a lover undresses his mate,
primal and instinctive-with purpose, and with intent.
I choose.
I choose to be...silent.
Now.
If only if I can get the other voices in my head
to do the same.

-b.r.rivera-taylor

(a nod to my adventure in meditation. let's just say that its extremely hard to sit still and just "be" without thinking of anything. meditation is absolutely beautiful when perfected-closer to God, closer to you. God lives through you, as you. - E.Gilbert)