Love Letter 298 Turpentine Painter

Don't feed my ego.

I am still prone to elation --

still prone to galloping to the top of mountains and shouting my own name

be wary.

your words and adulation

build a pedestal too steep to climb

Believe me.

I have lifted a leg up many times

to step into paradise

only to find myself

falling again into

your arms

I Love You

Your Beloved

Love Letter 297 Who's Watching the Door? Woody Allen?

at least

I thought of you

first

before I got lost, mad, went essentially crazy

chose to get stuck. because, I had kicked that tire, and it felt good

why is your empire so beautiful?

no standards for getting in, even my green elevated longing, and my illuminated luggage

they all get through

don't you want to make it harder?

a test of strength, wit, glory?

don't you think, "Hey! I could charge money, for all of this?!"

Why does the good guy wear white?

and Why does the "bad" guy always have cooler clothes, weapons, hideouts?

Are you just laughing

or

is it really

as simple

as

"open sesame"?

I have all of your books

T-shirts

concert tickets

but

I have yet

to be back stage

even with this VIP pass

I am just an amateur

in a very Holy Club

and yet

you let us all in

as if

we

were miracles

Now that's Tough Love

Your Beloved

Love Letter 296 Your Yoga

there is no margin for fear

smell all of it

you want my spine straight

and my sitting

to Be

in pure lotus

you want me to surrender

all my worldly gains

and give over all my thoughts to "clouds are passing"

but

my butt hurts

(like ): a numb nemesis

in this position

I am always breathing in (on) the "sat nam"

I am so uncomfortable

I have blisters

on my pissed off psyche

and my aching legs

create their own curse words

as they sit in uneasy

all this curiosity

is like a rodeo

for rag doll chanting lasso enlightenment

falling off this itchy cross

and religiously resetting my vows

I practice

not looking God in the eye

I practice

telling a joke in my head

so as to entertain my self-hate

this is more important than You

than rolling my tongue, or remembering the umpteen names of Buddha

I have a nice cushion

and all my candles are scented

but this floor

is like a metal mat(tress)

in a wrestling ring for nirvana

You want me

to fill, follow, deepen,

and pronounce

this Sanskrit Silence like a Chopping Block of Hard Luck

All I want

is a little courage

to push you off your cushion

and steal your treasure map

to God

All I want

is a little restlessness

to be accepted

on the journey

to

stillness

I Love You

Your Beloved