Here, in the light of divine destitution

Is the perfect unfolding of beloved restitution…

I realized quickly that life had placed a unique opportunity before me. So I sat with my new raccoon friend, watching as life’s grip slowly loosened him from her tentacled clutches…

Whoever erected this gate evidently wanted nobody to walk through it, and she knew right then at her first sighting of it that she had to, that she must, find a way in — to discover what was surely a great secret waiting on the other side…

“Memento Mori,” life whispers slowly

To point me to what’s true….

Who are you? Are you your weight? Are you your age? How about your height? Your body type? Your shoe size? The mole on your skin? Are you the shape of your nose?

Or is the truth of you something deeper?

There is no constant heightened state of bliss, no ideal. It doesn’t exist, and for anyone to imply that it does is bullshit. The mind, however, loves to seek this unending state of peace and bliss, and this keeps us trapped. Trapped in a cycle of suffering which we cannot escape by means of the mind which itself is the creator of the cycle. Trapped in hell.

Side by side they remained — free. And then it was that I knew the meaning of love…of real love, not the grotesque, sweet, sticky phrase we sell to one another with rings and impossible promises…

Can I write a real truth?

No, it’s all just a show…

Catherine scanned the ballroom, and then noticed a handsome gentleman moving slowly towards her, a slender smile across his face. He stopped in front of her and bowed, his well-combed black hair slightly falling across his forehead.

Jean sat silently, eyeing the woman suspiciously, wondering how her luck would find her sitting across the table from Mente during this morning’s expedition to her neighborhood coffee shop…one of her most cherished — and usually peaceful — weekly rituals.