By |

civilians shuffle silently through supercenters

money, money, money, in and out, but maybe

maybe money isn’t the only monetary thing;

time, with each tick, deliberates, dictates truth

each second shuffled, each second spent

minutes mending, mentally meditating, maybe

more monetized than a mere fifty dollar bill

shhh! silence – keep shuffling the supercenter

too much thought tends to tantalize, overturning

traditional teachings of what’s truly important

left impotent when without – homeless, begging

“time is money!” without a whimper. head down

keep shuffling, keep spending, keep the silence

stifle the seconds then the minutes then the hours… for cents; money, money, money! for hundred dollar bills

but maybe, just maybe —

headstrong, healing, healthily slowing the second

with breath, in-and-out, manipulating, to manifest

the seconds into minutes… into hours —

mindfulness

matters

more

than

money

By |

Wishes wistfully swaying, singing

Like children, cheering, cacophony

Like elders looking down on us, enticing

Waiting for when we least expect anything

Then lurching from the darkness to restore:

Like a check in the mail, a lost friend checking in

Or anything good that happens time and time again

A positive swirl in the (sometimes) otherwise bleak world

A fresh perspective, an excitability for life

A vacation, a good dream

Happiness, blatantly

By |

the words can come mentally, easily, fleetingly – floating, waiting, processing, conjuring, to be possessed, when suddenly —
pen to paper, rigged, wretched mind betrays slowing, thoughts halt, hammering, stammering, sto—
some thoughts pop up instead – something about the political landscape, some introversive insecurity, words in a line that don’t make coherent sense, deadened, blackened — ugh

-n.v.

By |

Seas of sorrow

ebb and flow

putrid stench of

Hatred

Yet we believe…

Somehow a sad face

realer than a happy one?

Happiness, a farce;

an illusion of the mind?

Cultured to be subdued

disengaged or eschew?

Yet we see panhandlers

abroad, viscerally sad,

broken

believed to be fakes

cheaters of the system

standing on the median

broken

– n.v.

By |

For why is suicide such a grievous wound?

A human, entity of autonomy and rationality, built upon by themselves and by others, created from foundation to expiration, has chosen to undo what has been done. To destroy the creation in despite of itself in disregard to themselves and all of the other contributors to their autonomy and rationality. They’ve chosen a blank slate rather than the one with etchings all over. And this – this, is the real no-bullshit sadness that comes with suicide – to think that emptiness prevailed. To think that, despite the inherent humanly flaws of everyone, the little etchings weren’t worth it after all. That, somehow, the mind had convinced the raw bodily baggage to finally concede. That, the semblances of memory and shared experience we call life, was not greater, in a moment, than the alternative. The evil multi-armed demon of depression had deleted another idol of nostalgia. The sad, secret, sinister voice inside manifested and eviscerated the exterior.

 

(img cred: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/537265430540843421/)

 

– n.v.

By |

If passing involves Heaven or naught,
remember what you’ll bring with you and what not:

For a memory of walking in between leaves
hearing crinkling, enraptured in the trees
leaves a memory of careless loveliness
carefully stepping, enjoying the crickets
and other worldly beings.

Making being
a worldly being
restfully carefree
just you and me
without ever needing
other materialism.

Just you, and I, and our sun hats
draping over our faces
wasting our days away
wistfully swaying as the sun sets
and entrances us with blessed
views

Only allotted in this tiny plot of land
with your hand
in my hand

- n.v.

By |

The daily tedium tumultuously tumbles you into a tired, detained and default state… and it’s not your fault: we’ve all been there.

You wake up, work your exhausting (sometimes mindless) 9-5, get home, exercise for a minute, eat dinner… and it’s 9 pm? Where’d the day go? And then there’s always more to do… and then suddenly it’s the next day, week, month, and then your friends are getting married and then it’s 2018 with President Trump deflecting nuclear war by making peace with North Korea.

We live in a crazy fucking world. And a busy one.

Yet, caught in all this confusion, noise and nonsense, there is (at least) one holy place remaining for everyone. A spot so deeply personal, so utterly universally invigorating, and enables one to be so superbly in solitude that we must abuse it for our mental sake; our showers.

I’ve probably (definitely) written about showers in the past as a way to cultivate your thoughts but I’ve begun a new practice that I find particularly powerful…

Crank the water to the most frigid: extra cold, sit, cross-legged, hanging your head over your feet, letting your arms rest on your knees, closing your eyes, begin counting to 60 slowly…

And you’ll feel how long a minute is. And you’ll respect and appreciate every second. Contour your core into rigidity while embracing the freezing water, enjoy each second and you should feel an abundance of peace — despite the fact that there are dishes piled up in the kitchen, your room is a mess, another mass shooting occurred, you need groceries, and your monthly rent is due.

Then, do it every day and see continuity in improved energy, mental clarity, and positivity, shedding negative people like an Akita sheds fur, waxing poetic on somethingindifferent.com for the sake of humanity.

benefits-of-cold-showers-636x310

Boom.