And I also have been the Enemy,
And this is the worst confession of all.
How many lifetimes does it take to hear
What the world has been trying to tell you?

That strange shadow that fell upon Jesus,
Not so much for the next life or men's sins,
As a monstrous impossibility 
Overcome by the sacrifice offered.

I seem to have rediscovered the Lord.
Ever since composing the above verse
I have felt better than ever before.
Shouldn't I charge people for reading it?

Frankly, my friends, it's all about the pain.
Can a beggar by choosing be a king?
Many have tasted the wine of the gods.
When Kali kills you, you won't die again.

I met an old Hawaiian on the beach
Searching the sands for lost treasures and coins,
A spear head at his throat and great green ring,
Ancestors even in the Indians.

Imposters of the deep, this phrase in my head,
Way back when I was a wretched schoolboy
Trudging through the rain in bare feet somehow,
Older girls looking at me in dismay.

Yes, that was it, I was thinking of fish,
I was soaked with muddy boots in my hands,
Repeating the strange words portentously,
Probably blubbering pitifully.

If it wasn't something you had to do,
Who in his right mind would run this gauntlet?
The punishment must be worth the reward
Either in this life or in some other.

There is no death, but I must be careful
Not to reach that place and look back ashamed
That there were little things I could have done
Of huge importance on the other side.

Thou shalt not slave for the devil, dummy.
Better you should be a trash collector
Than ride shotgun with His Dainty Lordship.
He's a nice enough guy, but he's a prick.

I hardly dared hope I could wrest you away
From your favorite forum, dear Mascha.
I bow to your soul and hope you will stay,
You archangel who sails the akasha.

Every instinct told me he was a shark.
Why am I attracted to these monsters?
How many buckets of blood do I bleed
Before I pass these fluff balls down the line.

These clever, juvenile thrillers I read
Are at least onto something about intrigue.
As nothing is quite what you think you see,
Enlightenment deepens the mystery.

Even if you succeed in being chaste,
Purity is not what it seems to be.
In that sweet, secret place deep in your soul
The desire is there to fuck your brains out.

I had to notice markings on a door,
Of no account but unmistakable.
Genius could not show Christ Crucified so,
In random slashes like falling branches.

In this silent grotto here in the woods
Fluttering leaves fall down like butterflies.
A happy puppy jumps into our laps
And looks deeply into my true love's eyes.

The call of primordial awareness,
Like a conch or a black ocean at night,
The magic of that word alone, rigpa,
Makes me long for it like a drug addict.

Enlightenment is hating the guru,
The ecstatic betrayal of your vows,
Rapturous revenge in liberation,
And permanent orgasmic arrogance.

I am using my wife's medication
Because she doesn't need it and I do.
There is peace in mantra meditation
And fascination in words that are true.

I will be happy to take off my mask
And whack you over the head with it, Jane.
When you have taken a drink from my flask,
Like me, you will be completely insane.

Just to be here now is the razor's edge.
What titanic discipline it requires
To stay in the Presence, to not be moved,
Despite the diabolical circus. 

Most people are just looking for themselves
In celebrity or blasphemous art,
And the guy who sells it turns out to be
More likeable than the few who seek God.

I declare Amma to be my Savior,
Not because I wish to convert others,
But because the pain is so terrible
I have to practice the presence of God.

It's woman's beauty that fascinates me,
The elusive image of the divine:
Bondage to the world, worshipped with desire;
The only sacred scripture, seen with love.

Our bird comes back and sings on the railing,
And flies off the instant we hear her voice.
Sweet bird, we would never keep you again.
My heart breaks with the desire to kiss you.

And speaking of elusive mysteries,
Yogananda, I worshipped your beauty,
And possibly found God as a result,
But I hate you for what you did to me.

Either the moth on my sock was asleep
Or he wanted to give me enough time
To take in the strange beauty of his wings,
Sacred mantras inscribed on mystic shields.