If I experience peace
and then it falls to pieces
was it really peace?
or volatility?

I am not a guru.
I am not a saint.
I am a weeping woman, maddened by humanity.

Free me from the story of the enlightened one.
Free me from secret desires for perfection.

I’m not on a mountain top
with thoughts that pass like clouds.
I walk along the city street
there’s dog shit on the ground.

I’m not walking in god’s garden
eating fruits that taste like sun.
I bite into an apple
and wonder if the soil was poisoned.

Heaven’s golden gates look like spires of hate.
Are humans made of heaven’s unmanifested rage?

Who must be dirtied so your celestial body can remain so clean?
Don’t you dare judge me for not being pristine!

Life is fucking messy.

The myth of perfect peace