In memory of a sacred temple


He was a cosmic expression.

He was a temple.

He pulled teeth from his mouth as if they were sacred teachings

and planted it within the dirt inside his chest

and tried to make a garden.

For the concepts he pulled and the love he tried to push

I will forever have respect.

May we always remember the meanings behind the appearances;

and although the appearance is at peace,

may the meanings never rest.


“I open your world”

It’s just a door. Just a door you say? Then it is just a boundary preventing you from moving from your confinements, leaving you stagnant.

It’s just a door that holds in definite probabilities, and keeps out the endless possibilities.

It’s just door handle, a simple, logical mechanism.

Its use is so simple, yet its implications is freedom; possibility.

I am the door and the handle.

I determine what I keep in and leave out.




[The [un] [product] [ive] life]

There is an art to everything,
and everything can sell.
What was once an art, is now a science
and very little is left sacred.
Fear of the unknown is cause for defence;
this defence is a boundary.
We label the spaces between the boundaries,
neatly boxed up.
We crave a sense of value;
I am not sure.
We put value in the spaces;
then value the label.
What is it we are left with?
A neatly packaged product, named
to keep the fear at bay.
What we cannot see is unknown
and what is unknown still exists, whether or not we fear it.
There is a pill to suppress the fear;
money, the placebo.
And in return;
a neatly packaged product for you to entertain.
I’m tired of the boxes, for there are too many.
They clutter my life space leaving no room to breath
and even less space for growth.
My expression cannot live.
Once it has birthed it is immediately packaged up
in a box,
in a space
between boundaries,
with a label,
where I put my value,
but the label is valued more.
Very little is sacred;
left to be.
Why can’t it wander for what it is?
My expression is meant for living,
and I want it a life.
Free to wander and be
not enclosed in a box;
in a space between boundaries,
with a label.
What kind of life is that?
I rather have my expression nameless and free
than sitting in a box,
in a space between boundaries.
I am becoming unproductive.
© Observing Vessel