Gorilla eyes

The following is a one-page handwritten stream-of-consciousness writing without commas, periods or any other renegade punctuation.  I am typing it into this post in short fragments, like a poem, to make it easier for passersby to read.  Heaven knows where stream-of-consciousness writing comes from!

Posting it here, well, just because.


Restlessness oh the world

can not be fitted into stories and categories and definitions

oh no except if the stories shine open-ended and

do not point definitively

because it’s all so all so much and

I cannot make heads nor tails nor sense of

lapping waves changing skies and songbird chatter

let alone restlessness in the gut like an invisible piano player

hitting note after note on his duality instrument with

cigar smoke permeating the bar and wine running in the gutters as a

homeless man sobs and a wealthy duchess sips

and how much can a mere mind make sense of this and

yet the thoughts continue to line everything up like ducks in a row

in a carnival game and the man hoists his shooting iron from Turkey

and grins confidently at the laughing woman

on his arm and aims and

bang bang bang

down go those ducks and the carnival guy asks

what he wants and he points to a six foot gorilla and

he carries it to the laughing woman and the shooter goes out toward the

merry go round all bravado never suspecting

in ten months he’ll be dead by sniper’s bullet in Afghanistan and

the woman will weep but only for two nights

before donning her blue dress and sitting in Charley’s bar

trying to forget

those gorilla eyes



I am thinking about hunger this morning.

David Hinton, an American poet and Chinese translator, wrote a book called “Hunger Mountain:  A Field Guide to Mind and Landscape”.  I read the book both voraciously and laboriously (it was quite scholarly in sections).

He talked about the ancient Chinese poets and how they sought to inhabit the constant-flow-of-things.  He also spoke of the hunger which drives the world and the ways we seek to fulfill it.

Hunger is no stranger to any of us.  Even if our plates lie heaped in fruits, vegetables, tasty morsels of meat, whipped cream desserts, we often experience hunger for creativity, love, peace, happiness.  We maneuver through our days attempting to satisfy an inner ghost who wants, wants, wants.

More, more, more, the mind whispers.

Much of this life I experienced waking up with a deep inner hunger.  It manifested as restlessness, not-knowing-what-to-do, a deep pang in the heart buried beneath everyday ritual and manifestation.

In younger days I often drove to town to eat breakfast.  It seemed the only temporary appeasement to that fierce hunger for something which could not be satisfied by eggs and toast.  Usually it found wings when scribbling in a notebook, sipping coffee, attempting to express the inexpressible.

In recent years, intensely observing human mind and nature, it appears that so many of our actions fuel from hunger.  The mind wanders restless, seeking to create the next new experience, the next new love, the next appearance.

It’s our gift.  The energy moves us forward into the dreams we create for ourselves.

Yet, this hunger is also our burden, especially when it beats fierce and strong like a roaring lion in our chest.  It demands appeasement.  It wanders through unconscious fields and devours the sheep within us.

Is there a hierarchy of hunger, I wonder?  Is there a way that hunger matures within us?  Can we make a place for it, a valley of allowing?

Is hunger mostly unconscious in our youth, beneath our understanding and guidance?  Can it be met as a friend, perhaps even lover, coaxed into the sunlight?  Does it turn from crawling to walking like a babe?

Can our raw hunger be transformed into a hunger for *what is*?  Can it dance between dreaming and presence without turning it into a demon?  Can the lion of it prowl on our inner prairies, majestic, unafraid, turning us again and again and again toward what matters so dearly?

I want to ask your experiences with hunger, but it seems like many of us protect this inner rawness so fiercely.  It’s rarely mentioned, even to ourselves.  Our vulnerability quivers here in this place where hunger can not be met by anything of this world.  We cover it up with words, paragraphs, explanations, rationalizations.

I sit here on Hunger Mountain this morning and feel it.  The lion roars.

The day beckons forward.