Stand the fuck by, Rhinoceri.



I got nothing to say, really, I just wanted to put that art up.



What I’m reading:

The Taboo of Subjectivity by B. Alan Wallace

The Island of Knowledge by Marcelo Gleiser

Preparing to Die by Andrew Holecek

Tenth of December by George Saunders

Far Tortuga by Peter Matthiessen

The Tibetan Yogas of Dream and Sleep by Tenzin Wangyal Rinpoche

Dreaming Yourself Awake by B. Alan Wallace and Brian Hodel




This work of lucid dreaming and making friends with death is acting as a powerful acid, eating through the constructs of my personal model of what makes up reality.


I feel quite unhinged.


Not to say that this state is not one I’m actively seeking. It is the case that my desire and my actions are converging on this work of dis-assembly. The more time I spend sitting with my natural mind the more I see the powerfully corrupting nature of these constructs I’ve been so ardently building my whole life, and the greater my determination to uproot and dismantle them grows. The process feels analogous to spring cleaning, with the same resultant sense of clarity, openness, and freedom.

I don’t know what any of this means. I don’t know if I am growing more sane or more delusional. It certainly feels like sanity. I have the subjective experience of vastly increased happiness and joy, a very tangible sensation of decoupling from my most gripping and debilitating negative mental and emotional states, a profound sense of desire to be of benefit to others, and a concomitant sense of an innate ability to do just that, to actually be of benefit.

I no longer feel burdened by my own small troubles. It isn’t that I have ceased having them, they just no longer seem very important. Or, more accurately, I no longer seem to feel that, whatever they are, my problems somehow outrank the problems of others, that is, I no longer feel certain that I should marshal my limited energy to tend to my difficulties first, and then if there’s anything left over I’ll help you out a little bit. If it isn’t too draining or inconvenient for me. It’s kind of like saving money, you know that idea that you pay yourself first, you put your savings away first, and then you use what’s left to pay the bills and live on- because if you pay the bills and live, and try to save what’s left over,you’ll never save a dime. There’s never anything left over.

Perhaps compassion is similar. Maybe if I treat everyone who needs it with compassion first, then use what’s left over from that to sort of tend to my own emotional needs, that’s best. Because the funny thing about compassion, when you cultivate it, when you make it a big part of your attention and your intention, your desire and your prayers, it seems to really respond, to kind of grow as big as you ask it to. If all you ever ask of it is to cover your own ass, tend to your own bad mood and shitty job and not enough money and what what what, then that’s kind of all it will do. Just barely cover your ass.

But if you say, hey, you know what, compassion? I’m gonna need you to step up your game because what I’d like for us to do is to cover everybody’s ass. Man, every single one of us be suffering. Without exception. We need to do something about this shit. We need some supersize compassion, yo.

Then what happens is magic. You get what you asked for. You find yourself with enough compassion so everyone can have as much as they need.


It’s a beautiful thing.



My aim is to do this thing. Get enlightened in this lifetime. Be of benefit to all sentient beings.

I’m all Yoda on this, shit, too.

“There is no try. There is do, or do not.”