Without our thoughts, our ideas, and our images,
do we exist?

Without the inner monologue that dictates this sentence,
do we exist?

Without the very voice we use to analyze this thought,
do we exist?

Without our imagination, our inclination, our attraction, our sensation,
our sense of reality, our activity,
do we exist?

Without even the thought of the thinker,
or the thought of the thoughtless,
can we exist?

We must find out.
One must find out for themselves.

photo creds to my dear friend Kryzz Garma

With all energy focused in one direction, all else falls away.
The task becomes our mother, our father, and our religion. Through our task, we access God. If every task becomes a gateway to God and we are conscious of this gateway, then all is done without ever having to lift a finger.

I am a simple land dweller.
I know nothing,
I am nothing.
I will dwell this land for eternity,
Doing your work.

I can’t comprehend life. And if I could, then life wouldn’t be the most incomprehensible experience, would it? What makes life good is that I don’t need to…

Countless nights and showers I spent in interrogation
Digging and turning each intention
Round and round in circles
I spat on each in disgust

It was until I spoke to the soundtrack
of my bathroom
With each crisp sound bringing forth disintegration
that I ever so longed for
A tunnel out from
the knife that…

In the darkness I lay,
wishing for the sweet taste of faith to return
drawn into the empty weight of apathy,
falling through a bottomless pit,
like the bird whose wings were clipped
or a flower denied all sunlight

Imagining the relief of lifting this cloud of delusion,
into freedom, into…

There is a place where everything is right
where nothing needs to be done
Nothing can be done

A place where we can go to be
where we just are.
In this place you will find me

Thank God for this place
this place within me
Where I am love

Forever shall I seek this place
out of no choice of my own
Like a moth chases the flame


There comes a time in every caterpillar’s life when it hangs itself upside down to form a cocoon. During this process, the caterpillar completely turns into liquid and somehow from that liquid manifests a beautifully intricate form. If that isn’t a miracle, I don’t know what is.

A caterpillar…

The absolute stillness of a flowing river
the roars of trees on a winding hill
The irreplaceable experience of senses
helping us meet in the middle

The timeless center of a chaotic world
where we rest our hearts
A place of pure silence
one with infinite words

Where we speak with complete conviction
pure and unfiltered art

I am the lover
I am the beloved

The knower, I am
and the unknown, I am

I am the feeder
I am the fed

I am the keeper,
and the one that’s kept

In love, I am
In hate, I am

In the summer’s painful heat, I am
The starving child on the street, I am
Every tree’s leaf, I am

The exploiter, I am
The exploited, I am
The killer, I am
The killed, I am

In every vein, blood I am
In every train, rust I am
In a dirty room, dust I am
A melting pot’s lust I am

The sorrow I am
The love I am

In every glare,
In every stare,

I am who I am

The ends and turns of a winding road,
a retreat away from our drama.
A journey towards nothing,
the beautiful vastness of an aimless movement.
The movement uncontained by material.

A tribute to the still rock,
the unfaltering will of its empty weight. …

Vyom Malhotra

Sharing gibberish from my personal journal

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