It’s a world of contradictions

Oh ‘self-entitled’ activist

You want to change the world?

How about your mind?

Are you mindful?

Of the contradictory world

You encage yourself in?


Here you are in Paris

Where the world has its eyes upon

The COP21 negotiations

Nations have gathered




And ‘activists’ like you

You live in a hostel

You attend different workshops

Meet new people

Learn new things

It seems like

You are becoming conscious

Of the contradictions

Of your dualistic world


Did you know that

Ben and Jerry’s

Which sponsors your hostel

Is owned by the multinational Unilever

Remember those free ice-cream shots with whisky

It’s ‘a GMO free ice-cream’

They claim

But its cream

Is derived from Monsanto’s milk


Did you know that


Some Muslim, some not

Clean your beds, bathrooms and have to undertake

Your hypocritical ‘recycling’

Sometimes you walk past these brothers and sisters

And show no appreciation for their service


While you go outside and eat

Food served by Muslim immigrants

The French military

Bombs the Muslim ‘terrorists’ in Syria

What a contradictory world is this?


While you go attend

COP21’s “green zone”

The visitor’s section

The French police visit

Mosques, Muslim restaurants and houses

Raiding for potential terrorists

What a contradictory world is this?


While you sit in front of your laptop

Writing for the so called

Social, environmental, humanitarian causes

People are starving, dying and

Losing all hope in Life

Refugees stuck in a limbo

Between the French and English Channel

What a contradictory world is this?


Why was it so hard

After you had your nice “croque-monsieur” meal

For you to give some baguette bread

To a women beggar with a child?

Are they fake beggars?

Are they cheaters?

They wore head-covers

Most likely Muslims migrants

Where were they from?

Turkey, Syria, Lebanon?

Or other countries far away

From your limited consciousness


How can you call yourself an ‘activist’

If you can’t Love?


How can you call yourself an ‘activist’

If you can’t Love

The woman beggar with a child

The Muslims

The ‘Others’

The People

Torn in dualistic concepts

Corporations and non-corporations

Oppressors and the oppressed

White and non-white

French and non-French

We and them

Me and you

Self and non-self


Delve beyond the world of contradictions!


As you mindfully breathe

Become conscious of the world around you

And how to act upon it

Break free from the gap

Between your actual self and ideal self

Let go

Be in moment

Gain courage to Love


This is the Bridge

This is the Bridge

This is the Bridge out of this contradictory world!


Now go spread Love around the World!






I just came here to Smile

As I walked along a covered pathway towards COP 21’s “Les Spaces Générations Climat” (the visitor’s section for 2015 Paris climate negotiations), I stumbled upon a thin, middle-aged French man. He is about 1.75m tall, light brown hair and with a young gentle face. He greeted me with a gentle smile and said “Hello.” “Hello,” I replied. I extended him my hand, introduced myself and added a “nice to meet you.” “François,” he told me his name. “Where are you from?,” he asked. “Lisbon, you?”“I’m from Auvergne, central France. Why are you here at COP21?,” he kindly inquired. “I’m a writer and photographer and decided to come check out COP21. How about you?”

“I just came here to Smile.”

Stupefied, I paused for a few seconds.

My recently self-constructed ego as a writer and photographer was pierced and shattered into little, little pieces. Before I set out for Paris, I had convinced myself that I was going to become a writer and photographer. Yes this was my new identity – covered with layers and layers of illusions and delusions.

I was cleansed by this humble man.

I was humbled by this humble man.

My heart was pierced by this humble man.

As I tried gathering myself together, I replied, “That’s beautiful.”

As we continued walking the long pathway, he voiced out “Mother Earth is very happy that people are all gathering here looking for solutions.” My mind was still trying to resist, who is this guy? Is he crazy?

We entered the main gate and walked towards the security check area. I looked at him and noticed that he had come to this event barefoot. Past memories of India flashed in my mind, images of barefoot pilgrims heading to places of worship.

After seeing me noticing him being barefoot, he said “We humans have created such a hard environment for ourselves. Look at this floor, it’s so hard and uncomfortable. We can feel it when we are barefoot. When we walk the Earth’s soil, it’s so soft and welcoming.”

I nodded my head in agreement and smiled.

He walked in front of me towards the security checkpoint. I humbly followed behind him. As he passed through the security, I noticed him slowly strolling away. We didn’t even say bye to each other, I thought to myself. I notice the message at the back of his sweat-shirt. It says, “Je suis chez moi. Je suis arrivé.” Through my limited skills in French, I translated to myself, “I am at home. I have arrived.”

I finally Smile. Yes I hope that one day I will join you my friend…



Death of a writer

Oh writer

Why don’t you die?

Your imperfect words

Symbolizing sounds symbolizing experiences

Can’t touch me

Plain characters

Boring dialogue

Used up plots

Silenced voice

Dull settings

Makes me want to vomit

All the words you are trying to force-feed me

Why don’t you die?

You would save me lots of time

Lots of trouble

Lots of pens

Lots of ink

Lots of hard generated electricity

Running in your energy sucking computer

Stop wasting your time

And Mine

Why don’t you die?

Your mountain high ego

Annoys me

I can’t take it anymore

I’m going to blast you into little little pieces

The Earth is going to shake

Are you ready to die?


Oh stupid writer

Nothing you write is yours

No, your writing is NOT yours

The topics you write about

Are not yours but gifts from the people you’ve met

Places you’ve been

Things you’ve read or seen

Your imagination which is not yours only mixes them up

Creating mutant like monsters

Nothing is yours, writer

Your hands that write are not yours

Your body that sits crouched writing is not yours

Your mind that thinks and thinks is not yours

Your consciousness that is conscious of itself is not yours


You are the product and its creator

You are the world stupid

You are your parents and grandparents who brought you up

You are the Buddhas and the Bodhisattvas who taught you the Dharma

You are the Earth in which you were born, the mountains, the rivers, the trees and all its sentient beings

You are all your loved ones

You are all those who have made you suffer

You are the stream of manifestations of divine Love

Was I able to kill you?

No? What?

Die writer, die!

Truth is that only by dying you become Alive

So fear not and Die

Let go of your shitty writing

And Die for your own personal Salvation

Just let yourself go and d..

Flexible Chains

Flexible chains

That chain me

To Inaction.


Surrounded by fog.

I can’t see them.

Only notice its effects.

I walk forward.

It pushes me backwards.

I walk to the right.

It pushes me to the left.

Confused, I stand still.


Flexible chains

That chain me

To Reaction.


Once I notice them.

I try to ignore it.

It pushes and pushes me around.

Then, I get angry.

Angry at others.

Angry at myself for being powerless.

Angry at these chains that chain me.

Desperate, I use my anger fueled strength to try breaking these chains.

But these chains only harden and tighten my body.

Fog thickens and these chains become once again invisible.


Flexible chains

That chain me

To Realization.


In silence, I meditate.

In the midst of physical and psychological suffering,

I become conscious of my breathing.

The fog clears out and I can see these chains again.

I realize that these chains are actually pierced into my body.

My only way out is through my soul.

Is putting my soul out to help others that are also chained.

Through virtuous actions,

The supposed ‘I’ transfers into others,

It dissolves into emptiness.

And at last, freedom is achieved.


Flexible chains

That chain my body.

My soul finally roams like free energy.