Allen Ginsberg:
"Life should be ecstasy. We need life styles of ecstasy and social forms appropriate to whatever ecstasy is available for whoever wants it.

Beyond man's natural ecstasy is total serenity and tranquility: cessation of desire, which the Buddhist's talk of, which is liberation from grasping and craving.

I think many of the younger children have already liberated themselves from grasping after the things of this world and have begun to grasp for wisdom; eventually they may even liberate themselves from grasping after wisdom. Everybody wants, needs, deserves and will have this free kingdom, which the police state, whether it triumphs or not, can never touch."

Here I’ve turned off the lights and let my fingers write whatever they want. They are speaking now, because they are me, part of me, but really the whole. So listen to what they have to say.

What would be great is if we could understand how harmonious everything could be if we stopped worrying so goddamn much. I mean, how many of us are worrying about bills, about our futures, about doing something of fucking importance with our lives? Honestly, I’ve come to the conclusion that all that crap doesn’t matter. All that matters is feeling content and striving to live everyday doing something you love. It doesn’t matter if you get that C in chemistry, dear. I’ll still love you, he’ll still love you, God will still love you, the animals will still love you (the animals still love you even though you eat them frequently), the tiny little ladybugs will still love you, the only person who stops loving you is you. So stop! Our personalities are shaped when we were young, tiny little babies, little children, ignorant teenagers, young adults, middle aged nervous wrecks, old, not-so-wise seniors, dead in the coffin corpses, angels flying around in cosmic-hyper-heaven, and when we come back as flowers. Roses and tulips and sunflowers are really the same as humans if you think about it. They live their lives soaking in the sun and listening to everything around them, and are aware that all of it is beautiful. They are living in the world, as the world, loving it. In a lot of ways, flowers are probably a hell of a lot more evolved than humans are. That’s probably why we think they’re so pretty.

I was talking to a sunflower the other day and our conversation went like this:
Me: “Hey there little sunflower, how are you today?”
Sunflower: “Pretty good. But please, don’t call me sunflower, that’s not my name. That’s just a name you humans gave to me because you thought it was pretty. Not pretty at all. My real name is Gale.”
Me: “Gale isn’t that pretty either.”
Gale: “Well George isn’t exactly a box of smiles is it?”
Me: “Good point.”
(Pause)
Me: “So, how’s life being a flower, Gale?”
Gale: “You know, I’m not a flower. I don’t know why you call me a flower, when really, you and I are the same thing.”
Me: “What?”
Gale: “You and I, we’re both the world. We’re both eyes of the universe looking at itself, and acknowledging every little microcosm in our world. Unfortunately, the eyes with too much hair, too much self-pity, too much worry don’t see that much beauty around them. They argue too much.”
Me: “Yeah, I know. You don’t argue?”
Gale: “What’s there to argue about?”
Me: “Well, I don’t know. (I really thought hard, here). Nothing.”
Gale: “Exactly.”
Me: (pause) “Have you ever seen Dog Day Afternoon?”
Gale: “With Al Pacino?”
Me: “Yeah.”
Gale: “Yeah, but what does that have to do with anything?”
Me: “I don’t know. That movie makes me feel good inside though. It makes me feel warm.”
Gale: “It’s about a bank robbery. I don’t get what you’re saying.”
Me: “Well, maybe it wasn’t the movie so much. I watched it with my girlfriend and my good friend Gavin and all we did was eat terrible Chinese food and drink soda and laugh and were quiet and were happy.”
Gale: “Oh. That makes sense then.”
Me: “Yeah.”

After a period of silence, Gale said she was tired and that she wanted to go to bed. Before she did though, she said this:
“Stay with your girlfriend. I can tell you love her. Stay with your friend Gavin. You love him too. Stay with me, George. I love you. Water me and nurture me and take care of me, and make me happy. I’d be glad to have the company. Sometimes it’s lonely as hell, being what you call a flower. Flowers can’t talk to each other like you humans can. But it seems like whenever you talk to one another, it’s about nothing. So be quiet for me, George. Stay quiet and just listen and exist with me.”

And with that, she fell asleep. I started crying, because I was so happy. At that point, my grandfather came down from the sky and gave me this advice:
“Stop crying, because girls don’t want to have crybabies for husbands. They want men.”

We played basketball for a while like we used to, and then he said he had to go. He told me to study hard and get some money because when you die, the strength of your wings is determined by how wealthy you were when you were alive. He had scrawny little wings that could barely lift him.

“Hey Grandpa, is it even worth it to have strong wings? I mean, do you really fly that much in heaven?”

He paused a moment before he replied. He looked troubled.

“I didn’t go to heaven when I died, George. I went into the hearts and minds of everyone in my life. That’s the only place I exist now.”

And with that, he faded away and my heart started hurting. I cried again, and then thought about what he told me. I smiled, went inside, and made myself a cup of tea.