A Real Man

“True manhood revels nought

In the waging of war

Or the weaselling of  wealth.

A real man revels in cosmic ponderings

Cultivates a magnificent moustache

And, above all other things

Endeavours to realize a world

More beautiful, gentle and kind

Than the one he received”


~ The Banjoman, Lord of Limbo 



Read (and please share) The Andy Crowley Saga.


Liberation from the Question that drives the loop of becoming

“What can I do next to become who I should be?”

“What can I do next to become who I should be?”

Quiet your mind and it will be revealed

That you ask this question on a loop

It’s what drives you. It’s what makes you a consumer. It’s what makes you exactly what they want you to be: an unfulfilled shell obsessed with stitching together a costume that will win you the favour of others.

Listen! Underneath the avalanche of nattering about what you need to do right now, what you should have done before and where you are going to get to if you start <insert thing you should be doing here> right now.

See! you just said it!

There! You just said it again!

Start meditating and you will realize that — especially in modern Western culture, which is fuelled by consumption driven economic growth — the only thing you do is ask this question. Again and again and again.

“What can I do next to become who I should be?”

Buy new jeans? Take a better selfie?

“What can I do next to become who I should be?”

Change my job? Clean my car?

“What can I do next to become who I should be?”

Buy a cooler phone? Go back to school?

“What can I do next to become who I should be?”

Wear a tighter T-Shirt? Tweet my outrage about some evil of the week or another?

When consciousness stops asking this question and opts instead to be aware of and engage in the world — it is awake; it is free; it is at peace.

That liberated mind has forsaken the fruit of Eden

And knows again the grace that lay beneath

That infernal, incessant question.

“What can I do next to become who I should be?”

There is nothing meaningful you can become (how would that even be defined?)

There is no pot of gold for the soul.

There is only cessation of asking that question

in order to completely, simply — be.


Read (and please share) the Andy Crowley Saga.


Gentler than Capitalism

More inspiring than Communism

Were the Three Grand Traditions of Limbo

Revere liberty was one

Never raise an angry hand was another

But the highest rule of all

Was keep less for yourself

Than you give to others

“Any one can get rich. But you’re not truly rich until you can give away more than you keep.” The Banjoman tipped his bowler hat. The flare from his amethyst eyes lent a peculiar hue to his crimson gunslinger moustache.

“When we all give more than we take, we are living the mystical truth of all reality.” Suddenly, he was on his feet. The magic banjo on his back struck a dramatic chord.

“Over billions of years, across billions of planes and worlds, few have listened.

And it really is all just as simple as that.”

Read (and please share) the Andy Crowley Saga.

Venus Stollers

We walk a dirt-road sunset

‘Gainst a jagged gold cornfield

There! Venus shines again

Into the pink of rising night

“I wonder,” she says

“If the people walking there

Ponder us

Up here in their sky.”

The Cardinal


The church says this

The government says that

A cardinal sets upon a branch by a window

Stark against snowy branches

Blazing against pewter sky

A little, the fruit of Eden withers in us

A little, the things conjured to divide us die


Read the Andy Crowley Saga


His face, now stoic, only ever shifted to either melancholy or glee. His gunslinger mustache of flaming red was lent a strange cast from the flaring blaze of his eyes, which were the hallmark purple of the mists of Limbo.

He remembered then what the Earther, Andy Crowley, had given him. The gift of heavy metal music: the art of rage and joy at once — the truth that we are, each of us, at once and always, both hero and sinner within.


He squeezed the neck of his legendary magic banjo and tipped his worn bowler hat to the young sorcerer’s grave.

“La Villa Strangiato” the Banjoman said.

“When all that’s been said has been done” the Banjoman whispered to the tombstone. “And all that’s been done has been said.”

“There is only that all souls wander back to the Eden, the truth, that we are not many souls — but one.”

The Lord of Limbo turned from Andy Crowley’s grave on Mars and stepped through the high pewter Ouroboros archway, where roiled the amethyst mists of Limbo, the realm between all realms where even death is but the middle of things.

Read the Andy Crowley Saga