Sunday, August 3, 2014
Wednesday, July 30, 2014
As within, so without.
The real battle of life is one of ideas. It is a timeless war fought out by the few against the many. On one side is constructive and creative thought dominated by ideals; on the other side is destructive and negative thought dominated by appearances.
That world is in a period of transition is apparent by the unrest everywhere. The complaint of humanity is as a roll of heaven's artillery, commencing with low and threatening notes and increasing until the sound is sent from cloud to cloud, and the lightning splits the earth and heavens.
The crux of the social problem is entirely a question of conviction in the minds of the people as to the nature of the Universe. When they truly realize that the transcendent force of spirit or mind of the Cosmos is within each individual, it will be possible to frame laws that shall consider the liberties and rights of the many instead of the privileges of the few.
The true interest of the emerging world is to emancipate and recognize the human spirit. To recognize that the power that is inherent within. That no human being has anymore power than another human being. The old fatalistic doctrine of Divine election that inherently institutionalizes inequality and every form of privilege must be abolished in this new era.
That world is in a period of transition is apparent by the unrest everywhere. The complaint of humanity is as a roll of heaven's artillery, commencing with low and threatening notes and increasing until the sound is sent from cloud to cloud, and the lightning splits the earth and heavens.
The crux of the social problem is entirely a question of conviction in the minds of the people as to the nature of the Universe. When they truly realize that the transcendent force of spirit or mind of the Cosmos is within each individual, it will be possible to frame laws that shall consider the liberties and rights of the many instead of the privileges of the few.
The true interest of the emerging world is to emancipate and recognize the human spirit. To recognize that the power that is inherent within. That no human being has anymore power than another human being. The old fatalistic doctrine of Divine election that inherently institutionalizes inequality and every form of privilege must be abolished in this new era.
Tuesday, July 29, 2014
Monday, July 28, 2014
Soul Clouds.
the salt of the earth welcomes the shells of the sea.
our mountains are our paths
to be, to see, to free
ourselves.
let time bring eternity, for
within limitations sits our immortality.
what is time?
it's you
it's me
purification ignites
soul to spirit
aether loosens internal debris, and
freedom awaits
within the netherworld of mental mountains.
our mountains are our paths
to be, to see, to free
ourselves.
let time bring eternity, for
within limitations sits our immortality.
what is time?
it's you
it's me
purification ignites
soul to spirit
aether loosens internal debris, and
freedom awaits
within the netherworld of mental mountains.
Sunday, July 27, 2014
Orphaned, yet free.
Life has taught me many things, but one of the biggest things it has taught me is that things don't go away just because you ignore them. Things like fear, pain, anger, sadness, guilt; they cling to your soul no matter how far you've stuffed them away from your daily cognizance. They just get driven deeper, and eventually locked behind the numbness of our once vibrant hearts.
Last night before I fell asleep, I decided to do what some may never dare. I had a little conversation with Death. You see Death has always been lurking amongst the shadows of my being, weaving in and out throughout the years, sending along its passive threats to consume me. Death has always been the fear that has controlled me the most, whether it's the death of a family member, the death of a job, the death of a relationship, or death of a former me as I travelled along life's highway. So, I decided that it was time for Death and I to have a little chat. I've grown tired of Death's passive, yet, lingering grasp of me. I invited Death to step forward and show me its many faces, and when they all appeared before me, I explained to them all that I knew I couldn't control how or when they appeared in my life, but I don't want to live and die with my heart imprisoned behind their walls.
They whispered back to me, "Wouldn't you rather die numb?"
"No!" I whimpered back. "I'd rather die soft and feeling pain than hard, brittle and numb. I want to die all the little and big deaths with my heart free, wide open, wondering and loving/living fiercely!"
Their response was immediate: "Then how do you have to live so you can be sure to die that way?"
And I realized that the will to live and the will to die are intertwined.
Last night as I lay exploring the complexities of interiority, I found a twisted seed of passion I've been slowly, yet surely, nurturing my whole life--the seed of denial. Whenever I've been hurt or was afraid, I turned to ice. But last night upon my windy mountaintop under the immense white sky, where everything has been frozen into dormancy, I made a commitment to melt those attachments clinging to my soul that are stuck there from ignoring their presence. Despair, hurt, guilt.
If I feel the energy in my body, and don't tell myself any stories about it, if I follow it all the way, drifting down until I touch the soil where the pain and fear can root, what will it become in the spring? Could that twisted seed of passion, denial, become the full, ripe seed of presence, of coming to my senses, the place where true Passion abides?
The ice walls that have been the fortress of my soul for so long are melting, softening. I am learning not to ignore or abandon myself when I am in pain. In some ways I am an orphan now that this twisted seed isn't an umbilicus.
I am an orphan who is also free now to live abandoned and fully alive.
Last night before I fell asleep, I decided to do what some may never dare. I had a little conversation with Death. You see Death has always been lurking amongst the shadows of my being, weaving in and out throughout the years, sending along its passive threats to consume me. Death has always been the fear that has controlled me the most, whether it's the death of a family member, the death of a job, the death of a relationship, or death of a former me as I travelled along life's highway. So, I decided that it was time for Death and I to have a little chat. I've grown tired of Death's passive, yet, lingering grasp of me. I invited Death to step forward and show me its many faces, and when they all appeared before me, I explained to them all that I knew I couldn't control how or when they appeared in my life, but I don't want to live and die with my heart imprisoned behind their walls.
They whispered back to me, "Wouldn't you rather die numb?"
"No!" I whimpered back. "I'd rather die soft and feeling pain than hard, brittle and numb. I want to die all the little and big deaths with my heart free, wide open, wondering and loving/living fiercely!"
Their response was immediate: "Then how do you have to live so you can be sure to die that way?"
And I realized that the will to live and the will to die are intertwined.
Last night as I lay exploring the complexities of interiority, I found a twisted seed of passion I've been slowly, yet surely, nurturing my whole life--the seed of denial. Whenever I've been hurt or was afraid, I turned to ice. But last night upon my windy mountaintop under the immense white sky, where everything has been frozen into dormancy, I made a commitment to melt those attachments clinging to my soul that are stuck there from ignoring their presence. Despair, hurt, guilt.
If I feel the energy in my body, and don't tell myself any stories about it, if I follow it all the way, drifting down until I touch the soil where the pain and fear can root, what will it become in the spring? Could that twisted seed of passion, denial, become the full, ripe seed of presence, of coming to my senses, the place where true Passion abides?
The ice walls that have been the fortress of my soul for so long are melting, softening. I am learning not to ignore or abandon myself when I am in pain. In some ways I am an orphan now that this twisted seed isn't an umbilicus.
I am an orphan who is also free now to live abandoned and fully alive.
Saturday, July 26, 2014
The devils in disguise.
Men seek salvation from evil that they feel is a living monster of the underworld, and idolize those natures portrayed as gods but are demons in disguise; they feel powerful but are merely hate, jealousy, and impurity. These mirages of good and mirages of love must be given favors of sacrifices to keep their wrath at bay.
These lower self beings walk among us, the carnal nature of the lowest self made manifest in the flesh. These mirages possess no ears to hear, no eyes to see, no heart to sympathize, and no power to redeem. These carnal natures of men and women, disguised as power, can only provide emptiness as they are made of air and clothed with shadows of thought.
The only devil which men need to be redeemed or saved from is the self, the lower self. All one has to do to find the devil that haunts is to look within; the devil is simply found within each and every one of us.
These lower self beings walk among us, the carnal nature of the lowest self made manifest in the flesh. These mirages possess no ears to hear, no eyes to see, no heart to sympathize, and no power to redeem. These carnal natures of men and women, disguised as power, can only provide emptiness as they are made of air and clothed with shadows of thought.
The only devil which men need to be redeemed or saved from is the self, the lower self. All one has to do to find the devil that haunts is to look within; the devil is simply found within each and every one of us.
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
So, the ego is the perpetrator of it all.
The ego's rigidity and resistance to correction are based on narcissistic egotism, pride, and vanity. The collective egos of whole nations bring about their downfall and destruction. Nationalistic vanities and slogans are inflated by political or righteous religious fervor that feed on whole populations for centuries. These frenzied, inflated, narcissistic ego positionalities result in the slaughter of millions of people and the downfall of demagogic leaders, and even their entire populations.
World history is the record of the cost of egotistic positionalities. The ego is not only incapable of assessing situations that are fatal but it even willingly sacrifices life for its own ends. The ego is therefore potentially deadly and would rather 'see you dead' than admit that it is wrong. The ego is capable of what can only be described as colossal ignorance. The ego is intransigent in that it fails to learn from its mistakes. Failed policies are reinstated repeatedly, even in the face of major catastrophe, and the justification is almost always a resort to some moralistic catch phrase that serves the political gains of the propagandists who exploit the gullibility of the naive public.
The ego is only interested in being seen as right and focused on "doing "something," no matter what the results might be. The ego often relies on force, whereas difficult problems can only be resolved through power that transcends the positionalities of 'good' vs 'bad'.
The ego conceals, whereas awareness reveals. The answer to many defective ego positions could be resolved in the sanity of common sense. The ego is naive despite its pretentiousness. It pompously demands proof of the obvious, and in doing so, it is slyly nonintegrous. It could best be described as sophomoric in its facile solutions and self-importance.
The ego feels threatened by common sense and piously recites how society has been mistaken in the past. In so doing it conveniently refuses to cite examples of common sense at all but instead cites examples of faulty collective-ego positions.
The ego holds onto the pleasure and satisfaction of hatred and getting even instead of surrendering to the willingness to forgive and forget. People cling to the familiar, even if it is killing them. Despite their protests, the average person is actually a willing participant in the individual and collective egos. It is resistant to turning down the payoffs of smugly feeling one is better than, more important than, or superior to other people. The satisfaction of spite, revenge, getting even, or 'making them pay' is addictive and self-serving, egotistical, and thus dominates entire nations and religious sects through endless conflict.
These egotistical positions have been institutionalized for decades, even centuries, to guarantee an uninterrupted promulgation. Catering to the ignorance of the masses has filled the bank accounts of the arms merchants and given them power over others.
The sad fact is that the so-called 'holy lands' are currently some of the most unholy places on Earth. Paradoxically, these legendary pieces of land that have cost the lives of multitudes of people over the centuries calibrate with hatred. The footprints of the prophets have been obliterated with the flow of the blood of cruelty and suffering.
World history is the record of the cost of egotistic positionalities. The ego is not only incapable of assessing situations that are fatal but it even willingly sacrifices life for its own ends. The ego is therefore potentially deadly and would rather 'see you dead' than admit that it is wrong. The ego is capable of what can only be described as colossal ignorance. The ego is intransigent in that it fails to learn from its mistakes. Failed policies are reinstated repeatedly, even in the face of major catastrophe, and the justification is almost always a resort to some moralistic catch phrase that serves the political gains of the propagandists who exploit the gullibility of the naive public.
The ego is only interested in being seen as right and focused on "doing "something," no matter what the results might be. The ego often relies on force, whereas difficult problems can only be resolved through power that transcends the positionalities of 'good' vs 'bad'.
The ego conceals, whereas awareness reveals. The answer to many defective ego positions could be resolved in the sanity of common sense. The ego is naive despite its pretentiousness. It pompously demands proof of the obvious, and in doing so, it is slyly nonintegrous. It could best be described as sophomoric in its facile solutions and self-importance.
The ego feels threatened by common sense and piously recites how society has been mistaken in the past. In so doing it conveniently refuses to cite examples of common sense at all but instead cites examples of faulty collective-ego positions.
The ego holds onto the pleasure and satisfaction of hatred and getting even instead of surrendering to the willingness to forgive and forget. People cling to the familiar, even if it is killing them. Despite their protests, the average person is actually a willing participant in the individual and collective egos. It is resistant to turning down the payoffs of smugly feeling one is better than, more important than, or superior to other people. The satisfaction of spite, revenge, getting even, or 'making them pay' is addictive and self-serving, egotistical, and thus dominates entire nations and religious sects through endless conflict.
These egotistical positions have been institutionalized for decades, even centuries, to guarantee an uninterrupted promulgation. Catering to the ignorance of the masses has filled the bank accounts of the arms merchants and given them power over others.
The sad fact is that the so-called 'holy lands' are currently some of the most unholy places on Earth. Paradoxically, these legendary pieces of land that have cost the lives of multitudes of people over the centuries calibrate with hatred. The footprints of the prophets have been obliterated with the flow of the blood of cruelty and suffering.
I know the way you can get...
I know the way you can get
When you have not had a drink of Love:
Your face hardens,
Your sweet muscles cramp.
Children become concerned
About a strange look that appears in your eyes
Which even begins to worry your own mirror
And nose.
Squirrels and birds sense your sadness
And call an important conference in a tall tree.
They decide which secret code to chant
To help your mind and soul.
Even angels fear that brand of madness
That arrays itself against the world
And throws sharp stones and spears into
The innocent
And into one's self.
O I know the way you can get
If you have not been drinking Love:
You might rip apart
Every sentence your friends and teachers say,
Looking for hidden clauses.
You might weigh every word on a scale
Like a dead fish.
You might pull out a ruler to measure
From every angle in your darkness
The beautiful dimensions of a heart you once
Trusted.
I know the way you can get
If you have not had a drink from Love's
Hands.
That is why all the Great Ones speak of
The vital need
To keep remembering God,
So you will come to know and see Him
As being so Playful
And Wanting,
Just Wanting to help.
That is why Hafiz says:
Bring your cup near me.
For all I care about
Is quenching your thirst for freedom!
All a Sane man can ever care about
Is giving Love!
~~~by Hafiz~~~
When you have not had a drink of Love:
Your face hardens,
Your sweet muscles cramp.
Children become concerned
About a strange look that appears in your eyes
Which even begins to worry your own mirror
And nose.
Squirrels and birds sense your sadness
And call an important conference in a tall tree.
They decide which secret code to chant
To help your mind and soul.
Even angels fear that brand of madness
That arrays itself against the world
And throws sharp stones and spears into
The innocent
And into one's self.
O I know the way you can get
If you have not been drinking Love:
You might rip apart
Every sentence your friends and teachers say,
Looking for hidden clauses.
You might weigh every word on a scale
Like a dead fish.
You might pull out a ruler to measure
From every angle in your darkness
The beautiful dimensions of a heart you once
Trusted.
I know the way you can get
If you have not had a drink from Love's
Hands.
That is why all the Great Ones speak of
The vital need
To keep remembering God,
So you will come to know and see Him
As being so Playful
And Wanting,
Just Wanting to help.
That is why Hafiz says:
Bring your cup near me.
For all I care about
Is quenching your thirst for freedom!
All a Sane man can ever care about
Is giving Love!
~~~by Hafiz~~~
Tuesday, July 15, 2014
Ode To The Hatters!
Thou covetous wretches!
Beseeching wars and famine,
With outstretched palms of hypocrisy.
Sepulchers of infirmities!
Thine eyes betray your masks.
Don't you know?
The furies you've evoked
Shall be thine own eternal tempest!
Impassioned wrath swallows
The Lion's Dens from within!
Beseeching wars and famine,
With outstretched palms of hypocrisy.
Sepulchers of infirmities!
Thine eyes betray your masks.
Don't you know?
The furies you've evoked
Shall be thine own eternal tempest!
Impassioned wrath swallows
The Lion's Dens from within!
Saturday, July 12, 2014
Flaming Wrath, roooooaaaaarrrr!
The ancient Egyptians personified the wrath of the male king as a female figure. This was known as Sekhmet, the flaming goddess of justice with the face of a lioness (Assmann, 1991, p. 89).
Since the rulers were also obliged to reign with leniency as well as justly wrath, Sachmet had a softer sister, the cat goddess Bastet. This goddess was also a characteristic of the king pictured in female form.
Correspondingly, in Tibetan Buddhism the mild sister of the Palden Lhamo is the divine Tara.
Since the rulers were also obliged to reign with leniency as well as justly wrath, Sachmet had a softer sister, the cat goddess Bastet. This goddess was also a characteristic of the king pictured in female form.
Correspondingly, in Tibetan Buddhism the mild sister of the Palden Lhamo is the divine Tara.
Thursday, July 10, 2014
Of Time & Of Mind.
Mind transforms the continuance of physical space-time into moments (the absolute Now) and blends these moments into an apparent continuity through an overlapping of unfolding capsules. The flow of psychological time is an illusion based on the rapid replacement of these capsules.
Each mind computes the measure of time passing and duration from the decay of the surface present in relation to a core of past events. As each new surface is generated, that surface, the rim of the immediate past, recedes in the wake of rising contents. This recession, an uncovering of phases latent in the original traversal, exposes layers in the past forming the content of the immediate past moment.
The surge of the microgeny to a surface that dissolves the instant it appears, the priority of the Self in the unfolding sequence, the feeling of agency, create a Self in a state of becoming, a Self that travels in time like the crest of a wave, always in pursuit of a future just beyond the grasp of the present.
Each mind computes the measure of time passing and duration from the decay of the surface present in relation to a core of past events. As each new surface is generated, that surface, the rim of the immediate past, recedes in the wake of rising contents. This recession, an uncovering of phases latent in the original traversal, exposes layers in the past forming the content of the immediate past moment.
The surge of the microgeny to a surface that dissolves the instant it appears, the priority of the Self in the unfolding sequence, the feeling of agency, create a Self in a state of becoming, a Self that travels in time like the crest of a wave, always in pursuit of a future just beyond the grasp of the present.
Wednesday, July 9, 2014
Own Your Truth.
Truth, the Most High of the elemental, fundamental laws of humanity. Within the word 'TRUTH' there resides a multitude of sub-truths, each working individually, yet part of the whole, each seeking the LIGHT at the apex where truth sits.
Humanity through time has sought truth, what's hidden, what's yet to be uncovered. However, truth has always been right there before us, lying within our own very existence, awaiting the next UN-VE(I)LATION. Unveiling, layer underneath layer, each with its own conscious meaning. Each layer, each revelation, stripping away the false securities of the external, leaving us open and vulnerable to the vultures of our own thoughts.
Each revelation brings forth another truth, another unveiling of our own humanity. God is within us all. Divine essence doesn't exist outside ourselves. As within, so without. God is within.
Like the pyramid, truth sits at the apex. The apex of our very own existence.
Own your truth.
Humanity through time has sought truth, what's hidden, what's yet to be uncovered. However, truth has always been right there before us, lying within our own very existence, awaiting the next UN-VE(I)LATION. Unveiling, layer underneath layer, each with its own conscious meaning. Each layer, each revelation, stripping away the false securities of the external, leaving us open and vulnerable to the vultures of our own thoughts.
Each revelation brings forth another truth, another unveiling of our own humanity. God is within us all. Divine essence doesn't exist outside ourselves. As within, so without. God is within.
Like the pyramid, truth sits at the apex. The apex of our very own existence.
Own your truth.
Friday, June 27, 2014
1982.
[something i wrote a long while ago]
only you can heal inside.
that's what all the good books say.
those books I've read overandoverandoverandover again.
they all say the same thing. it's up to you. only you can save yourself.
and, i say if there was a God I would spit in his face for subjecting me to this. if there was a Devil, I would sell him my soul to make it end. if there was something higher than ourselves that controlled our
fates, I would tell it to take my fate and shove it up its fucking ass. shove it hard and far, you motherfucker.
just make it end. make it end.
please make this pain end.
march 1982 was when my world as I knew it stopped. it froze. my life froze in time. it was also when I first learned to run away inside my mind. run away so far nobody could find me and nobody could hurt me
and nobody could claim to love me and then leave me all alone. the only person who I ever knew to love me, reallyreally love me, as a child was my daddy.
march 1982 took him away from me. I fucking hate that month, that year. I wish it never existed, that I never existed. then I would not know what it's like to taste the metallic dirty vile of death coursing
through my veins. fucking march 1982, fuck you. fuck god, fuck the devil, and fuck fate too.
the first time I learned to run away from the pain was the day I saw him lying in his casket at the funeral. I was nine. a child. in my innocence I tried to kiss him goodbye and the man at the funeral told me not to touch his face because the bones would fall in. don't touch his chest because they would fall in. but look at his hands, hardly
any scratches. isn't that ironic? what does ironic mean? one day you will understand little girl. but you can kiss his forehead, that will be okay.
I hear screams in the background. they're not mine. too many screams to know who is screaming. I kiss his forehead quickly. I scream but nobody can hear me. I scream on the inside, I push it down, down,
down, down as far as it will go. I kiss my daddy for the last time and I turn and run. I run as fast as I can in the pretty new dress I got just for this occasion. is that what you would call ironic? a pretty
new dress to kiss my father's lifeless forehead for the last time? push it down. don't cry. push it down, push, push. far, swallow it down.
and I ran and I ran and I ran into myself. so far that I never found that girl I once was ever again. innocence gone forever. push it down. run.
I talk to him still. I don't know if he hears me. his love for me was too strong to just die with him. that's what I told myself, tell
myself. doesn't love stretch beyond the flesh? I don't know. all I know is that his love is still alive in me. the only love I ever truly felt. I've never felt love since then. that's not to say that I haven't been loved. because I have been. it's just that I never felt it. I probably never will. because I run from it. I run from it because I don't want to lose it again.
so I am eternally alone. alone but in the world. alone in my heart and in my mind. alone everywhere, all the time. alone with my family, alone with my friends, alone in a room full of people. alone when I
wake, alone through each fucking awful day, alone when I meet the blackness. alone in my pain, alone in my horror.
I don't want to be alone but I will never let anyone inside. I hate it. I fucking hate it. I hate that when I scream nobody can hear me because I only scream on the inside. more than anything, all I ever wanted was to feel as if I wasn't alone. I have tried many times, tried to kill my loneliness with a boy, and it was never right. we
would be together and be close to each other, but no matter how close we were, I still felt alone. they felt that loneliness and it made them want to get closer. when they tried, I either ran or did something to destroy what we felt for each other. I can run fast when I want to run fast, and I've always been good at destroying things.
march 1982 taught me how to do that.
when I want to feel close, I run to the place where my father's grave is. I lie down on the grass next to his grave and I stare at the heavens. sometimes I talk. sometimes I cry. sometimes I just lie
there. sometimes I pound my fists into the ground and I scream on the inside. scream so loud that it feels like my organs will explode. I can feel them vibrate with each scream. and I pound and I scratch the dirt and I scream at the gods and the devils and the so-called fates
and at life and at my inability to live in this world without him, without the first person who taught me what it was like to be loved.
and, I run. I run until I can't run no more. I'm tired of running now. I need rest, I need to crawl into the arms of the one who I can trust to replace the love I felt for him. the one who can let me scream on
the outside, who will place his fingers over my mouth and say it's okay, you don't have to scream anymore. the one who will let me become who I was meant to be before march 1982 stole my innocence, if that innocence can ever be reclaimed.
only you can heal inside.
that's what all the good books say.
those books I've read overandoverandoverandover again.
they all say the same thing. it's up to you. only you can save yourself.
and, i say if there was a God I would spit in his face for subjecting me to this. if there was a Devil, I would sell him my soul to make it end. if there was something higher than ourselves that controlled our
fates, I would tell it to take my fate and shove it up its fucking ass. shove it hard and far, you motherfucker.
just make it end. make it end.
please make this pain end.
march 1982 was when my world as I knew it stopped. it froze. my life froze in time. it was also when I first learned to run away inside my mind. run away so far nobody could find me and nobody could hurt me
and nobody could claim to love me and then leave me all alone. the only person who I ever knew to love me, reallyreally love me, as a child was my daddy.
march 1982 took him away from me. I fucking hate that month, that year. I wish it never existed, that I never existed. then I would not know what it's like to taste the metallic dirty vile of death coursing
through my veins. fucking march 1982, fuck you. fuck god, fuck the devil, and fuck fate too.
the first time I learned to run away from the pain was the day I saw him lying in his casket at the funeral. I was nine. a child. in my innocence I tried to kiss him goodbye and the man at the funeral told me not to touch his face because the bones would fall in. don't touch his chest because they would fall in. but look at his hands, hardly
any scratches. isn't that ironic? what does ironic mean? one day you will understand little girl. but you can kiss his forehead, that will be okay.
I hear screams in the background. they're not mine. too many screams to know who is screaming. I kiss his forehead quickly. I scream but nobody can hear me. I scream on the inside, I push it down, down,
down, down as far as it will go. I kiss my daddy for the last time and I turn and run. I run as fast as I can in the pretty new dress I got just for this occasion. is that what you would call ironic? a pretty
new dress to kiss my father's lifeless forehead for the last time? push it down. don't cry. push it down, push, push. far, swallow it down.
and I ran and I ran and I ran into myself. so far that I never found that girl I once was ever again. innocence gone forever. push it down. run.
I talk to him still. I don't know if he hears me. his love for me was too strong to just die with him. that's what I told myself, tell
myself. doesn't love stretch beyond the flesh? I don't know. all I know is that his love is still alive in me. the only love I ever truly felt. I've never felt love since then. that's not to say that I haven't been loved. because I have been. it's just that I never felt it. I probably never will. because I run from it. I run from it because I don't want to lose it again.
so I am eternally alone. alone but in the world. alone in my heart and in my mind. alone everywhere, all the time. alone with my family, alone with my friends, alone in a room full of people. alone when I
wake, alone through each fucking awful day, alone when I meet the blackness. alone in my pain, alone in my horror.
I don't want to be alone but I will never let anyone inside. I hate it. I fucking hate it. I hate that when I scream nobody can hear me because I only scream on the inside. more than anything, all I ever wanted was to feel as if I wasn't alone. I have tried many times, tried to kill my loneliness with a boy, and it was never right. we
would be together and be close to each other, but no matter how close we were, I still felt alone. they felt that loneliness and it made them want to get closer. when they tried, I either ran or did something to destroy what we felt for each other. I can run fast when I want to run fast, and I've always been good at destroying things.
march 1982 taught me how to do that.
when I want to feel close, I run to the place where my father's grave is. I lie down on the grass next to his grave and I stare at the heavens. sometimes I talk. sometimes I cry. sometimes I just lie
there. sometimes I pound my fists into the ground and I scream on the inside. scream so loud that it feels like my organs will explode. I can feel them vibrate with each scream. and I pound and I scratch the dirt and I scream at the gods and the devils and the so-called fates
and at life and at my inability to live in this world without him, without the first person who taught me what it was like to be loved.
and, I run. I run until I can't run no more. I'm tired of running now. I need rest, I need to crawl into the arms of the one who I can trust to replace the love I felt for him. the one who can let me scream on
the outside, who will place his fingers over my mouth and say it's okay, you don't have to scream anymore. the one who will let me become who I was meant to be before march 1982 stole my innocence, if that innocence can ever be reclaimed.
Sunday, May 5, 2013
Friday, January 28, 2011
Ascending awareness requires diligence.
I want to reach that place of existence that is infinitely gentle and yet like an indestructible rock. I want to exist in that level of consciousness where fear disappears. I want to know what it's like to experience a spiritual joy that occurs on a quiet level of inexplicable ecstasy. I want to know what it's like to feel time stop, where apprehension and regret disappears. Before my mortal life ends I want to feel for only a second that source of joy that is unending and ever present.
On a conscious level I realize that problems are merely artifacts of perception...my perception. As our level of awareness grows and we become closer to the Divine, we no longer identify with the body or mind. Our identification is with our Spirit and the spirits of others. We no longer see a person's physical or bodily manifestation as who they are, but rather we see through their physical being and see their Spirit or Soul. We then interact with others from a purely soulful state. We become less identified with the "I am" of our existence. When we grow into our awareness and a higher vibrational level of being, Pure Awareness shines forth and begins to illuminate what we ARE, WERE, and ALWAYS WILL BE, beyond all worlds and all universes, beyond time, and therefore at that place where infinity truly resides.
Even though I've been a seeker all my life and I've studied the spiritual and philosophical teachings of various masters of existence, I have yet to barely scrape the ladder of conscious evolution. Some might disagree and say that I am higher up the rungs than I perceive myself to be, but I identify with the struggles I still have and what I need to overcome so that I can leap out of the bondage of my ego and psyche. I do know that I have always had an intense desire to reach the state of awareness that brings one to this level of existence. That is the most elemental aspect. The desire must be intense. We must truly desire to reach the state of pure truth where the subjectivity of truth is dissipated and it becomes pure blissful energy that vibrates so forcefully that it actually becomes peaceful and gentle.
To reach this state, one has to act with CONSTANT and universal forgiveness, without any exceptions. One has to be compassionate towards everything, INCLUDING ONE'S OWN SELF and thoughts. This is hard!
Life is at best a subjective experience no matter what its content. However, life is profoundly influenced by the level of our consciousness, as well as the choices that appear as options. Whether life is satisfying or pleasant depends on one's thought processes, which ultimately determine how situations become contextualized.
When the 'me' died the real 'I' was born into awareness, which is where I've found that the source of consciousness and existence resides in the unborn of every single moment. I've only begun to witness what it's like to experience the death of the ego, but with fortitude and diligence I know that I will continue moving upward into the woman I was born to be.
On a conscious level I realize that problems are merely artifacts of perception...my perception. As our level of awareness grows and we become closer to the Divine, we no longer identify with the body or mind. Our identification is with our Spirit and the spirits of others. We no longer see a person's physical or bodily manifestation as who they are, but rather we see through their physical being and see their Spirit or Soul. We then interact with others from a purely soulful state. We become less identified with the "I am" of our existence. When we grow into our awareness and a higher vibrational level of being, Pure Awareness shines forth and begins to illuminate what we ARE, WERE, and ALWAYS WILL BE, beyond all worlds and all universes, beyond time, and therefore at that place where infinity truly resides.
Even though I've been a seeker all my life and I've studied the spiritual and philosophical teachings of various masters of existence, I have yet to barely scrape the ladder of conscious evolution. Some might disagree and say that I am higher up the rungs than I perceive myself to be, but I identify with the struggles I still have and what I need to overcome so that I can leap out of the bondage of my ego and psyche. I do know that I have always had an intense desire to reach the state of awareness that brings one to this level of existence. That is the most elemental aspect. The desire must be intense. We must truly desire to reach the state of pure truth where the subjectivity of truth is dissipated and it becomes pure blissful energy that vibrates so forcefully that it actually becomes peaceful and gentle.
To reach this state, one has to act with CONSTANT and universal forgiveness, without any exceptions. One has to be compassionate towards everything, INCLUDING ONE'S OWN SELF and thoughts. This is hard!
Life is at best a subjective experience no matter what its content. However, life is profoundly influenced by the level of our consciousness, as well as the choices that appear as options. Whether life is satisfying or pleasant depends on one's thought processes, which ultimately determine how situations become contextualized.
When the 'me' died the real 'I' was born into awareness, which is where I've found that the source of consciousness and existence resides in the unborn of every single moment. I've only begun to witness what it's like to experience the death of the ego, but with fortitude and diligence I know that I will continue moving upward into the woman I was born to be.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
When the page of loverhood was opened to me.
We are all shackled within the confines of headless bewilderment. Sometimes we are concealed. Sometimes we become revealed. In the tabernacles of limitless drained cups of blemished souls, drunk on wine of our own reflections. Mirrored images are our masters, our breath obeys our insanities. We each must abandon the kings of the intellect and fall down and pay reverence to the cornerstone of our souls. Annihilation is the answer.
Take me to the end of ME, oh lover of LOVE!
Annihilate me.
End to end, remove all that is me, within.
Take me to the place where life breathes purity of heart, where the water flows clear, where my sorrow blossoms into joy.
Take my desires.
Swallow my fears.
Cast out my egoistic fantasies.
Enslave me with the goblet of the brazen intoxication of LOVE, pure LOVE.
I want to drink, drink, drink
of the fountain
where silence
questions my secrets
and speaks into me
the BOOM, BOOM, BOOM
of the milky way that flows within.
Oh, make me totally unconscious of myself.
Breathe into me LIFE.
withtheeyesofpureintutionirevealariotofrevolutionthatweareallprisonersoftheuniversalpassion.
transcend.
exalt.
falldownbeyondallreligion.
everything is but a ray of love.
I am free.
Take me to the end of ME, oh lover of LOVE!
Annihilate me.
End to end, remove all that is me, within.
Take me to the place where life breathes purity of heart, where the water flows clear, where my sorrow blossoms into joy.
Take my desires.
Swallow my fears.
Cast out my egoistic fantasies.
Enslave me with the goblet of the brazen intoxication of LOVE, pure LOVE.
I want to drink, drink, drink
of the fountain
where silence
questions my secrets
and speaks into me
the BOOM, BOOM, BOOM
of the milky way that flows within.
Oh, make me totally unconscious of myself.
Breathe into me LIFE.
withtheeyesofpureintutionirevealariotofrevolutionthatweareallprisonersoftheuniversalpassion.
transcend.
exalt.
falldownbeyondallreligion.
everything is but a ray of love.
I am free.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Hands of creation.
Morning star with curves etched in truth
birth unto me the purest essence
of that which
I am too blind
to see.
birth unto me the purest essence
of that which
I am too blind
to see.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Virtue awaits the patient.
Patience, they said, was a virtue. Only I wasn't ever quite sure why.
I always saw her as a rather plain-faced girl with a sweet smile. Too sweet. She always sat with her legs crossed neatly at the ankles, eyes downcast, hands cupped in her lap, one inside the other--and in this way she managed to turn waiting into some kind of colorless prayer.
Patience is like an Artist's portrait model posing prettily through the passage of time. But what does that accomplish? And where is the nobility in that bland brand of immobility?
I realize that patience is not what we may think it to be. Patience has eyes that are keen and kind and look like they want to laugh. And she actually doesn’t sit still very much (except on the inside) and instead walks, sometimes runs, towards the things around her that are most in need of doing and she does them if she can and if she can't she tries anyway--even when it isn’t really her job and no one told her to do it.
Patience sweeps the floor and changes the water in the flower bowls. She attends to phone calls and remembers to feed the dog. And you’d never know she was waiting for something important to happen because she always seems to be happening in the middle of something important. Even if it's just cooking dinner.
And patience makes me want to cultivate that quality inside.
Patience isn't a kind of soggy cereal endurance of intervals or the flat fizzlessness of soda forgotten on the window ledge. It isn't a somnambulist whirling through the night. Mindless of the waking world. Blind to everything but what Is Not.
It's crisper than that. And Real-er too. And so much more engaging and Alive.
Patience is a kind of understanding. An understanding that transcends the 'limitations' of the moment. It's a teacher standing at the blackboard repeating A is for Apple. B is for Boy. Day after day to small puzzled faces. Because she believes that one day they will make the leap that connects the sound to the letter the letter to the word the word to the shiny red contours of a classic fruit. Patience is a kind of trust. A trust that does its part and holds the rest lightly in an open palm. It's a farmer sowing seeds in springtime. Hoeing, watering, weeding. Because he believes the earth will do her part when the time comes. And Patience is a kind of acceptance. An acceptance that allows for doubt. It's a friend who holds your hand when you're not sure of the next step. Because no matter which way you go she'll come with you. Patience is a kind of love. A love that is its own explanation in bewildered circumstance. It is an old, old woman placing a wrinkled parchment hand against the cheek of a reckless child. Because her heart is too wise to make room for offense.
Patience is a kind of virtue. I think I see that now.
I always saw her as a rather plain-faced girl with a sweet smile. Too sweet. She always sat with her legs crossed neatly at the ankles, eyes downcast, hands cupped in her lap, one inside the other--and in this way she managed to turn waiting into some kind of colorless prayer.
Patience is like an Artist's portrait model posing prettily through the passage of time. But what does that accomplish? And where is the nobility in that bland brand of immobility?
I realize that patience is not what we may think it to be. Patience has eyes that are keen and kind and look like they want to laugh. And she actually doesn’t sit still very much (except on the inside) and instead walks, sometimes runs, towards the things around her that are most in need of doing and she does them if she can and if she can't she tries anyway--even when it isn’t really her job and no one told her to do it.
Patience sweeps the floor and changes the water in the flower bowls. She attends to phone calls and remembers to feed the dog. And you’d never know she was waiting for something important to happen because she always seems to be happening in the middle of something important. Even if it's just cooking dinner.
And patience makes me want to cultivate that quality inside.
Patience isn't a kind of soggy cereal endurance of intervals or the flat fizzlessness of soda forgotten on the window ledge. It isn't a somnambulist whirling through the night. Mindless of the waking world. Blind to everything but what Is Not.
It's crisper than that. And Real-er too. And so much more engaging and Alive.
Patience is a kind of understanding. An understanding that transcends the 'limitations' of the moment. It's a teacher standing at the blackboard repeating A is for Apple. B is for Boy. Day after day to small puzzled faces. Because she believes that one day they will make the leap that connects the sound to the letter the letter to the word the word to the shiny red contours of a classic fruit. Patience is a kind of trust. A trust that does its part and holds the rest lightly in an open palm. It's a farmer sowing seeds in springtime. Hoeing, watering, weeding. Because he believes the earth will do her part when the time comes. And Patience is a kind of acceptance. An acceptance that allows for doubt. It's a friend who holds your hand when you're not sure of the next step. Because no matter which way you go she'll come with you. Patience is a kind of love. A love that is its own explanation in bewildered circumstance. It is an old, old woman placing a wrinkled parchment hand against the cheek of a reckless child. Because her heart is too wise to make room for offense.
Patience is a kind of virtue. I think I see that now.
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