Archive | December 2017

Young Jungian Pyongyangan

TheMagicRealist.com

I believe that Young Jungians do well in Pyongyang.
They are needed there just as much as in D.C.
Any nation that has many does without war.
Without war there’s no reason for spirit to soar
To the height of indignance so vehemently
That the world fears that it will go out with a bang.

The Young Jungian Pyongyangan, apart from the crowd,
Holds the key to enlightenment through her belief
That a hell made of fire is like one made of ice.
We should come to consensus that neither is nice.
And our time playing games here we know is quite brief.
If we mushroom the planet, who’s left to be proud?

Were a Jungian Pyongyangan to beam here somehow
With a message of peace and of wisdom ignored,
Sit that Pyongyangan down and then open your heart.
One might find that as people we’re not far apart.
But make sure it’s a young one. Old ones make one bored.
They are probably wiser, so give them a bow.

The Mind And The Machine

TheMagicRealist.com

Here’s a ‘Which came first?’ riddle… an easy one, though.
Which came first? The machine or the primitive brain?
Well, the answer, conceived of the present day mind,
Is that each makes the other unto its own kind.
When machines have ideas, will that mark their reign
As our rulers because of how much more they know?

Central Processing Units look much like our brains.
Both have thick convolutions of data-filled space
They have super thin highways for traffic to flow.
We are active reticular systems who know
That our thoughts must accumulate nicely someplace.
The brain that is bionic is not one that strains.

Bots are now here among us. The droids will come soon
To do things more efficiently and more by day.
Some will act awfully human without awful ways.
They will outperform people and we’ll give them praise.
Artificial Intelligence is on its way
Like a psychic pandemic where we’re not immune.

Let Go Of The Anchor

TheMagicRealist.com

Just let go of the anchor and my cork will bob
To the surface. I don’t really need some harsh tool
To brute force my ascension from my deepest lows.
When my mood becomes weightless then upward it goes.
I do not have to work to recover my cool.
Just let go of the anchor is my only job.

Anchors are made of ‘issues’ that fester inside
Over time as unknowingly I give them weight.
With my focus upon them I grasp and hold on.
Then when I am pulled under I feel like a pawn.
Yet I know that my life is not governed by fate.
I can let go most willingly with the high tide.

I was meant to float freely on top of the sea
And not anchored to contrast as matter of course.
I am hogtied somewhat to this life as it seems
And as part of its seascape I’m one of its dreams.
I can feel undercurrents of increasing force.
I am made not for holding but letting things be.

Toward A Newness Of Year

TheMagicRealist.com

There’s a big year to come, and it’s nonsense to some.
World predictions are rampant as well as bad news.
Big horrific earth changes will bring death and pain.
And the few that survive will be driven insane.
It’s our nature to make up and harbor such views
That are utterly baseless with outlook so glum.

The solution? Get happy by whatever means.
There’s a day set aside for that recurrent need
To just party and cast all cares swiftly away.
It’s still good therapy if but done for a day.
People drink lots of booze or they smoke lots of weed
Because most of the year we behave like machines.

It’s a happy new year every year at this time.
No two years are the same though repeated in ways
That reflect our propensity to see things through
‘Til the next time the calendar tells us to do
What we’ve done through the ages in reticent praise
Of our possible fate  in eternity’s chime.

The Second Day

TheMagicRealist.com

With day two of the twelve like day one of the six,
It would seem not an issue to offer a gift
That can last a full lifetime if handled with care.
If two slow rugged doves make an elegant pair,
Christmas folly can give the low spirit a lift.
Yet if nothing’s the matter there’s nothing to fix.

On this second day, my true love gives unto me
A contrite happy couple with not much to say
But except to each other while cooing abreast
On a branch in a loving tree nearby their nest.
We can sing with them and take delight as they play.
I can’t wait for the next day. That will be day three.

Are there twelve days of Christmas? I tend to think so.
In fact, twelve is a number quite special to me.
It’s the number of pulses my waveform contains.
As the dozen days dwindle wellbeing remains.
May the light of true knowing shine bright on your tree.
May the earth well support you so that you may grow.

Do I Need To Be Gotten?

TheMagicRealist.com

My most difficult lesson in life is my pride.
I have not much to speak of. That’s why I speak out
With a loud voice that people pretend they can’t hear.
Show respect for the rock star as I shed my tear.
It’s about time all worthiness should carry clout
But the populace present is not on my side.

Why that this is so puzzles me. Should I believe
I’m a loser with nary a card in his hand
He can play to bring worthiness into his sight?
Do they have something I don’t have? Maybe that’s right.
I don’t profit from praise. I’m in no high demand.
I give birth from my heart of what e’er it conceives.

I’ve a case for resentment. I know very well,
Though, that spending my life force in pity and gloom
Will enhance my declining and speed up its pace.
It’s been all about Facebook and winning some race.
All my work I will have self-inscribed in my tomb.
I’d be happy to take a long break from this hell!

Merry Christmas, My Children

TheMagicRealist.com

That I am That I am is the way that it is.
Nothing can be without me. I am before all.
All I’ve made is of Magic. I do nothing less.
I’m The Master Creator. Through you I express
Every manner of being within nature’s call.
I have made what is hers as well as what is his.

You are children oft’ naughty, yet sometimes you’re nice.
You do complicate life and make such an affair
Of your preaching to others of how they should be.
I am not about sameness through divine decree.
When you stumble and fall you think that I don’t care?
Listen to me within you is supreme advice.

Merry Christmas! Your lives are my gift to you all
And your deaths that will follow I give you as well.
Your brief stint on this earth is delightful to see.
With no propeller on me, I’ll let you all be.
Just keep up with the stories you’re destined to tell.
They may lead to your wisdom or to your downfall.

A Pigeon In A Palm Tree

TheMagicRealist.com

The best Christmas songs known have been written by Jews.
Is there cause to remark of such trivial things?
Probably just as much as the wrong bird will take
To a tree of its liking where wealth is at stake.
What can go on for twelve days is also what brings
Some small semblance of reason to not sing the blues.

Any brat with a long list is filled to the brim
With himself magnified to the highest degree.
Anything that is wanted may then come with ease.
He’s aware that no one has come forth here to please.
In the meantime, he knows now forever will be.
There’s a sense of mischievousness all about him.

On this next day of Christmas my true love will give
Of itself a new outlook – one gentle and kind.
It will start with a pigeon within a palm tree.
In a dozen days hence, I’ll be high naturally.
I’m at home with my small life. I have peace of mind.
I can say for myself that’s the right way to live.

Is It Really Political?

TheMagicRealist.com

As the world’s ones and zeroes become reds and blues
On a cyclical basis, does software exist
That will keep all the masses in subtle control?
Does the program of politics soothe every soul?
I am one of two digits far down on the list
In a video game where the goal is to lose.

Red and Blue are true colors just like Black and White.
One can pair with another with viable ease.
Oil and water are substances easy to blend
When compared to our natures. We’re doomed to defend
The small truths we believe in. We’re stuck in the trees
Of a forest foreboding and dark as the night.

Most political structures seem digital too.
They are often bipolar, magnetically so.
When the flux reaches maximum, empires divide.
When all pretense is shattered, there’s nowhere to hide.
It would be to our good were our goodwill to show.
Yet, that doesn’t seem likely. I wish it weren’t true.

Whatever Abundance I Seek Is Mine

TheMagicRealist.com

What e’er I desire then let come to be
I experience. There’s no exception to that.
I exist in this real world, so there is some time
Between wanting and having. I’m grateful that I’m
In a space where my fruitfulness doesn’t lie flat.
A grand world of abundance is all that I see.

As I hold myself in the vibrational wave
Of alignment with what I want to see come true
I will actualize it in finer detail
Than I could have imagined. I’m wise to avail
Myself to all that life is and freely pursue
All the kind, loving ways in which I might behave.

It’s a world of abundance. I’m plenitude par.
I enjoy what I have, and I’m ready for more
At life’s own pace. I can’t taste all fruit here and now.
I must digest life slowly. This way I allow
My most sacred desires to come right to the fore.
What I seek with pure passion is not very far.

Coon River

TheMagicRealist.com

Coon River, lost within a dream,
Nostalgic does it seem to me.
My own dear black brother has cried like no other.
This doesn’t seem human, assumin’ we’re free.

Team Players, destined to take sides…
Our hate is what divides our will.
I too often wonder, with life cast asunder,
Was I born to blunder, remaining quite still?

Coon Masters chillin’ at the swamp…
There’s plenty time to romp and play.
We’re letting our own freedom ring
As we laugh and sing. It’s a nigger thing…
Coon River and me.

 

It’s All Good!

TheMagicRealist.com

I appreciate living and dying as well.
I do some of both each time I see a new day.
I break through many walls by the way of the light
And the rich earth that is me. I have every right
To exist and be fruitful in quite my own way.
I have no deal to make here nor nothing to sell.

Yet, it’s nice doing business with earth in the flesh.
There is contrast abundant wherein I may find
True alignment with my source if I stay on course
With the light that attracts me with such subtle force.
Contrast helps me to see, and it sharpens my mind.
The mind and what it sees is an intricate mesh.

 If I feel myself stuck in earth’s dark, rigid maze
Like a speck of life, meaningless to all that be,
I would cut myself short and have no one to blame
But myself if I act out in ways that cause shame.
I comingle with discord so that I can see
That my life has true meaning and value always.

Animostic Anathameme

TheMagicRealist.com

There are bitch and male witches atop the food chain.
Master Chemists are they with the worth of the earth
Well transfigured into wealth to shore up control.
Could it be that an earth witch assumes such a role?
Such were burnt at one time. Could this be a rebirth?
I should think not about this. It drives me insane.

Enough YouTube for me… Such a cauldron of mist
From the gist of the troubled belabored of lore.
All kinds of witchcraft have been practiced since time
Immemorial. We constitute the enzyme
That enables the chemist to conjure up more
Of whatever will keep people confused and pissed.

It’s alchemical warfare of spiritual base.
There may be plans made for us. Who gives a rat’s ass?
We could round up all witches and set them aflame.
To the tall whites and short grays we’d do quite the same.
May Atlantis return as a major land mass
And make nice with the east coast in heated embrace.

Compassion Anonymous

TheMagicRealist.com

You all want to feel better. That’s why we are here
In a room dark and empty and lacking in hope
That a new door will open. Things can become bright.
You are loved beyond knowing in God’s knowing light.
I commend you for finding some method to cope
With your sensitive natures accustomed to fear.

As your counselor, I am not here as your judge.
And I know if that were the case, you’d tune me out.
You’re so close to true knowing, yet movement is slow.
But the God force within you is willing to show
That our lives all have meaning. I know you have doubt.
To thine own self be true. I will not hold a grudge.

My sole job is to soothe you. If I saw you bleed
I would come to administer first aid to you.
I know your hopes are bleeding. Both wounds are the same.
We can all speak in open without guilt or shame.
I am glad you are here. You are long overdue
For a life that’s worth living with spirit that’s freed.

An Infectious Kindness

TheMagicRealist.com

There are those who are caring. I see this is so
By the look in their eyes and the warmth in their hearts.
It’s a blessing to see this. It strengthens my hope
That we still may turn upward our steep downward slope.
From the love deep inside is where all kindness starts.
It’s a fact seldom thought of but vital to know.

I was downtown today just to drop off a book.
On the way there, a parking lot hijacked my sight.
There were people with food and with spirits infused
With a shot of pure kindness from folks who are used
To behaving in loving ways and doing right.
Though I’d thought life is hopeless, I’ve gained a new look.

I’d decided to mingle a minute or two.
Had I known that my spirit was infection prone
I’d have made the library book last on my list.
They were giving free hugs. That is hard to resist!
Life convinces me no one is truly alone.
A warm hug and a hot meal does make the heart new.

Becoming Eternal

TheMagicRealist.com

To be locked in a physical form for a while
Is both horror and wonder combined as the whole
Of a part of the nothingness whence wholeness came.
The world out there and right here are one and the same.
The costume of the flesh well embraces my soul.
I may act out my audience through my profile.

If I’m not the eternal, then what is the Tao
But a set of instructions for robots of grace?
I am here for a short time. It seems rather long.
Yet eternity whispers its unending song
Not of form nor of essence and through timeless space.
The Tao speaks only one word, and that word is Now.

Then becoming eternal is not a hard task.
It’s a matter of being then coming to know
That the universe is me and I am it too.
There’s no program to follow and nothing to do
But to bask in the cosmos’ generous flow
Of abundance. Indeed, what more could a soul ask?

Unnatural Gas

TheMagicRealist.com

People’s speech are a collective carbon footprint.
We can output more noxious dioxide than cows
Not to mention the methane from those who eat greens.
We can up and start speaking by myriad means.
Speaking may be the only means one can arouse
The life force in another, if only a glint.

What I put in my engine determines how well
This old vehicle runs on its roadway toward now.
If I fueled it with gibberish I’d move around
As if I’d had my crankshaft dismantled and drowned
In the piss of the populace. I’d know not how
To get back on the track of life where I excel.

I can get higher octane from any good source
Just as long as it speaks with no strong toxic fume.
But the best place to channel my wisest insight
Is within where the still voice will show me no fight.
All for whom the gas passes are pumped into gloom.
There is no one but me navigating my course.

A World Of Our Own

TheMagicRealist.com

Is a world of our own something we can achieve
On the heels of our asking in diligent ways?
Every world that’s outside me is mine quite the same
As all others own my world. We’re all in this game.
Intertwined complex matrices accent our days.
When I transmit myself, other selves can receive.

Every cell in the body is one complete world.
It’s its own point of consciousness having a brain
That is located outside – not buried within.
It’s a fact that the brain of the cell is its skin.
At the center, its heart is prepared to obtain
All instructions it needs. Within strands they are furled.

There’s no forced integration. All segregate few
Become specialists in their uniqueness of style.
Every part has its function. Each makes up the whole.
It would seem that belonging should be our main goal.
But it’s not. We were meant to take pleasure and smile
In a world of our own that we can craft anew.

The Eyes Have It

TheMagicRealist.com

Someone’s called for a vote and I’m well uninformed
On the issues or people who run up for grabs.
Do I know what I’m doing when I go to vote?
I’ve been casting my spiritual ballots by rote.
There’s a lot to consider besides keeping tabs.
Simplest thoughts are as bees. In my mind they are swarmed.

Someone said the eyes have it. I heard not a nay.
I do not listen carefully some of the time.
Does my citizenship have to do with my heart?
There are red and blue blood vessels. They don’t depart
From their vital consensus. Their pairing is prime
That the body may function its natural way.

If there are nays abundant who seldom get heard
Would it be up to me to see that things get right?
I would be such a fool. I would drive myself mad.
I am prone to fall into tar pits, just a tad.
There’s no message about me. It’s been a long night.
I can now devote precious time to what’s preferred.

Let the Hardware Department Find You a Good Screw

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To the Hardware Department is where I will go
To find all that I need and more than I could want.
It’s a bright place of wonder and many delights.
When a man has no hardware, he’s prone to start fights.
And a man without tools is quite easy to taunt
So show kindness to such a soul. He’s feeling low.

The requirement for a good screw occurs when
In the mind there’s a yearning to see what’s out west.
If perchance I should go there and not find my gold
I would feel disappointed and somewhat controlled.
When it comes to good hardware I will find the best
At the Hardware Department where often I’ve been.

We all need a good screw every once in a while.
It’s a function of nature to drive it in deep.
Yet, the deeper it’s driven, the tighter the hold.
Living with living hardware is meant for the bold.
What one finds at the hardware store doesn’t come cheap
And with proper alignment, folks can screw in style.

The Solution to Everything – Get Happy

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I have but to get happy. There’s no way around
Living life in sheer wonder and true joy without
Seeking happiness first, because that’s the sure thing
That will bring me to that which can make my heart sing.
There is not much worth living when living in doubt.
As I practice good feeling thoughts, wisdom is found.

Just shut up and be happy. Don’t go down that road
That I know leads to some place that gives me the creeps
Or else gets me engaging in righteous discourse.
If that is what I’m after, I’ve strayed from my source.
A most generous stream of pure happiness keeps
My abundance a fountain, where once nothing flowed.

I can practice my happy thoughts day after day
And from minute to minute, as I am inclined
To be open to receiving all that’s in store
From the source that is infinite – always with more.
From a state of believing, I’m destined to find
That this universe functions on laughter and play.

Deriving What’s Integral

This half-life that I’m living is not a straight line.
Though it is a real function. I can’t coexist.
I’m one being of integral selfhood right now
And for all now’s becoming until my last bow.
When my flesh turns to ashes, my soul may be missed.
This derivative interval is yours and mine.

Life seems never too level. There’s always some slope.
I climb up and roll down along path with a view
Of solutions to problems I do not create.
If I see things that way am I governed by fate?
By deriving what’s integral to what is true
I have no need for wishing or banking on hope.

With regard to the area under my graph
It is all that’s contained in one half sudden wake.
It behooves me to look once and then turn away
Toward that which is most wanted. My heart cannot stray
From my limit as I approach all that can make
Me surrender in tune to a good belly laugh.

Symptoms of Karmic Reflux

TheMagicRealist.com

I have mistreated women. I tell you no lie.
If I did you would tell the world decades from now –
Never there and then and spoken right to my face
Always hence many moons to brew ample disgrace.
I detest my foul actions. Should I take a bow?
It is time for this world to behold a man cry.

What to make of my actions? Am I of bad blood?
At the time I performed them, I knew they were wrong.
Yet, I just couldn’t stop myself. Who is to blame?
I can point to no other, as men are the same.
We can take what we want thinking that we are strong.
We are human and male with minds thicker than mud.

What can aid indigestion of unwanted deeds
Within those who committed them and their oppressed?
Some may say, “Just say no; nip that thing in the bud.”
But if hell freezes over before the next flood
The position of women may fully be stressed.
Until then, poor digestion is all that proceeds.

Friday News Roundup

TheMagicRealist.com

If the news are as cattle, is battle the wave
Of the future where sources of worthy content
Shoot it out in the main among those who are not?
Giddy up them thar dogies; they are a fine lot.
Head them up. Move them out. Cover every event
Where the focus is stuck on how folks misbehave.

I’m no cowboy journalist. That’s a fine art.
Yet, I could not demand that it be nothing more
Than the facts – not discussion among talking heads.
Verbal discourse can wrap the mind in tangled threads.
We seem used to tough leather. Our spirits seem poor.
Yet, that image is fallacy right from the start.

I can round up them rascals quite well on my own.
I can tell them, “Go thither,” and they will do so.
This old world is in good shape. The town is a mess.
One could say we are bastions of beef, more or less.
They may be disapproving. If so, they must go.
I don’t mind my own head talking when I’m alone.

A Sucker For A Circuit

TheMagicRealist.com

I am not one to shirk it when given a circuit.
The ones that are simple are simply divine.
Free electrons make loopty loops and ride along
In whatever they’re going through. Naught can go wrong
Until fate disconnects them. ‘Till then, they are fine.
They need only a jumpstart and don’t have to work it.

As I live this amusement park, I take delight
In the color and wonder and movement I see.
Never mind that I’m grown up. I see with the eyes
That seek laughter and joy and much fun filled surprise.
I take measure of not much, these days. I can be
Anywhere that enthralls me by day or by night.

There’s an amplification that takes place within
When the base signal reaches a level above
That which turns on life flow. Worthy output appears
At the inner collector made wise through the years.
I can enter one end and go out in pure love.
There’s no ending. There’s just somewhere new to begin.

A Nation of Cause, Not of Men

TheMagicRealist.com

Hi! Dick Dudworthy here with some cryptic advise
For those seeking help to get right with the law.
I’m as blind as a bat. That’s how life should be seen
So I can’t tell what’s dirty from that which is clean.
They are both interchangeable, and best of all
I need not speak the truth. I need but to act nice.

An attorney is one who sorts out right from wrong
From the client’s perspective… a short order crook.
Every law is a structure with moveable parts.
They require those skilled in the deceptive arts.
So it doesn’t make much sense to play by the book.
You may end up in some place where you don’t belong.

Although justice is blind, that don’t help my behind
With deciphering how human nature becomes
So entangled in verbal machinery that
We can sue anyone at the drop of a hat.
I exist for those righteous in beating the drums
Of devout indignation and false peace of mind.

The Octopus’ Garden

TheMagicRealist.com

If one cares for one’s garden, all good things will grow.
One must watch it consistently to keep it free
Of invaders like grasshoppers and other pests
And of all of the things that a garden detests.
If one ignores one’s garden, it will come to be
That it grows rather poorly. This much I do know.

In brief commentary to she who’s named Mary
I would ask how her garden exists in her mind.
If she said, “It’s a puzzle. It doesn’t make sense,”
I would then be obliged to take her thought’s defense.
Everything about life is a game of a kind.
There’s no burden to play… no big load to carry.

I can cultivate gardens of chaos by how
My neglect of them leaves them wide open to prey.
I can bring about order when things run amuck.
I can do myself well by not passing the buck.
The wise octopus frolics through much of his day.
He’s at home in serenity forever now.

 

Being * Doing * Having

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Ask a child what he wants to be when he grows up.
He will tell you most certainly what that will be.
That’s because he is centered. He has not learned how
To add doubt to his judgement. He lives in the now.
What is fixed in the mind’s eye is rightful to see.
The child’s measure of joy is as kettle to cup.

We can be, do or have anything that is thought.
This fine truth is as old as the makers of time.
Children know this until they are programmed to not.
It’s the way of society. Most have forgot
That the secret to living in wonder sublime
Is to follow one’s dreaming towards that which is sought.

Children ask lots of ‘why?’ and expect us to tell
As they see us as wiser than they at the start.
Then when they become older, they see how confused
And beset with obsession with being abused
We can be. And to them it seems we’ve made an art
Of subverting ambition and making life hell.

Ask yourself why you want it – that which you desire.
It will then become active. This universe has
Every means that is known and unknown to provide
The reality dreamt of and worked toward with pride.
The dreams of the children have worth just as much as
Those of anyone with the good will to reach higher.

I Can Relax into Natural Wellbeing

TheMagicRealist.com

It’s a time to relax among those of like mind.
I can do that wholeheartedly without the need
For someone to tell me that I should find the time
To detach from life’s turmoil and thick psychic slime.
I am not meant to travel through life at high speed.
I must temper my pace to one that is more kind.

The full essence of all I appreciate, now,
And flows constantly through me, as I remain still,
Will create my reality fresh from the start.
I can bless my awareness that I’m taking part
In engaging my own stretch by gift of free will.
Life’s abundance depends on how much I allow.

I can find things to cheer about. Surely, I must.
I was made to appreciate all that God made.
Would a good God have made anything that is bad?
That’s a pregnant misnomer that could drive one mad.
I make peace with my path and accept how it’s laid.
One big lesson in living is learning to trust.

Who Approved This Design?

TheMagicRealist.com

This peculiar design hasn’t passed by my desk.
Who came up with it? This really baffles my mind.
Most the creatures I know get along on all fours.
Most have skin that stays dry. They have nothing like pores.
This design that becomes me is of an odd kind.
Does it have the potential to be statuesque?

It is of its own nature subliminal to
The same math that is natural to the grand sum
Of the natures of all things perceived in this realm.
But can man be perceived to be wise at the helm?
This design has some issues to be overcome.
It could be tweaked a bit more. Perhaps that will do.

This magnificent form is not perfect to me
As it reaches from nature to nature by way
Of the mind that reflects like a mirror with heart.
When my vision gets cloudy, I may fall apart.
It’s a trip being human. It quickens my day
And provides me with wonder and purpose to be.

My Physical Wholeness Is Only One Good Thought Away

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Life’s a good morning stretch and fresh veggies to munch.
I am whole and complete in the moment my mood
Reaches synergy with all that matters to me.
I’m a picture of wholeness whenever I see
I’ve tremendous momentum of life force accrued.
I am one thought away from the next perfect hunch.

I could have every ailment that’s known to mankind
Come afflict me today as I work and then play.
I can know when I am thinking thoughts that feel good
So that any tomorrow can feel as it should.
My good thoughts help keep physical illness at bay.
This can also be so for disease of the mind.

I don’t give much attention to things I don’t want.
This is wholesome advice and the key to good health.
When it does not feel good, I turn my head away.
There are many things elsewhere to brighten my day.
I’m immersed in wellbeing. I wallow in wealth.
My most heartfelt discernment is my confidant.