Archive | April 2019

An Enlightening Experiment

TheMagicRealist.com

We become scientists by the nature of things
So that methods developed to yield the most good
Become our way of living. Therefore, we’ve the need
To come up with effective ways to keep us freed
From conscious misperception and hidden falsehood.
We can observe The Moment and all that it brings.

All I have is this moment. I don’t have the last
Nor the one coming soon or much further along.
This moment is the only thing that does exist.
All the rest is illusion that can’t be dismissed.
In the moment that is now is where I belong.
All of time and space pales within consciousness vast.

Is this moment inevitable? I should ask.
In the answer, stability can be assured
For the moment – the one upon which all are built.
In the moment, I’m mindful and absent of guilt.
With experimentation, can my ills be cured?
It is quite possible with my will put to task.

The Affections Of Phineas Phuthworthy

TheMagicRealist.com

Phineas is a fun guy. He means no one harm.
Yet, sometimes he gets frisky like a puppy dog.
Friends and family love him. He’s not a pervert.
Not a thing about him should put one on alert.
Would one fear being kissed by a funny bullfrog?
We can know that our Phineas knows how to charm.

Why then would women scorn him? I know no all do.
Yet should he run for office, he wouldn’t get far.
Most women would adore him and give him their vote.
Others would castigate him, then that’s all she wrote.
Do men’s innocent actions define who they are?
Does a worse man than Phineas satisfy you?

Phineas is an old man. Does this make him wrong?
Promulgation of character warfare is not
Done from any one platform. It comes from within
Wherein we implement our original sin
By infecting the narrative with our own plot.
But a leader like Phineas at least is strong.

Those Unstoppable Thoughts

TheMagicRealist.com

A racecar with no brakes travels at breakneck speed.
The racetrack is an oil slick of slippery thought.
Do they happen at random as I barely try
Not to think them as they seem to swiftly fly by?
If I’m thinking them, that means there’s something that’s sought
That is not most essential. Therefore, I’ve no need.

In the moment I identify with something
I start thinking about it. I cannot just stop.
If I eat something bad for me can I expect
A good outcome? The body I have will reject
What it knows is not good for it. Were I to swap
Every thought for a blessing, would my freed heart sing?

Any thoughts that I think cannot be part of me.
They are things I collect as I live day by day.
Every cell of this body and things on my list
Of the things most appealing to me coexist
In a conscious relationship with me by way
Of my strong need to fit in with society.

Ego thinks of survival. The body alone
Is concerned with existence. The rest… not so much.
Yet the need, for the most part, is always fulfilled.
With plenty of fried chicken, the body is thrilled.
But that which is me truly can be more in touch
With the realm of the thoughtless – the ID free zone.

Corn Off The Cob

TheMagicRealist.con

I’ve got ding for your hum. Because I’m not a bum,
I can hum ding most ringers around a horseshoe.
If my ding don’t feel funny, should I contemplate
A new day job apparently due to my fate?
I could do what most cobs are expected to do.
If I did so, though, I’d be mistaken for scum.

Being bright yellow brilliance, no problem have I
Acting like I’m pure sunlight reflecting the glow
That surrounds me whenever I’m feeling my best.
I don’t fret being popped or steamed, so I’m not stressed.
Were I used in a foul way, I’d care not to know.
I embellish my prime where the sun meets the sky.

I am sworn to be corny and free to, with glee,
Pull the string on a plaything as if it were nice
To be feisty in hindsight of good chances missed.
Yet, if you are not into this, I will persist.
It’s enough for right now, so I’ll keep this concise.
My delighting in wordplay is not just for me.

Don’t Do Life In Installments

TheMagicRealist.com

Human needs are, as Maslow says, a pyramid.
When my stomach is full, I have one problem solved.
After that, there’ll be more that I’ll need to fulfill.
The need to escape boundaries is but our will.
As discrete homo sapiens we have evolved
To the point where we scoff at what life may forbid.

We’re designed to make hay of life perhaps because
In our quest to break limits, such freedom brings fear.
That we can’t have it both ways is matter of fact.
Other creatures upon earth know well how to act.
Nature’s boundaries they know well and hold them dear.
They’re ideal citizens. They abide by her laws.

The problem we have is evolutionary.
We seem not well contained in a home made of flesh.
Maybe some kind of ectomy would offer cure
But to live without passion is hell, to be sure.
Once I have achieved one thing, then I am enmeshed
In life lived in installments most definitely.

I’ve a physical body. The reason it’s here
Is to prove that I have one to that part of me
That cannot know the physical. And by no means
Through these meager five senses can carbon machines
Come to know the non-physical. Simply to be
In a state of fulfillment? What hope to endear!

The Linearization Of Eternity

TheMagicRealist.com

Let’s put God at the center. The center makes sense.
But does God? That’s the question I need to rephrase.
It makes sense to be centered in some firm belief.
One who drifts about aimlessly often finds grief
In the chaos created from ill-fated ways.
The center is a real thing. It’s not of pretense.

Can one define the center? I’ll give that a try.
There indeed are quadrillions raised to that much more.
In fact, so many centers there are, there’s no space
For acceptance of all of them. Our human race
Is a finite retainer – a half-open door
To a wellspring of meaning. We’re blessed to get by.

All there is was the center and is that way now
Only now it’s much bigger. The Bang that occurred
Many billions of years ago from tininess
Was and is now the center. All place does express
What is central to all things. That which is preferred
To line up with eternity we must allow.

The Manufacturer Is Within

TheMagicRealist.com

We are made from the inside out while in the womb.
If but one drop of this knowledge enters my day,
I’ll be living life naturally magically.
For a while I am human. Some day I won’t be.
The magnificent body is not here to stay.
It will remain efficient by will to consume.

If I eat a banana, it soon becomes me.
There’s a ton of intelligence present within.
It allows for survival and functioning well.
It’s as if a grand master has cast a deep spell
Upon matter become me. Original sin
Is the conscious decision to not clearly see.

What exists is a competence driving this beast.
With complete understanding of its complex ways,
It then is its own doctor, effectively so
When I don’t interfere with all that it must know.
Illnesses may befall me the rest of my days
But the maker within me is harmed in the least.

Who Or What Is God?

TheMagicRealist.com

That the soul can be sacred one can take to heart
On a good day when nothing disturbs inner peace.
But how can then the body be weak and unclean?
How can God be supreme but creation obscene?
Labored in observation, the mind grows obese.
We believe in creation, it seems, from the start.

So much happened before me. Now that I am here
I assume all I see here was made by someone
Who’s much bigger than I am. Does that make much sense?
If but through spontaneity all did commence
Then what difference would it make if I were to shun
Any faith in a deity and cling to fear?

God is black because I’m black. He’s white if I’m white.
And if one asks a woman, she says he’s a she.
Dogs would say God’s a Big Dog whose bark is the law.
With one paw on a biscuit, they’d raise their right paw
And declare that all humans were put here to be
But a curious nuisance… at times, a delight.

God, like self, is unknowable while in this form.
It is oneself exaggerated to the max.
Yet we cannot define it nor understand it.
We can only experience as we see fit.
By dissolving into it we learn to relax.
Seeking self-dissolution evolves as our norm.

Secret Waters

TheMagicRealist.com

How does one stay committed? A most sacred bond
Can be broken too easily. Why is this so?
Is it that the integrity of humankind
Has been compromised somehow by our own design?
What’s the best course of action that one can follow?
When beset with hard choices, how best to respond?

Many kinds of integrity make what we are.
One is that of emotions – another, of thought.
But our physical integrity is the one
That can cause discontentment but also much fun.
It may be through our upbringing contact is sought
With too much desperation. Is this below par?

People of many cultures are casual with touch.
We need hugs when we’re babies – not as we evolve.
Children are of their mothers until about five.
Until then, they should be hugged so they best survive
The dilemma most face with no means to resolve.
Secret waters are salty and don’t resolve much.

Insight Infusion

TheMagicRealist.com

Success cannot be taught. Only processes can.
And with crystal clear dreams and a bit of support,
Everyone will aspire to become something more.
There may come discontent in trying to keep score.
One can find yet the sweet spot and rarely fall short.
Insight comes from attention to one’s own game plan.

How intense the attention determines insight.
If it’s strong enough, insight will come like a flash.
A component of leadership, insight evolves.
Definiteness of purpose all through it resolves
Problems as if by clockwork. All fear becomes trash.
And the way one does business is never a fight.

Inspiration, keen insight and integrity
Are the tri-fold ingredients to great success.
To be one of integrity is to commit
To the much larger vision wherein we all fit.
Success is judged by others in how I express
My life as conscious process that happens to be.

Prank On America

TheMagicRealist.com

“It was nice doing business.” NO! Why Should I Lie?
I and my kind are just an encumbrance by now.
An account becomes “obsolete” based on a whim?
That sounds like ‘reserved’ language – an apt pseudonym
For those not quite American. Less Than, somehow,
I am not told about this. Should I wonder why?

That sure as Hell feels like a prank, I must say.
So I must be American to some degree.
My ancestors were born here. They gave with their lives
To ensure that this nation of many survives.
You betray my America. That’s what I see.
Is there nothing to do but to see it your way?

Now, the Mask of America, you bring disgrace
To the name you have hijacked and paid for with blood.
What’s behind the mask is a monster that can’t fail.
Policies most corrosive persist and prevail.
More appropriate it would be were you named ‘mud.’
My business nor my feelings I need not misplace.

Am I In My Right Mind?

TheMagicRealist.com

Am I In My Right Mind? Often times I can’t tell.
Would I hope that a single mind is quite enough?
That I’m clothed by my skin and by fabric is true.
A mind that I’d fit into would mock what is new.
Right or Left mind irrelevance sought off the cuff
Leaves oneself far beside oneself. Is the mind well?

Are there many or just a few possible minds
I can choose to climb into at any instant?
Some would say there’s but one mind. The others are fake.
But someone with a handful, and all wide awake,
Can act out in such ways that are inconsistent
With established norms, wherein contentment one finds.

I have seven minds – one for each day of the week.
They are ruled by the planets, or maybe by gods.
If I wear only one mind a day, is that cool?
And if others wore many, who would be the fool?
I can handle one day at a time, so the odds
That I am in the wrong mind are rather oblique.

Love And Grace

TheMagicRealist.com

Love and Grace are two forces that blend into one
But to speak more about grace is nothing but fair.
No analogy perfect is there to explain
How the blessings of nature can balance the brain.
Gravity in this world is what we can compare
To the unyielding lawfulness beneath our sun.

When released from this physical world, grace will burst
From the soul given freedom. This too is the law.
Is it not made available on certain days?
Can we open up to it as we change our ways?
Gravity is abrasive, but grace is of awe
And as free as its spirit, it can’t be coerced.

Each tradition of inner work has as its goal
To make oneself adequately fit to receive
Enough grace to meet gravity lightly in air.
What could be more important than what I may share
With another that I myself want to believe
Will enhance the momentum and thus make it whole?

Half A Shot Of Sick Puppy

TheMagicRealist.com

Half A Shot of Sick Puppy I’ll add to the mix
When I’m upside down on a two-legged bar stool.
The bartender within me knows that I don’t drink
Yet I’m intoxicated by thoughts that I think.
I could blame that on current events like a fool.
Is all that I am drunk on an effective fix?

Half asleep to the counter of what people say
In the background, I am then aware of not all
There is to be revealed in this dark, smoke-filled room.
If it were not a swamp, all we’d need is a broom.
Could that ever become so? Would that be my call?
Chaos is a perception. It is not the way.

Since I’m one of a tribe, I am doomed to imbibe
What I don’t know I’m thinking. My drinking is such
That it does medicate me in maddening ways.
What should be the reality has become haze.
Could the fix in the mix be to not expect much?
That would be but the best thing my soul could prescribe.

Social Incarceration

TheMagicRealist.com

Why the hell won’t she call me? What’s up with my friends?
Do my fingers find favor with social contacts?
All I know is what others know, and it’s a shame
That I’m drenched in the digital friendliness game.
Am I one in control or the one who reacts
To the paint I have chosen to color my lens?

People don’t want to do things I ask them to do.
Should they call that their freedom? And should I as well?
If I ask with persistence, am I to them fair?
If they asked something of me, how much would I care?
If someone doesn’t like me, need I make them yell?
They are not mine to mess with. I’ll bid them adieu.

Social life is imprisonment. If I react
To what goes on outside of me, I’ll be enslaved.
To respond is the better way. Then I remain
In control of the moment with no sense of strain.
I can keep myself connected and well-behaved
If I know I’ll do time for the way that I act.

Loneliness

TheMagicRealist.com

When the flip side of freedom does loneliness bring,
Which perception of madness is best for the soul?
To belong to someone special is to feel well
On the way to fulfillment. The story we tell
Of that someone we’ve chosen to make our life whole
Is of one who’s evolving. One does one’s own thing.

We would each have our freedom if given the chance
And without thinking fully of what the word means.
With the door open widely, we sit in a cage
We could fly away anytime, but we engage
In entrapping thought processes. And our routines
Are the backdrop that we want to label romance.

Freedom is a blending of courage and madness
To explore one’s own being which is like a sea
Of specific complex chemical interplay.
To endeavor to know that may brighten our day.
Loneliness is a blessing that we rarely see.
We’re alone to begin with. Why make life a mess?

Casual Relations

TheMagicRealist.com

Some unions lack emotion. Is that the complaint?
They’ve become somewhat casual and commonplace.
What are some to make of this? Is this it a new wave?
Things are more important than a marriage to save.
Yet, it’s all about memory. Our human race
Is a sponge-like existence immune to restraint.

There was once an old couple married fifty years.
The day after their celebration, they divorced.
Said the judge who was friends with them, “Why do this now?
You’ve had such a fine marriage. What’s happened somehow?”
“I went through some old photos, and then I was forced,”

Said one of them, “To hold back a torrent of tears.”

“My children don’t look like me. So, that’s the reason!”
Now, the judge, here, is anyone with common sense.
Some cultures aren’t so ‘touchy.’ They tend to know well
Memory that is tactile will act like a spell
That will then cast one’s life in a world of pretense.
It’s a question of sense, not of morals undone.

Is This Site Using Cookies?

TheMagicRealist.com

Is This Site Using Cookies? They claim to be smart
But not as smart as I am. No text file can be.
Were that so, then my writing would be at its worst.
So, attention to content must always come first.
I do eat cookies, but they’re no big part of me.
I take info from no one. It’s not in my heart.

Cookies are, though, a good thing, if used the right way…
Not to discern your habits to target you more
But to make things convenient while cruising online.
Things like shopping cart contents and such are just fine
If your online adventure, in fact, is a store.
I have nothing to sell you but part of my day.

I am not yet a monster, but hunger I feel
To record with expression what stirs in my soul.
Surely it is consumable and of good taste.
Someday, I may need cookies. Right now, they’re a waste
Of the energy I would devote to the whole
Of my sole driving purpose that I here reveal.

Click-A-Mole

TheMagicRealist.com

Nowadays, we don’t whack ‘em. We click ‘em instead.
The moles consist of images placed on the screen.
They are put there by fisher-folk trolling for clicks
With pop-ups and page-unders and digital tricks.
If not fast enough, what I see becomes unseen
Just before I can click it. This fucks with my head.

It is not that my hand freezes up in the cold.
Is it that my reflexes are not up to par
That I don’t double click well enough to command
My own space with efficiency? I understand
That the slightest mouse movement while clicking will bar
An inkling of an outcome. Indeed, I’ve grown old.

My eyes are now the pointer. The mouse takes a break
From its small, cheesy movement upon the mouse pad.
I am yet the observer… the screen, a portal
To the sea of believing in all things mortal.
That we’ve made such a game of life, I should be glad.
Games are made for all children. We play for their sake.

After Death

TheMagicRealist.com

After Death, what becomes of me? Am I still here
To grab hold of another life without a break?
Or do I become nothingness, absent of thought?
No one living knows really, yet so much is taught
Of the nature awaiting all. It’s my mistake
If I claim to be certain my knowing is clear.

Each of us is a pamphlet of many pages.
It’s a system of thought one may cater to heart.
Each page is of a different self. Some are more dense
Than the others. The purest self needs no defense
Due to its lack of seeming a viable part
Of our being and doing and earning wages.

Every page will disintegrate except the one
Least attached to identity with time and place.
That page is the pure spirit – the long narrative
Of existence eternal. What more can I give
To improve the condition of my human race?
I can speak of my own journey ever begun.

Sense Or Nonsense

TheMagicRealist.com

The spiritual process has gained ridicule
In the world because we must be entrepreneurs.
People selling a product will only sell waste.
Is it good to have most sacred teachings disgraced
By the marketing enterprise? Yes! It ensures
That the one making profit will not be the fool.

With respect to those teachers in far away lands
Who provided an atmosphere for folks to learn,
They do not want their teachings distilled into books
To be produced and peddled to folks with good looks.
Guidance is done in context. How does one discern
Its full essence when not a word one understands?

Is it Sense or Nonsense? This is all one may ask
Of oneself – not of wisdom that is packaged well.
Should one ask of one’s enemies and of best friends?
As the question is pondered, the spirit transcends
All the seeking outside oneself. Rather than dwell
On the nonsense abundant, put your sense to task.

You Can’t PROVE I’m A Scarecrow

TheMagicRealist.com

I know nothing of farming, but I’m the best one
To behave as your farmer by bullshit alone.
Is it that what elected me is a machine
Most corrupted and broken and makes me obscene
That erodes any hope you have down to the bone?
How I commandeered this field will be told to none.

Those who say I’m a scarecrow have gathered no proof
That betrays that I am one. This clears me of shame
On the outside, but inside, there’s only hot air.
That hot air can be blameless is not only fair,
It’s the best way I know of to win at life’s game.
Mentally insufficient, I can seem aloof.

The report says they tried hard, but they couldn’t find
Enough factual evidence linking me to
All who took part in stuffing me to make me look
Like something of a candidate. But, I’m a crook.
You Can’t PROVE I’m A Scarecrow, so all you can do
Is to ignore the hay you see. Pretend you’re blind.