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Inner Stability

The Stillness Within

There is strength in solidity to the extent
That it makes the heart hollow so resonance rings.
What’s inside isn’t emptiness. It’s a strong voice
That is heard only by those who listen by choice.
A strong sense of direction is what wisdom brings.
I have learned to achieve goals through firm commitment.

The heart, filled with vibration, distributes life force
To the bell become being. Order I attract.
Thought flow waxes pragmatic. What’s done can take root.
I consume perseverance in my life’s pursuit.
I can adhere to all that is rooted in fact.
All that gives my life meaning must come from my source.

I distinguish what works and what doesn’t by now.
Time to flush what is useless approaches past due.
That I know who I am is apparent to me.
It takes self-understanding to truly be free
From abstractions of failure that rarely ring true.
Things do work out, and I need not think about how.

A Frantic Pace

The Blur of Life

People, places and objects blend into a blur
Right before me, and I am a part of it all.
I take care of my business as all others do.
I’d prefer to decipher the things that I view
In a manner more simple. I need not stand tall
In the midst of the madness that needs to occur.

Information on overload sent and received
Through magnificent networks designed to make ease
Of the process of living is what I become.
Life is listless and hopelessly humdrum to some.
The world can’t cease its motion nor can it appease
Those in search of contentment however perceived.

There’s a sense of excitement. Can I remain calm
While swept up in the live stream of energy flow?
Yes I can is the answer. My mindfulness of
My most cherished connections with those who I love
Counterbalance the tension. It’s good that I know.
Though it is overwhelming, I have not a qualm.

The Heart Of The Matter

Self Appreciation

Superficial relationships baptized in wax
Melt away in intense heat among any few.
When engaging with others, the meaning I seek
Is a deeper connection. The words that I speak
Are a soulful expression few can misconstrue
As the sound of some object open to attacks.

Writing can be romantic. My odd verse and I
Are each part of the other. Our hearts beat the same…
To the tune of awareness of all I can be.
All the things about people that satisfy me
Can be my point of focus. To love is my aim.
I might not feel this way long, so that I will try.

I acquaint my emotions with such a rare beast
That behaves as an intellect with an ego.
Creatures such as these, tamed by subconscious insight,
Will become worthy pets who can yield much delight.
Knowing self and accepting it can make it grow
So that grace and abundance are aptly increased.

Patience, Heal Thyself

Gentleness is the way of the soft, healing heart,
Having gained its compassion from having felt pain
On a deep karmic level through many lifetimes.
I have learned well my lessons when my spirit chimes
With the will to share everything, as it’s humane
To be kind to my kind with wisdom to impart.

When the wound seems incurable, time is at hand
To absorb the experience for what it’s worth.
I can get through the torment as I’ve done before
In adjacent realities I can’t explore
Except through meditation. I’ve come through this earth
For the needed rebalancing as had been planned.

Often chained in the cellar and hidden amid
Psychic ancestral rubble, the wound must be known
If there is to come healing. This may be my way
Of fulfilling the mission. My heart must obey
What the subconscious patterns within me have shown
To be qualified teachings I should not forbid.

For The Future

Not For Now

On a road with dark boundaries and with and end,
There can be but compliance with all that takes place.
I can’t see through the thickness. Chaotic and gray
Is the fragile conundrum I live out each day.
My wheels oft’ spin excessively to my disgrace
Due to pent up energy I need to expend.

It remains optimistic. My outlook today
Is one ripe with potential. Enthusiasm
And a new depth of focus attend to my growth.
Since before my arriving I’d crafted an oath
To feel good things and bad things and not to succumb
To the robust impatience that fetters my way.

We are here but a short time. As my time draws near,
I’m aware of my deficits. Late is ok.
That way it becomes easy to play the wise man.
It’s, again, a part of the original plan.
To ride into the earth plane and make my own way
Is to prepare the next time that I may appear.

Breaking Away

Ease of Escape

Emotions are excitable. I could rebel
Against my quaint surroundings. On impulse I move.
Feeling stuck in my routine, should I break away?
If life were unpredictable I would obey
What my spirit demands. All else I’d disapprove
As would make common sense to the bat out of hell.

There’s a truth in confinement that must come to light.
Clarity, when it’s needed, is brought on by change.
Expectations too dormant don’t make for surprise.
If I want to stay healthy, I must realize
That disruptions are blessings, although it sounds strange
To the robotic nature that cannot know right.

I’m at ease with what is now, but not without stress.
This odd mix can’t do much but short circuit my will.
Restlessness is relentlessly up in my face
Showing me other rainbows I may care to chase.
Please don’t try to restrain me or make me sit still.
My response may be shocking and to the excess.

Feel The Before Time

Malignant Nostalgia

Why the past makes so present this mist I become
Can no longer be answered. My mood relays far
Between binary guardrails. It’s in danger of
Being run over. If there is grace from above,
May it free me from feeling I’m not up to par?
I’ll stay inside this fine day since I’m feeling glum.

I don’t get ‘touchy feely’ at drops of most hats
But textures of some feathers that some need to hold
Bring on deep irritation. Some feel awfully nice.
To experience feeling, one must pay the price.
Some way to escape safely I shall make unfold
Through creative and totally right-brained formats.

On the brink of delusion, to mitigate fear,
Can the only solution be sinking within?
Subconscious influences are stronger right now.
I can sense more, and all feelings I should allow
To enlighten me and not get under my skin.
What appears to be foggy shall soon become clear.

Animated Suspension )Versus Vice Versa(

Existence Between States

Suspended Animation, as most of us know,
Is a state where activity comes to a halt
Or is made to creep slowly, as if by some force
Totally supernatural. What is the source
Of this lame definition? Indeed, who’s at fault?
There’s a whole lot more to this, as I will now show.

One must first find the inverse. Though non sequitur
In its mirror reflection, trust that it makes sense
As a logical theory, just as is with math.
Seeing from this perspective is surely the path
To cosmic understanding and wisdom immense.
Both worlds are parts of one so that growth may occur.

We’re Suspended in life here and Animated
In a way that is cumbersome. Bodies are weak.
But when we move to Spirit, Suspension must cease.
We’re no longer in motion. The Spirit knows peace.
Animation, in Spirit, is much too oblique
For our flesh minds to fathom because they’re flesh fed.

Animated Suspension is that other state
Where we are when we leave here – this thing we call earth.
We’re Suspended from life here to Animate there
With an infinite freedom and life without care
‘Til it comes time we’re moved to consider rebirth.
Neither world is the better. In both we create.

Reaching Agreements

Consentual Achievement

Talk to people and people will talk back to you.
It’s a good time for travelling both near and far
Seeking out other earth trekkers and touching base.
What may have been a problem becomes a closed case.
What has not been discussed will remain a tough scar.
Healthy communication helps me breathe anew.

There exists a transaction in every handshake.
A connection is made. Circuitry is complete
For the flow of God’s good grace and blessings galore
To the hearts of both parties. Who knows what’s in store
If I neglect the hookup… other than defeat?
Should business be electric? It’s all that I make.

Time enough becomes plenty for mental pursuits,
Catching up on life’s details and making contacts
That may become productive in myriad ways.
I’ll negotiate mindfully. That always pays.
I can’t let opportunity seep through the cracks.
I must exercise all of my best attributes.

Commercial Affairs

Group Approval

Analyzing of finances is to cash flow
As breathing is to good health so that we may thrive.
Commerce is interaction with those of like mind.
Business equals good exercise when it’s resigned
To a meaningful purpose to keep it alive.
Product comes from good planning; therefore it is slow.

Is that it in a nutshell? Quite hardly the case
Would it be for behavior not to be complex.
What I’d like is some insight to sort through my mess.
I’ve a knack for neglecting, with shame I confess.
Give me guidance toward wisdom in all due respects.
Let my whole soul be filled with your cosmic embrace.

…Time to turn my attention to physical things
That I must make of value. My mental pursuits
Need to be sharply focused on earning my keep.
Information gained sensually isn’t cheap.
All good work does, in time, bear significant fruits
Like the ones that the Spirit most graciously brings.

Intermediate Frequency

Vintage Eternity

All behavior is cyclic. Each has its own phase
Of a sequence of actions that has to repeat.
Each one has its own wavelength for getting things done.
As one thing is completed the next is begun.
Cycles do mix together in manner discrete.
All can act as a carrier in many ways.

Upon signal detection I’ve ended up here
In a world made of matter with message and means
To broadcast in fidelity all that I’ve learned
From dimensions beyond this one. I am concerned
That my most errant cycles are locked in my genes.
Is it safer in heaven where there is no fear?

We are all the same signal. Our wavelengths combine
To form one complex beacon in infinite space.
All continuous segments of organized time
Abhor demodulation. Is this not sublime?
As my cycle completes I’ll return to that place
From where all is transmitted and all is divine.

Minding Mindfulness

Magnificent Mental

Magic and Mental Energy work hand in hand.
They’re made of the same stuff as enchanted stardust.
Mind molds both into meaning with purpose and plan.
Problems are made for solving the best that I can.
This keen mind is a fine tool I know I can trust.
Throughout all of existence there’s nothing as grand.

Speaking somewhat directly gets me to the point
In a well enough fashion when I am at ease
Yet when passion ignites that which flows through my heart
Everyone in my presence perceives me as smart.
Give me room to be brilliant. I’m not hard to please.
Mind is meaningful magic ordained to anoint.

Confidence is my ally. New starts are a gift
From the infinite cosmos to my open mind.
I shall make tough decisions and get my work done.
All the while, I have learned, I should integrate fun.
It’s of utmost import that I learn to be kind.
What I want to know mostly is how to uplift.

On Embracing The Change

United In Transformation

Eclipses can be good things but rough to get through.
When most light becomes darkness much more than a while
I can know it will pass as all hellish things do.
May I look far beyond it and embrace the new?
I’ll stand up to the ruggedness not with a smile
But a mindset restructured to new points of view.

Doomed to become historic, this time has its place
Among cyclic phenomena. All moments must
Come to profound significance if I want growth.
Between now and what’s possible I can’t choose both.
I must make my decision infused with the trust
That this cosmos of consciousness bathes me in grace.

The upcoming conjunction of soul, heart and mind
Is a meeting of powers who are made of me.
Jupiter and Uranus shall usher insight
Of an expansive nature. Things do turn out right.
Letting go of what is now… Can this set me free?
I claim choice in the answer. I am that resigned.

Toughening Up

The Battle In Life

Living is a big battle upon the game board.
I have not a complaint. Fighting is exercise
And I’m in the best shape that I’ve been in in years.
I have learned to be tough and to fight away tears.
Living is without quality, and therein lies
My surprising ability with shield and sword.

Take you chance. I am ready. I’ll chop your head off
With a laser-like swiftness and focus direct.
There’s the chance I’ll be wounded. I don’t give a damn!
I’m prepared for the battle. That Is Who I Am.
I will work like a bastard to gain due respect.
Those who beg for my wrath are the fools who now scoff.

I’m a master of tough talk, yet as life draws near
To the time of my judgment, this war that I fight
Feels more like an amusement – one played just for fun.
I shall honor the drive, but the fight I will shun.
If I don’t know I’ve won, then I’ll know I’ve done right
By the spirit within me who knows not of fear.

My Existence Makes Sense

Affirmation

My Existence Makes Sense, and there’s life to commence.
I do feel much more childlike as seasons march by.
I see such an adult world when I look outside.
I’m afraid to go out there. In here is my pride,
Where my sense of the strangeness I may simplify.
If I feel disconnected, I’ll call it suspense.

Sensing feeling is mutual, well I reflect
That which I am a part of. What love can I know?
Is it why I’m not listened to? Am I too mean?
Living life like a woman, I’ve become obscene?
Have I screwed up completely with nowhere to go?
Had I acted more manly, had I known respect?

 What makes sense is of import to living that out
In a way that feels wholesome and absent of fear.
If I feel like a channel of wisdom and light,
For all intents and purposes, I’ll do alright.
Any sense that I make here at least is sincere.
I’m of value to this world. I have not a doubt.

A Wonderful Day

Peace

It’s A Wonderful Day! Did Christ make it this way?
Let’s not screw with a damp dream and give it due cause
To condense into quibble. Whose story is true?
If it matters to God, all the killing we do
Goes against what was preached about. So are the laws
As the Lawmaker gave them, or has there been play?

It’s still such a big mystery shrouded in doubt
Which precisely plays into the function of faith
Just as modern day drama dissolves into dream.
History will record things only as they seem
To those living in this time. Real news becomes wraith.
Human nature precludes seeing truth as devout.

So, we’re left with the mystery and with the choice
Of blind faith in vague dogma by threat of demise
Of the soul God created and loved? This makes sense…
…To a god who’s demonic! We seem awfully dense.
Truth becomes complicated; therefore it is wise
To ignore all the bullshit and simply rejoice.

Don’t ask me what my faith is. It’s already known
By all essence with beingness etched in its soul.
So to ask is aggressive. It puts me on edge.
To no fellow observer do I yield my pledge
And therefore my God given right to self-control.
My belief in humanity is harshly shown.

Christmas God has invented. Enchanted in grace,
As this day becomes special, we know all can be.
Any day word becomes flesh, all flesh becomes one
And a season of enlightenment has begun.
God is good! That’s enough… If we all could agree.
Christmas brings folks together. That all can embrace.

Made Afraid In America

Looming Disaster

To be Made In America is to believe
In one nation united with justice for all.
Is it too high an ideal for me to achieve
With my brothers and sisters who hopelessly grieve?
Can the statute of liberty survive its fall?
We are made not by ourselves. Let’s not be naïve.

Consciousness is the Wild West of human concern.
It’s been made a commodity. Nations partake
In intelligence warfare to program the mind
To behave in such ways that are much more aligned
With their sinister interests. Should we come awake,
We’ll have overcome fallout and nuclear burn.

I remember Chernobyl, the horrid mishap
That they tried to keep hidden. But word got around.
We’re within the first half-life of something much worse.
The decay of the human soul completes the curse
Cast upon us. But maybe new hope can be found
As we discern the enemy’s will to entrap.

The Yuletide In Magic

Well Is All

The best songs about Christmas were written by Jews.
No one needs to ‘go figure;’ it makes perfect sense.
Christmas transcends religion and ways to know God.
Human ways of expressing God’s love may seem odd.
There’s a Yuletide In Magic. It ushers from whence
The whole heart of humanity yearns for good news.

When the mention of sleigh bells sets off a cascade
Of the most blessed memories one can recall,
‘All Is Well’ is the feeling. Through this dark of night
May we find what connects us. Please give us that sight.
Is it wise that we worship the hot bar room brawl
All the time except this time because we’re afraid?

There’s abundance of Magic throughout all our lives.
If I stop for a moment to sound the Yuletide,
There’s an increase in goodwill toward all humankind.
I can hear return echoes ring throughout my mind.
The profoundness of Christmas we all share with pride
For it’s in our belonging that our race survives.

Living Energy Canvas

Colorful Life

Become One with The Artist Who Paints with Pure Light!
What we’re made of, divinity uses freely.
And with each vibrant brush stroke, omnipotence spreads
Like an energy virus. In mystical threads
A grand cosmos is woven that all life may be
Consummate of its majesty. It’s only right.

Often fresh on the Canvas, the colors of love
Can be seen in their essence in rich puppy shades
Mixed with laughter of children and rarified air.
Is it worth pursuing living life without care?
If I don’t care, is that why my part masquerades
As the one of the Master who works from above?

We are made of the substance God uses to speak.
Since we know this is so, why we need to express
What is heartfelt within us is no mystery.
We become the same image as that which we see.
May our sight be benevolent and may God bless
All that is now created through divine mystique.

Dissolve The Resistance

Heat Stress

Full force of Total Current a circuit may use
If it puts up resistance at integral points.
So, there are many voltage drops. This works out fine
Just as long as the circuit is of good design.
If it’s not, it’s the reason the hot flame anoints
The resistive component. This isn’t good news.

We must have some resistance to balance our loads.
It gives life vital structure so it flows with ease.
Too much of it… then current will come to a halt.
The big voltage drop becomes the resistor’s fault
Even if that’s not how the whole circuitry sees
As it’s measured in each of its most feeling nodes.

Don’t resist the unwanted. It does not exist.
Only in the subconscious, which knows nothing more
Than whatever it’s told, does creation take place.
Matter tends to resist any movement of grace.
Voltage felt in our feelings we cannot ignore
And the health of our circuitry can’t be dismissed.

We believe that in poverty, sickness and death
We must toil through our time here. But this isn’t so.
We were meant for abundance and living in peace.
This can come about only through total release
From investment in effort and subsequent woe.
One must know one is worthy with each living breath.

Dark Matter Blanket

Security In Contemplation

Swaddled snugly in comfort, the pure heart contends
With deep thoughts of the cosmos. The focus is keen
On the wonder of being while nestled in peace.
One can contemplate clearly the total release
Of the unblemished ego that may get between
Who oneself is and who it considers its friends.

I become like an infant as I fall asleep.
All that may have occurred in the wakefulness state
Dissipates into nothingness. What takes its place
Is a private contentment infected with grace.
In the womb of dark matter, my life has no weight.
I’ll release the day’s clutter, but calm I will keep.

Just how real is dark matter? Sufficient for me
Is that it’s gathered closely in elegant ease.
Warmth and caring embraces subliminal soul
With the cosmos’ cover. I want no control
Of a damned thing. My sleeping is my expertise.
My real Dark Matter Blanket is not one can see.

The Giving

Process

There are times to be thankful. We set them aside
Because we are so busy with making time pay.
Times relate to the seasons the earth must go through
As it circles the sun making each cycle new.
Life cannot give up giving then call it The Day.
Each moment of existence is then justified.

In preparing for Thanksgiving, when to begin
All the planning and clockwork to make it worthwhile
To all who become present for one special day?
We cannot stop The Giving. We’re blessed in that way.
Now, we’re deeply divided and in no denial.
Life responds to our thankfulness – not to our sin.

In The Giving, relief from the drama at play,
On the world stage or this humble spot where I live,
Rings a welcoming echo and feelings of grace
That I have become thankful that I know my place.
I am thankful The Giving allows me go give
With no sense of confusion nor heartfelt dismay.

Character Is Destiny

The Drama of Symbology

It’s a simple equation yet complex in ways
That can cause misconception and conjured up fears.
‘Character Equals Destiny’ sounds about right.
But, pray tell, what is Character? Shine me some light.
I’ve been lost in this forest for too many years.
As I watch them sneak by, they seem much more like days.

I do know well what destiny is, I do think.
It pertains to the future and how things work out.
If I live well, then good fortune may come my way.
If I don’t, then I won’t be immune to dismay.
To determine what ‘well’ means may free up some doubt
That would otherwise fulfill its job to hoodwink.

I should know what will happen if myself I know
As the sole story teller. To disarm all fear,
Am I known to be truthful in word and in deed?
People care about safety. Therein lies the need
For a code of behavior to which I adhere.
To thine own self be honest, then God’s grace will flow.

The Solemnity Of Solitude

Autumn Serenity

I respect my aloneness. I am not apart
From the magic surrounding me. Each breath I take
Is reflecting what I behold as I believe
In a world more fantastic than I could conceive.
Can I do such with others without much heartache?
There would be much less known and much more to kick start.

I am but one antenna with one vantage point
Defined in this reality as separate
From all other transceivers within the same void
Of a chaos of consciousness most humanoid.
Should my being alone be something to regret?
Those who long for this freedom may nature anoint.

I exist in an acorn that hangs from a tree
In a mystical forest bathed in golden light.
All the world that’s around me, I’ll take with a grain,
Or a fractional part that produces no pain.
When I do hang with others, I do so with sight
Of my true self distinguished from all there’s to be.

Who Is That Strange Soul?

enigma

Life speeds by rather quickly from this vantage point.
It’s just like at the movies, but I am there too.
My believing it is me, though it’s crystal clear,
Is a grand paradox – one that causes me fear,
Not of that which is unknown, but of this post view.
I can’t be that strange fellow. Why such a disjoint?

Have I acted so foolishly? I guess I did.
Somehow I can’t deny I’m the actor played there
Who appears ill and clumsy while caught in the light.
I thought I was a peaceful soul. This one does fight.
He would have people know that they’d better beware.
Indeed, when he gets angry he acts like a kid.

Has there been a mistake? This review can’t be mine.
Some screwup has occurred in the Akashic Vault.
One bored astral librarian made a mistake.
But who is there to check that? No sense does it make.
And can those who are in charge say this is my fault?
If I suspend all judgment, will things work out fine?

Infrared Neck

Visual Revelations

Is the image of heat loss enough to evoke
Irritation and feeling stiffness in the neck?
It may be therapeutic to use infrared
To support diagnosis – not to be misled.
Why elude the believer? It’s proper to check
With a sensitive instrument to see what broke.

We should care for our Gelicals in the best way
Because Evan delivers the pain in their necks.
Redness responds to infra because it’s below
And indeed further on to where people can go.
An aching for a race war is not so complex.
Simple minds need a leader to plan out their day.

The right book states an Imperfect Vessel shall come
And his mission to usher in Armageddon
Is fulfillment of prophecy. What a delight!
Those who beam up to rapture will only be white.
All religion is human. Spirit makes us one.
Consciousness is an illness. We can overcome.

Do I Need A Container?

The Questions of Life

Is Defining My Life Force a worthwhile pursuit?
Or should I remain timid regarding nonsense
As is seen by this busy world? Is what I do
Of a value consistent with right points of view?
Silly world, I am childlike! My faith is immense.
Self-discovery for me is an absolute.

Do I need to be guided while I’m on my way
To wherever my spirit has pointed my heart?
We all are flesh containers. Those older than I
May be of some assistance. But I can get by
On the infinite wisdom of which I’m a part.
I must know who I am or I’ll surely decay.

Within me there is substance. It and I are one.
This complex earthy medium makes a fine tool
That I’ll use to explore to my true heart’s content.
There is nothing more meaningful than good time spent
Looking inward. It increases my psychic fuel.
There’s no end to my searching as long as it’s fun.

Afterlife

Transition

I have died, and I’m here now in this afterlife.
It’s not what I expected. It looks rather bleak
Like the life left behind. I discern no big change.
Things that are in both places I can’t rearrange
To my liking. Forgive my most honest critique
But what I see ahead is continuing strife.

Have I made this illusion upon psychic death
In a knee jerk response to prepare me to see
The Omega of afterlives waiting ahead
All because I believe now that I’m truly dead?
In believing it’s so, then it’s all up to me
To live up to what follows ‘til my dying breath.

Is there light? I don’t see that. At least, not right now.
I was told I must go to it, moth-like in trust
That reality will vanish once and for all.
This world that I’m believing could be my downfall.
How I deal with non-time here will still be discussed.
This death is a transition I humbly allow.

A Land Of Raw Milk And Organic Honey

Contrast Irony

I can’t double-click well when my fingers are cold.
The AC must be kept at the proper degree
Or I will not cooperate. I have my rights
Because I’m an American – one who delights
In detailing my comforts. Life is about me.
I can maintain some smugness in what I behold.

That land has to be promised by someone like God
Is a fact or a myth I can live with and hope
That I’m on the receiving end of what is good.
But what of all the others who would, if they could
Be providers and reapers? I broaden my scope
Of a true situation one cannot applaud.

Milk and Honey means bounty and everything nice.
To most, it’s an ideal… to few, reality.
All land has its own goodness. All life came from there.
We, the creatures who tend it, could give it more care.
Our world crises we nurture, not willing to see
Human nature is something earth can sacrifice.

Be Sincere

Social Performance

Film is rolling. Now, give the world your whitest smile.
Don’t tell me you don’t have one to proudly display.
We all have social standing. Is yours not above
Those who are at rock bottom? Do show them some love
By reminding them life is much better your way.
Don’t you dare let your mask down. It is your profile.

Be alive and in good health for all whom you meet
On the street, if they’re worthy of some time of day.
Use your keen sense of judgment to fully assess
How much they are like you or hopefully much less
So that you feel of value in life’s cabaret.
Claim your sense of fulfillment from Satan by tweet.

But be kind to the losers. We speak from the soul
With our hearts heavy-laden. Stage presence we lack
And our costumes are tattered from playing our parts.
We all have one director who knows all our hearts.
In a heartbeat we’ll leave here without looking back
Knowing non-actors exit with none to condole.

Do I Need A Co-Writer?

Programmed Terminal Distraction

Hanging on past my world worth, I seek not my own
Group of lighthearted losers. Alone I decay.
One misspoken raw truth or a social faux pas
Once a day should not get me involved with the law
Nor should it take my birthright to be here away.
Nature does still support me in its Twilight Zone.

Gnats don’t help with my writing. They get in the way.
I’ll assume that it’s personal then take offense.
Their obscene aeronautics hijacks attention
Even if there’s no light source. They do this for fun.
They are faster than I, so it makes perfect sense
That for such a transgression I shall make them pay.

While in flight, I can spray them with something that burns.
Rubbing alcohol works well. A delicate mist
Knocks them flat on their asses. I take much delight
Because now they’re so dazed they can’t put up a fight.
When they start fucking with me, I cannot resist
Brushing up on my mayhem against all concerns.

As they frantically gasp and flail after they fall
I now master the last laugh and take back some pride.
As I watch them grow weaker, I’ll spray them again.
They’ve messed with the wrong creature among insane men.
As I see that they’re hopeless, I feel good inside.
After that, I will kill them. My wrath isn’t small.

Do I draw such contempt from those of my own kind?
Do I act out in consequence of being cursed
As a highflying nuisance disrupting the show?
That I know nothing of it causes me to grow.
Someday I’ll cease my wars, but right now I’m submersed
In one of my own making. It’s all in the mind.

A Check-In With Spirit

Journal

If I write on blank pages with fullness of heart
And well-focused, is its worth far greater than if
My mind also is void of just how to express
How I’m doing in my pursuit of happiness?
When comes time that I tame the feral verbal riff
Spirit then will take over me as I take part.

To sit down and start writing is not a big deal.
Some folks struggle with writer’s block. I am immune.
I’m equipped with a motor-mind shy of a voice
Loud enough that folks hear me. Is it not my choice
To be part of the episode we all attune?
And is it worth recording the things that I feel?

Go ahead and just do it! If I should hold back
Then there’s something undone, and my spirit will yearn
For some kind of expression of what it goes through.
Every moment I’m writing yields me a new view
Of my life with more clarity and less concern.
It’s the best way I know to keep my life on track.

We Are The Garden

Newborn

I belong in the Garden that God’s angels tend.
They recruit may spirits of those who grow free
From the earth in this Garden. It can weigh us down.
Flowers cannot be sexy while wearing a frown
So the angels and those who have gone faithfully
Keep an eye on our progress perhaps ‘til our end.

Things don’t go along smoothly. One may think they should
Since benevolent forces impinge on our deeds.
When we act out of free will, they can’t intervene.
What we do unto others in time must be seen
In the fullest of clarity. We are the seeds
Of the Garden we make here in our humanhood.

They tell us we’re great people, the Gardeners there,
Having planted their seeds in the earth left behind.
With unending rejoicing, they see with new light.
We are treated as flowers of limited sight
For a short while. Sometimes it’s a chore to be kind.
We can know that this Garden is in the best care.

Death, Transformation And Rebirth

On the Cusp of Becoming

Pluto plows through the earth Capricorn is made of
As it dredges up deep-rooted structure and form
That can no longer function. What is left behind
Is a rich field for Saturn as it’s redefined.
What exists is uprooted to upset the norm.
Through it all, there seems not much that resembles love.

Saturn covers where Pluto has already been,
Chasing after the plow. When they do rendezvous
Should there then be disaster? A changing of ways
We will make about governance. We’ll reappraise
All our structures of leadership and make them new.
We’ll make sure that some things never happen again.

Transformation, it seems, must come on with some force
If we are to be brought from a comatose state.
Solid is our complacency. Saturn moves on
To leave Pluto upturning. Are we put upon?
Keeping all focus centered, what fate may await?
One cannot know the answer until then, of course.

A Ride In The Theme Park

Amusement

Do the mind and the body combine to take form
And become a fun ride in the Cosmic Theme Park?
Neither one of them is me, nor the ride they make.
If I thought otherwise, it would be a mistake.
If I am but the ride, then existence is stark
Like a rusted machine derelict in the storm.

We are all painted ponies. We look much the same
On the outside. And inside, we’re all made of wood.
Should we know we are captive on a carousel
Where bright lights and excitement drown out all the hell
That can certainly do the theme rider no good?
Playing with such a notion should cause one no shame.

Is my ride then predestined? Have I not a voice
In what kind of experience I can expect
Through the up and down cycles as I work my ride?
I can know that the decision maker inside
Has the power to masterfully redirect
My outlook on amusement. It is but my choice.

The Path

Path

From my vantage point, my whole life’s path I can’t see.
As it’s laid out before me, I look straight ahead.
There may be hills and valleys as I go my way.
I’ll walk through them the same as if life’s a ballet.
When I see the road turning, with caution I tread.
I can see where I’m headed but not completely.

Other people have walked this same path, I can see.
It is well-worn, so well seen, so people can know
That we all walk the same path yet remain unique
In how we relate to it and what we may seek.
As I engage the journey, my hope is to grow
To my fullest potential. My quest is To Be.

On the hilltops we can see big parts of the road.
In the valleys, it seems that we’re blind to it all.
Were it viewed from up high, one could see the whole thing.
What a wealth of foreknowledge that vision would bring!
Are we not meant to see such because we are small?
We came here for adventure, and such is bestowed.

After Death

Death As the Passage Into New Life

The old body is done now. Where else do I go?
I feel so much less burdened. My breath is set free.
What’s become of my body? Is it laid to rest?
It’s been through quite a lifetime. Perhaps that is best.
It is odd that without eyes I finally see
That it’s not such a big deal for what I now know.

I’m adrift as I move toward what most I did crave.
And because I’ve no body, all bodies are mine
‘Til I’ve come to my senses. Discretion had I
While contained in a body. Now I don’t comply
With the laws of the physical. I will align
With the urges preceding my trip to the grave.

That I cannot escape here until I see light
Is the game that I play knowing it becomes real
For myself and my fellow ghosts in-between states.
Do I fear that some reckoning for me awaits?
The world I left behind is one where I did feel.
Now that isn’t an issue, nor is wrong or right.

While on earth, I felt strongly and spoke a big stick.
I took pride in my passions and had an ego
That was often abusive. Am I that way now?
Emotions are of earth. Spirit cannot allow
That which I’ve come to learn to harm the status quo.
Learning how to behave here can seem quite a trick.

Now that I’ve left this body, there can be no doubt
That I once had a mother. But now who is she?
Purely physical is the nature of this life.
Only on this green earth does a man take a wife.
My deep, earthly connections are not part of me.
Healing light is forthcoming. My faith is devout.

Does Work Cultivate Spirit?

Feeling Good About Work

An Obsession Magnificent, my work enthralls
And excites my whole being throughout every day.
My work is like a mantra that I can act out.
It enhances my wellbeing without a doubt.
My most absolute involvement becomes my way
To express who I am and grab life by the balls.

Anything done with great involvement does one good,
Whether farming or teaching or acting on stage.
But the only downfall is that my work depends
On results and approval. My heart recommends
That I also work deep within. There I engage
The spiritual mantra of my beinghood.

I must do something daily that does not depend
Upon anything outside my own inner space.
If I learn to do this well, then I can with ease
Make my work even better with no aim to please
Anyone who, of free will and infinite grace,
Is another earth worker who can be my friend.

Become Powerful

Inauthentic Power

Use your energy wisely. Don’t cast to the wind
Your potential for personal power. The brain
Uses twenty percent with the body at rest.
It will use way much more surely when it’s distressed.
If you think and speak less, there is power to gain.
As it dwindles away, it is hell to rescind.

Power is not about someone else, I should know.
It is only about me and how I behave.
Energy can convert to true power with ease
Or be wasted through ill thought and anxieties.
Language skills must improve if my words I do save
And disburse economic with rhythmical flow.

I can do much the same things without working hard
If I leave all unnecessary things alone
And do that which is needed and truly worthwhile.
Domination is not power. It’s a bad style.
Power is being effective and in the zone
Of the lowly enlightened. No one can be barred.

Who I Am… What I Am Not

The Subtlety of Illusion

I am not this flesh body. I gathered it all
By the means of consumption. The food that I eat
Turns into solid substance. It’s made of the earth.
Much I’ve accumulated since my meager birth.
But this body is not me, though it seems complete
As a functioning system that breathes and stands tall.

I am not this freewheeling mind caught in the breeze
Of a major commitment to generate thought.
Everything that I have thought has been thought before.
All I know is collected. I seek to know more.
But my mind cannot be me, though it may be taught
What is truly my nature perhaps with great ease.

I cannot say that what I have gathered is me.
Yet, without it, can one say that I still exist?
I exist without question, but what then am I?
I shall ponder that puzzle perhaps ‘til I die
And may not find the answer. I need not insist
That there is one. My nature is simply to be.

Where Is The Mind?

The Elusive Nature of Mind Substance

Human bodies are made of a handful of layers.
The gross physical form is what we can well see.
There are others more subtle. The mind, we may think,
Is the Crown of Creation – evolved gray and pink.
But our brains are but thought makers and their duty
Is to realize worthiness as thought purveyors.

True intelligence lies not in the frontal lobe,
Solid State of a substance within box of bone.
Every strand of my DNA knows more than me.
My nose is like my great uncle’s. How can this be?
What goes on in each cell’s life surpasses my own.
Vaster spaces exist not for the mind to probe.

The Geometry of Existence Is The Mind.
The cells are not the limits of knowledge untold.
Life and energy on earth all comes from the sun.
When compared to such knowledge, indeed I have none
But to stop and consider, and then to behold
A Most Wise Omnipresence which is undefined.

The smart soil that imparts wisdom to my bare feet
Is where I draw intelligence ripe for the brain.
I may also take wisdom from each breath of air.
No one can live without it. It is but to share.
Intellect that is infinite one can’t contain
But one can be receptive, and thus feel complete.

Controlling The Mind

Science Courts Telepathy

Do I want to control it or liberate it?
If I want it controlled, then religion works fine…
Or a group with a mindset that feeds on control.
To engage in mind trolling is bad for the soul.
What the mind needs is freedom that it may align
With the pulse of existence. I must recommit.

Simple methods like yoga can offer relief.
…Nothing way too complex for the mind to take hold
Of the purpose of process and what it can do
To delete all the thoughtware and make the mind new.
With the mind clear of clutter, what then can unfold
Is a life of experience absent of grief.

If the best cannot come from me, then what is wrong
Is that I’m disconnected through my tainted view
Of my place in the universe with humankind.
Mind control is a myth that can be redefined
By releasing the mind from what I put it through.
Processes of alignment can make my mind strong.

Mind Reading Made Easy

The Subtle Nature of Mind Communication

All our minds are connected. We are intertwined
Through both brief interactions and those that will last
A long time while alighted upon our life lines.
Without notice we leave them. Folks then erect shrines.
One can tune in subconsciously to the broadcast
Whether resting or in flight; well-sighted or blind.

People who are empathic know that what they feel
Is the flowing of life force throughout everywhere.
Anyone is tuned into by their frequency.
Flocks do behave as one mind… as if they can see
Much more than any single one. Indeed we share,
Without knowing so, much that we’d rather conceal.

Humans knew how, at one time, to speak without speech…
And to text one another without a device
Other than their attuning to all humankind.
Once again, as we evolve, we’ll become aligned
With the lines that connect all. Would that not be nice?
If we all could read minds now, what hell we would preach!

What Is ‘Needy’ ?

Ever Present Neediness

It’s another earth word I can use to engage
In perverse and unnatural acts of the brain.
And because I have learned of it, is it my name
Or some thing to consider? They are not the same.
If I need to be needy, am I then insane?
Connotations of grandeur are hard to assuage.

Needy ones are a nuisance. They get on one’s nerves
And draw too much attention to their chief concerns.
By default, they’re a drain on the life force of those
Who can offer them nothing. The needy impose
An unbearable burden. The wise one discerns
The unsightly condition and closely observes.

Fools are those who are needy. They put on a show
For the pleasure of humankind, sane and secure
As a part of the better whole. Do Not Cry Out!
Only fools then will answer you, without a doubt.
Anyone who is needy must know that the cure
Lies with no other person. Within one must go.

Friendly Therapy?

Human Conditioning

“I feel bad.”No You Don’t! You’re just making things up.
So why don’t you stop taking things seriously?”
“That is not how it is, ma’am. I’m really upset.
I’m consumed with much doubt, and I deeply regret
That I work at a nursing home. That’s wrong with me!”
“Suck it up, little soldier. You’re no buttercup.”

“Don’t you know the establishment? They make the rules!
And we are to be slave to them. They cannot change.
Why can’t you understand that? How come that you feel?
Feeling does not make sense here where we are ‘for real.’
Why don’t you listen up more? Quit acting so strange.
You are here to shut up and be one of our fools.”

“Should this come as a shock to you? Are you naïve
To gross human behavior? Now give me a break.
What you need is to be treated like you’re a child.
I know nothing about you. My mind can run wild.
And since I’m a good Christian, I’ll pray for your sake.
You don’t listen much, boy, and you do misperceive.”

“As your friend and a therapist, I can treat you
Like you never had parents, and Laugh In Your Face
While you’re pouring your guts out. What else are friends for?
Friends become human nature. That’s why there is war.”
“War can seem awfully Christian to any nutcase
So, I guess I’m not friendly. I know what to do.”

Development Of A Loser

Origin of Enigma

A thought is like four heartbeats abreast on a line.
At least that’s how my loser mind thinks things should be.
Anapestic Tetrameter is what you see.
But alas, folks would swear it’s not coming from me.
And it doesn’t take much for most folks to agree
That if someone else wrote this, then it would be fine.

I do sound like a loser. Self-pity is one
Of my grossest achievements. I can do that well.
What reward do I get from it? All is in vain.
Yet I continue doing it. Am I insane?
We are all of earth’s substance and part of its spell.
Would it please a sore loser if he were outdone?

How do losers begin life? …Perhaps in a shell
Where the world remains outside ‘til it barges in
And disturbs peace contained there because that’s the way…?
Are there too many losers with too much to say?
If you had just ignored my original sin
Perhaps I’d not be sharing your gift of my hell.

Mating Call

Audition

Would you care, my fair dumpling, to chat for a while?
That my magnetic presence is drawn close to you
Is a blessing of nature. May I look your way?
It would be so delightful and would make our day
More than it could be otherwise. My heart is true
Even though there may be something odd with my style.

If you don’t salivate ‘til the third or fourth date
I can well understand that. Fear not that I may
Become over persistent or underperformed.
I am drawn to conditions where my faith is warmed.
I believe I can win your heart with what I say.
You may find that it’s worthwhile, and that would be great.

Take a chance with me, darling. I can’t let you down.
I myself have been lower than most dudes can get.
But what keeps my heart thumping is thinking I’m cool
So much so that I’m willing to act like a fool
That I might earn the chance of becoming your pet.
In a very short while, I can invert that frown.

Not The Body; Not The Mind

Detatchment From the Notion of Self

The breath does not mean air. This must be understood.
Can I speak from the point of my experience
In a flesh and blood body equipped with a brain?
What now binds me to both simply can’t be more plain.
My own breath holds my frail life in utter suspense.
Yogic practices surely can do me some good.

Whatever I am suffering is of the mind
Or else, it’s of the body. There’s no other place
I will find maladjustment. I am neither one.
Once I get this completely, true growth has begun.
I can breathe my own living in well-deserved grace.
Can I master alignment? Am I so refined?

It’s a living experience just to observe
What takes place all around me. My thoughts are not real.
Never mind that I think them. They change with the air
And to think that I breathe them could cause me despair.
Breathing is connected to the way that I feel.
Need I learn some techniques? Can I get up the nerve?

I am not the body, nor am I the vast mind.
That which binds me to both is each breath that I take.
My thoughts are not dependable… useful, perhaps
But they tend to play life like a cheap came of craps.
It is truth that I’m after. And for my own sake
The process of my breathing I’ll see as more kind.

Bless Me, Father…

Innocent Trust

Can you please bless me, father, for I may have sinned.
Though this ain’t no confessional, is this ok?
I don’t like that small, dark room. It gives me the creeps.
I know you’ll hear my secrets and guard them for keeps.
Your ears are big enough for what I have to say.
If I told my dear mommy, I’d have my butt skinned.

I stole cash from the sofa and bought bubble gum.
That might not be a big thing… but maybe to God
It’s a deep moral crisis. Will I go to hell?
Since you are like my daddy, perhaps you can tell
If my wicked behavior is something most odd.
I cannot put the money back where it came from.

I’m not really a bad kid. Sometimes I explore
What I think may be safe to. Then I will feel guilt.
Does it mean that I’m guilty for having the thought
Of pursuing the taste of the gum that I bought?
Can you help me with how good character is built?
Such profound introspection I’ve not felt before.

Kindly bless me, dear father. I won’t sin no more.
Would my parents forgive me? Could I take that chance?
You and God are good buddies. My sore little brain
Cannot handle the concepts of profit and gain.
I don’t have an asset that I can refinance
Nor a coin in my pocket. Does this mean I’m poor?

The Urinator

Cyborg Infancy

Babies weaponize urine. They aim for the face
So you must don yourself with tough ruggedized steel
Treated with naval jelly to mitigate rust.
Keep your eye on them always. It’s wise to mistrust
Their benign seeming natures. Pure wrath they conceal.
They can piss in a heartbeat and in any place.

Pampers will not contain them. They’ll rip them right off
And then sling the wet missile at something worthwhile
Like a lamp or a knickknack or one of your pets.
Pampers should come with padlocks to quell our regrets.
They will piss in your porridge, then look up and smile.
People do need to touch them. At that I would scoff.

Robo babies are rugged and pee like it’s fun.
There’s no sense of restraint in their wild little hearts
Nor their energized bladders. How do we survive?
We must love them completely so that they will thrive.
All good parents are versed in the wet baby arts.
It may seem that the warfare will never be done.