Tag Archive | afterlife

The Black Widow Is Benign in Spirit

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Seems the widow’s a bitch when she’s not had her fill
Of the lover before who escaped to live on.
Life is cruel on all levels – not just with the bugs.
We can suck dry our enemies and give friends hugs.
It’s the widow, in this case, who’s gifted with brawn.
She decides who she eats by the whim of her will.

But it’s only in this life the bitch is so mean.
Though to her it seems natural – The feminine way.
From the next life she watches her babies evolve.
She will never behold them. It is her resolve
To make sure that they all get the chance, come what may,
To experience living among nature’s green.

Her next hubby’s the next meal though he’s not aware.
She will need a full stomach to make babies grow.
By the same token, hubby is poised to move fast.
Once the romance is over, he wants life to last.
But if he doesn’t make it, he knows where he’ll go…
To the afterworld where creatures live without care.

Earth Trek

TheMagicRealist.com, The Magic Realist, Magic Realism

These are the voyages we’re eager to take.
Is the purpose in coming to figure things out?
Some folks tend to do that and should think it’s ok.
Why not know what the parents know while we’re at play?
After all, where we came from seems mired in doubt.
As I gather my data I feel more awake.

I engage this amnesia made into a dream
Much as most other folks who partake of the same.
Somehow, I know we know one another quite well
In some other reality where we all dwell
In a place where we greet one another by name
And all things of magnificence are as they seem.

Our continuing mission is just to seek out.
We are gifted with strangeness and newness of heart.
We’re new life. We are civilized some of the time.
And at others we treat one another like slime.
We begin each away mission with a fresh start
And a brand-new adventure devoid of doubt.

Imagining The Imaginary

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It’s an ogre, this thing that we call the unknown.
When we try to define it, we go on a chase
Down through black holes and rabbit holes in hot pursuit
Of a unified theory no one can dispute.
One can say that the universe is a fine place
To consume worlds of wisdom that all may be shown.

One can think of a world that consists of pure thought
Where the objects are thoughtforms… ideals and the like.
It is populated by intent and belief.
With no issue of substance, one lives without grief.
One would not think of hiking or riding a bike.
One could run away thinking and never get caught.

It would seem a mysterious world has been found.
There is only a small bit of matter to see
Of this vast spatial fluid we travel within.
There’s a lot more that’s unseen. This is a big win.
Could it be that dark matter and dark energy
Are the spirit world? That would be rather profound!

That’s Not Allowed Here

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There’s a thin veil that separates heaven from earth
But we talk about ‘place’ as if it’s absolute.
The great world of the spirit is no place at all.
It would seem quite impossible for one to call
From one side to the other. That’s forbidden fruit.
One’s belief is the only connection of worth.

Just in case it’s the only connection one sees
It is all that one needs. Often faith it is called.
I can speak to aunt Martha who passed years ago
And who now offers fully what she’s come to know.
One good thing about faith is it keeps one enthralled
With sublime possibilities pondered to please.

One can build a contraption to link the two sides
In a manner consistent with physical law.
But our clever devices are left in the dust
By the spirits who made them. We’ll just have to trust
That our knowing what’s ‘over there’ could drop one’s jaw.
We contact them by default as they are our guides.

The Human Xenome

TheMagicRealist.com

Stop a bit for a rest here. There’s room for just you
And perhaps a few others whose asses fit well
In a seat that is child-wide with arm rests that slant
So that those who would think of reclining can’t.
Will our public park presence continue to smell?
Does the rest of the park think that we are a zoo?

On the other hand, who cares how others may feel?
We do things our own way. Our forefathers said so.
If confederate monuments obstruct the view
Of our moving past hatred, could this be a clue
They should stay there until all who love them will go
To the next life where no one here will hear them squeal?

As we take our last breath in this walk-around dream
We will care least for trinkets of causes and wars.
We will see that our broke bodies and our weak minds
Are of volatile matter wherein no one finds
Any spiritual solace. My witness is yours.
This fine park we partake of is temporal in theme.

We Are All Being Played

TheMagicRealist.com

This matrix, indeed, is a video game,
And we are all players who are ourselves played.
Every particle known within parts that are mixed
Leaves most men in a state where their minds are transfixed
On the question. That’s why our success is delayed.
Our perceiving and knowing are one and the same.

What is outside this game, then, if all this is true?
Does some One entity have control of us all?
I believe that all consciousness is a great sea
And within it all, there becomes you – also me.
Consciousness will transform when it answers that call
But it can’t be undone or created on cue.

So, this Great Sea of Being – the souls of us all
Who have cycled life’s circuitry throughout its build,
Are in consort to see that we play our game well.
When we listen, we’re open to what they will tell
Of the bliss that can happen when life is fulfilled.
They don’t play us against us. That would be our call.

Algorrhythmia

TheMagicRealist.com

How long do I keep up this foolish façade
Of believing I’m worth what was offered to me?
I took a big gamble thus ruining my life
In pretending I’m healthy enough for a wife.
I continue to screw up as people can see.
Thought I’d followed the program, but things turned out odd.

How does fate keep the terrorist from finding me?
There are those who are worth more. Had they had the chance
To grow old with their loved ones as worthy folks may
I’d be that much closer to my judgment day.
Life’s puzzle has proved such a strange circumstance.
There’s a reason for ISIS that I clearly see.

That I blither my ass off, can anyone know?
I can piss in pitch darkness and other things well.
If my stream should strike something at least I would know
That there is something out there. That might help me grow.
I did want isolation while burning in hell.
I’ll admit I’m a fuck-up. That’s not a hard blow.

Not another frog’s out there. No one knows I croak.
I was let loose to blunder my way through my days.
Easily I hurt others on my reckless path.
What procedure could probe at the heart of my wrath?
It’s one tough black sheep syndrome. I’ll get through this maze.
I’m one well-tempered asshole. It seems that’s no joke.

How Wonderful I Am

TheMagicRealist.com

We are wanting so much to awaken in you
Your memory of how beloved you are.
You are pure love and wonderful in every way.
We kick back and adore every song that you play.
Sing away, precious angel. You are a rock star.
It’s a pleasure to Be You. Your pleasure is true.

We just can’t sing enough about how good you are.
Not a thing you could do would deter us from Love…
Not a bow-legged stumble down life’s clumsy path…
Not a judgment in error through life’s aftermath.
By our measure, you shine like the stars up above.
It’s our promise that that what you seek isn’t far.

Do take care, fleshed ones. There is nothing to fear.
The whole universe backs you in whichever way
You decide is appropriate. Who then are ‘we’?
We are those who are dead now, yet ever to be.
We’ve discarded our clutter, so we’ve much to say.
And when you choose to hear us, or joy is sincere.

Reintarnation

TheMagicRealist.com

Does this count as a life? I don’t care either way
But only in terms of the marrow and bone.
There’s too much going on; there is thickening air.
If the purpose of life is to love and to share,
Have I done much of either? I quest on my own
To unravel life’s mystery day after day.

This life I am given may be near its end.
What manner of taste does it leave in the heart?
I don’t care that I’m going; it bothers me not.
It is where that I’m going that soothes me a lot.
I just hope I don’t have to come back and then start
A whole new exposure to re-comprehend.

This world is a trip. Any creature would say.
And it ain’t like I’m troubled or deeply depressed.
I’ve just seen enough traffic on these busy streets.
I behold mass congestion’s miraculous feats
And I come to concluding that I should invest
In a starship where I would just then warp away.

Backfire

TheMagicRealist.com

When a Fire gets going, what’s there to be done?
The first thing might be: Get the Hell out of Dodge.
But a fire can move at the speed of a thought.
It’s ignited by anyone feeling distraught.
One could end up a guest in some rogue fuselage!
Does it make any sense, then, to call 911?

One may speak of the first bomb – that bursting in air,
And the horror it rained by the dawn’s early light.
Some powerful whoop ass did cause earth to cower.
Who’d have thought that mankind could have wielded such power?
The big war was won, yet things just don’t seem right.
We now spew whoop ass worthiness instead of prayer.

The fire that burns from the will of the heart
Is the same in the atom that makes of the flesh
A carnal aroma – cooked meat in the air,
And mass devastation and death everywhere,
As memory filters through smoke laden mesh,
And consciousness struggles to make a new start.

We do call ourselves righteous and let others know
That we don’t take a beating then run away pissed.
We have enough nukes we could blow up the moon!
If and when all world leaders will reach that point soon,
There’s potential for Fireworks… Hard to resist.
And the earth will survive us, as once long ago.

Vetting Spree

TheMagicRealist.com

Hasn’t anyone heard of a Vetting Spree?
Aren’t you bored with just shopping and watching TV?
A few troubled nations are helping us some.
What’s the matter with others?  Our best blessings come
When we’re aiding our fellows cast out like debris.
A great moat has evolved of the vast, raging sea.

We’d applaud the world media drowning you all
With our plight, had we free hands and some air to spare.
Perhaps no one knows what a drowning is like
But the will to survive, unlike riding a bike,
Will consume the soul wholly.  Does anyone care?
It is much like a lynching designed to enthrall.

I am better than seaweed and now it’s just me.
My family and friends have all drifted beyond.
Lungs are salt water packages shipped Next Day Air
From a world left behind in a pit of despair
To another one where no one needs to respond.
I’m worth vetting, then letting my humbled self be.

The Point Not Taken

TheMagicRealist.com

Two separate beings converged into one,
I stand astonished.  Which choice is clear to me?
My one self sees that its life someday is done.
My broader self knows that all has just begun.
I’m a soul in a briefcase hand carried most casually.

Though born to wonder… to share what I feel,
Sometimes I wander; I’m lost along the way.
To know what is not just as well as what is real
Is to know that one may have something to reveal.
But to share it, indeed, I’ll put off for another day.

I know by now that I’ve been here before
At this same juncture.  The sign before my face
Now reads rather oddly as life does at its core.
The next time around, will I even up the score?
The true self knows every journey is one of grace.

Wellbeing knows all who travel aground.
The signs are plenty and placed along each way.
If I just yield, then my bounty will abound.
I’ll know my worth, and I’ll speak without a sound.
Perhaps then some may hear what I have to say.

Homegoing

TheMagicRelist.com

We don’t call them funerals and haven’t since when…
Our departed are happy as we should all be.
Life’s a woe upon blessing and grace mixed with pain.
Their time dwelt among us… Our loss is God’s gain.
We believe that all people will someday be free
When we dwell in the home of Our Father again.

We are ‘home’ on this earth for a brief little while.
We are made of the earth as the gingerbread shack
In a made believe land where sharp contrast abounds
With the purest of music and God awful sounds.
We have faith in our Lord and know He has our back.
When we leave this dear earth we will do it in style.

The service is much for us, and that we know.
When we cheer our freed loved ones whom now have moved on
We moan and we wail from the pit of our hearts.
There’s no stammering, stuttering, stares or false starts.
Living deep in our souls it still seems that they’re gone.
Our tradition has changed little since long ago.

Engaging the Bang

Engaging the Bang

It’s a bang up job Someone’s doing out there
And quite Big, one might add just because it is so.
So who am I, then, to get bent out of shape
Over little stuff making me act like an ape?
But, perhaps I am one. That is something to know.
That’s because evolution’s a bit of a scare.

The Bang is the thing that becomes all of now
So long ago all that remains is a glow.
But it’s not an explosion occurred in one space.
Everywhere, all at once, became time within place!
The stream of creation continues to flow.
The quest without quibble’s to figure just how.

But, I’m not Dr. Tyson. I’m just an old man
Whose parallel path didn’t reach the same goal.
Accomplishments scarce, I have no one to blame.
In the years that remain, I reflect just the same.
There’s a dampening voice in the pit of my soul.
To go out with a bang is not what is at hand.

Farewell, Judge Soprano

TheMagicRealist.com

A justice departed, seems moments ago
What with all that can happen within a short time.
I am someone whom you would have treated unfair.
Your body not cold, yet debate’s in the air.
Your replacement’s the issue; so is it a crime
That a nigger selects one amid present woe?

I am sure that by now you don’t care what goes on
With the sculpture you’ve carved of this thing called the law.
There’s a thing about justice one must understand:
There is office for everyone – even the klan
In a nation so free that it sticks its own craw.
I will learn to look past you before I am gone.

My disgust, now, is only with mankind – not you
I disliked you, dear justice, but now that you’re gone
As politics scavenges fruits of your passing
And as arguments for and against are amassing
The prayer is the hope that we dare to move on.
Released from this world, now, you have broader view.