Tag Archive | Death

The Choice Of Depression

Lonliness, depression, hoplessness...

I once met an attorney who thought she was good
All because her first case as a prosecutor
Was a suicide. She fought and won the damned case!
It would seem that some lawyers are fit for disgrace.
So, if you plan on leaving, you may be in store
For post-death litigation amid spirithood.

Things are screwed up with life. Isn’t that bad enough?
If I get depressed I’m amplifying the fact.
It’s my responsibility only to be
In a state of wellbeing most naturally.
If I get pissed at something, the way I react
Does determine my psyche and all of that stuff.

Do I choose my insanity? In ways I do.
The expression, “I’m mad at you!” is not benign.
Both subconscious and willing, it can get results.
Often times though, it ends up evoking insults.
I degrade my wellbeing when I piss and whine.
I indeed am my doctor. How so this is true.

Facing Death

Death As An Entity

It’s a constant companion. My mortality
And I are a tight couple. A bleak honeymoon
In a TV reality played out on earth
Had begun at the time of my subconscious birth.
And for me… Will it come late or maybe quite soon?
Facing Death, the departing are conscious and free.

I will not have this sharp mind forever, I know.
Time and nature dictate that I will suffer loss
Perhaps in a mere decade, or sooner than that.
I’ve done well having gotten obliqueness down pat
Long before I’d returned this mind back to the Boss,
Even though I still feel I’ve a long way to go.

People generally believe that they won’t die.
“It will happen to others but never to me,”
Seems to be the erroneous tape that we play.
The spiritual process is the only way
To address the reality that I will be
But a brief time in this form. On that I rely.

Culture Beyond Compare

TheMagicRealist.com

Cultures differ in ways in which time is perceived.
Westerners think of life on earth in terms of time
Left to do things and gather things while we’re still here.
By the time death approaches, we cower in fear.
I am here, but I’m mortal. It seems like a crime,
Therefore, I seek a system that is well believed.

The way some other cultures look at the whole thing
Is that life is a process. When we are aligned
With the Cosmic Geometry expressed as God,
We become full of life. Now, to some, this seems odd.
If large groups could achieve this, would they be more kind
In relations with others? What hope could this bring?

The skill of a good teacher to bring down to earth
Principles of the cosmos is something valued.
Any form that has motion can’t exist without
The same force animating all, without a doubt.
All in all, with these simple facts, I may conclude
That immersion in culture is something of worth.

The significance of being human is that
We can all come to know this. We may find relief
In believing that death is another name for
Life unknown past a certain time. Could there be more?
We cannot know the answer. This is our belief.
Fear is all that our culture would need to combat.

Attachment And Suffering

TheMagicRealist.com

It is hard not to suffer. Like taking a breath
Of the short life I’ve lived, I inhale tragedy.
Nothing else should become me except for my grief.
Friends and counseling offer but little relief.
I’m attached to my suffering. I cannot see
That attachment to living must well include death.

Can I speak of detachment the way others do
Who know nothing about it but what they have read
Published in someone’s textbook of Buddhist belief?
Would someone with a moment give that to a thief?
Krishna was quite involved with life. We are misled
By contingent complexities. What else is new?

I’m detached if I fear pain. I want to withdraw
Then construct for myself an escape hatch through which
I will not have to live life on its harshest terms.
I would not then be living. Yet dying affirms
Absoluteness of process. The call to enrich
One’s own path through survival is natural law.

A Danger To Self Or Others

TheMagicRealist.com

I do not what to be here. I’ll cut to the chase
And the heart of the truth about being alive.
To be made to feel gratitude is servitude
To the aspects of nature that make creatures rude.
So, how come there are apes now? Or did we contrive
Our cosmetic comparisons to praise our race?

We are doomed to the drama. We can’t get along.
Neither pair nor two dozen or whole nations full
Of a vain human species can hope to be kind
To all persons at all times. This serves to remind
Me that life has no meaning and bull has much pull.
Latency becomes blatant with numbness to wrong.

Are we bored? Then let’s argue. It’s all just a game
That we may end up making a fight to the death.
Don’t you dare disrespect me whoever you are.
I don’t like being human. That should leave a scar
On the face of psychosis ‘til its dying breath.
That I’m still here and breathing, I do take the blame.

We are locked in our corners. We each have our views
Of how things must be looked at. This is a good thing.
It will grow to infect us and hasten our will
To engage self-destruction unto nature’s thrill.
If I weren’t feeling dangerous you’d hear me sing
Like a sick sack of suds who has nothing to lose.

Approaching Death With Grace

TheMagicRealist.com

When someone we know dies it’s as if a big piece
Of our own life is suddenly taken away.
Most get through the process of their grieving with grace.
Still there is a deep sorrow that time may erase.
Yet we know this will happen to all life someday.
Every life that we know of will at some time cease.

 Life decides when to leave us. We have not the choice
When it should or it shouldn’t. We will, while alive,
Try our best to sustain it. At birth we inhale
And at death we exhale. Nature’s law does prevail.
From the moment of being we’re here to survive
So the last thing to do here would be to rejoice.

We’re all dying through living in this time and place.
If I stop to examine the life I live now
Can I see death as part of life and be content
In the process of being? I feel we were meant
To embrace our mortality and to allow
Life to spend a brief time here and then leave in grace.

Please Die, Old Men.

You old men are my brothers in age and in ways.
It’s a shame that you mirror me. I do lay blame
On myself for ignoring the stench of my time
Indicated by hatred and well-ordered crime.
Old white men when in leadership are much the same
And they’ll honor that sameness ‘til their dying days.

The mere sight of you sickens me quickly by now
So I have learned a lesson important in life:
There’s no sense in expecting that truth will unfold.
We The People rely on whatever we’re told.
When to fathom your souls causes me mental strife,
Then it’s way past the time that this world should allow.

Get the Hell off God’s green earth, you nasty old men!
Drag your sick hags behind you to your waiting graves.
I don’t care if you go first or I do, just so
You are barred from my consciousness. Drop dead and go
To the nether dimension. How my heart behaves
Reflects how much I’ve wasted again and again.

There’s no justice… no honor, nor fair due process
Meant to deal with the raw truth until you are gone.
You’re a withered old structure in body and mind.
To return to the dust soon would be awfully kind.
It’s the young who are here now who must carry on.
As we old bastards die off, the world suffers less.

Contrast and Suffering

TheMaicRealist.com

It has happened and will happen someday to me.
From stardust I became and therefore must return.
I know contrast and suffering as I await
Either nothingness, hell, or the bright pearly gate.
Existence is phenomenal, rigid and stern.
While I’m here, I’m surviving while striving to be.

I must live through the contrast as I carry on.
Each next phase of a long journey can’t be undone.
I can’t turn off my sorrow. It has not a switch.
There’s no way that this moment my soul can enrich.
But I do have the choice to have some hope or none.
Only one will be helpful toward seeing the dawn.

This is true too of agony. I make the choice.
It is easy to suffer when well I know how.
It’s become a bad habit to suffer in vain.
In the depth of my sorrow I have much to gain.
When I agonize, that means I do not allow
What my higher self knows. There is room to rejoice.

There’s a lesson in grieving repeated each day
And each portion thereof throughout all the wide earth.
There are times interlaced deep with memories dear
To the heart and the consciousness dampened by fear.
There’s a death sentence waiting for every new birth.
Those who aren’t here before us have not gone away.