Tag Archive | duality

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.

Keep It Simple

Simplicity

How can I keep things simple? My life is complex
Not because I’m a Virgo, but that I’m alive.
Saturn transits my Neptune at ninety degrees.
My wake up to reality gives me unease.
Somewhat lost in confusion my ill thoughts deprive
Me of life force and clarity in all respects.

The depth of my uncertainty too is unknown.
I don’t feel that I’m meaningful in a big way
Nor do I feel connected with those of my kind.
Until Saturn moves onward, the fog in my mind
Will try to hang above me and damage each day.
I must know I’m still worthy and not so alone.

I’ll rely on simplicity in my routine.
I’ve collected much clutter. It’s not justified
As a part of my makeup. It’s locked to the past.
I need to Keep It Simple and remain steadfast.
This thing won’t last forever. I’ll take it in stride.
It’s a time to examine my truth and come clean.

Toward A More Natural Order

Economies of Order

It’s a nonverbal language of lucid morphemes.
Acquisition or learning are possible ways
We may come to express what we see as our truth.
It is best that we learn how to speak in our youth.
That’s because when we’re young we put fun in our days.
We all read from the same book, or so it all seems.

Is there natural order to how life evolves?
Can we find a predictable sequence within
Spatial substance suspended adrift in the mind?
If the mind fights with nature, is it well designed?
All pragmatics, semantics and syntax are kin
To the global phonology as it revolves.

Language is as it should be… a social disease.
Subdivisions of virulence grow big in size
And compete for world dominance and point of view.
We become more programmable and less askew.
In the common collective we can recognize
How to become more fluent as our nature sees.

Volcanic Defecation Forecast

Extreme Privacy

A big blast from the small room where bathing takes place
Is the source of embarrassment for the house guests.
They know no one is bathing. The sound that they hear
Is the elimination of what causes fear.
The host must take accounting for what he digests.
A loud dump is the outcome before the disgrace.

In the Oval Office there is no air-tight room
With a stainless-steel toilet to muffle the sound
Of the violent expulsion of all the ill deeds
Because many an investigation proceeds.
The whole world braces for the bowel movement profound.
It’s a gross revelation of impending doom.

The blast comes in the form of a soundbite of news
Telling of something horrid. It gets even worse.
It will grow to a shit stream of disgusting facts.
We have not heard the worst of this wicked man’s acts.
The alarm is our knowing that soon the foul curse
Will be lifted from us. This man will pay his dues.

Bowels can be rather noisy, occasionally.
It’s a sign that we haven’t been treating them right.
If we stuff them with evil for decades on end
They will shout with a loud voice. They do not pretend
That they haven’t been messed with. Our future is bright.
The White House is no outhouse. They will come to see.

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.

Freewheeling Abandon

Freewheel

A visit from Uranus to Venus is like
Having Santa’s elves over to Feng Shui your heart.
I review my relationships. They need to be
Shaken from their sclerotic routines as I see.
All that I’ve become part of could use a fresh start.
To hell with an old mindset. My will is to psych.

That I do well. It’s not like I’ve not what it takes
To discover new ways of relating to all
Who indeed are my brethren. Commitment I give
Only to more excitement in all that I live.
What had been strong and stable has become banal.
When the heart becomes unstable, the soul awakes.

Uranus is the rebel rouser in the sky.
He brings on inspiration to seek out new ways
Of defining our values, our tastes and desires
…Those things that are of Venus. My spirit requires
Artistic stimulation, as my mood will raise.
Venus will be upset when Uranus drops by.

The Anatomy Of Feeling

Color Vibration

Electrons paint our feelings as they flow through nerves,
And like all good conductors, the nerves in return
Propagate waves magnetic, attuned to their flow.
Waves traverse space with great ease and complex cargo
That consists of our moments. I want to discern
What my feelings are made of as my heart observes.

Yes, the nerves are like wires. We’re much like the machine.
Our electrical systems respond to Ohm’s Law.
When our moments are transmitted and then received
Nerves within the receiver, so it is believed,
Replicate exact patterns felt and without flaw,
Though we may not perceive them unless we are keen.

Knowing deep pain or pleasure, each have the same feel.
Our high current protection limits either one
So the rational mind can measure in detail
What it is that we’re feeling so life can prevail.
We can re-tweak the system so that it will run
Like a fine feeling engine. Is this not ideal?

Keep Your Gum Off The Bedpost

Common Place

Keep You Gum Off The Bedpost. It’s not the right place
To park something retrieved from its oral abode
Entertained by the teeth, tongue and tonsils by day.
At nighttime can it be wise to treat it this way?
Gum cannot remain safe when its pace has been slowed.
It’s as if a good runner is pulled from his race.

And when parked on the bedpost, the germs in the air
Are free to make a fine home of its resting mass.
Gum will regain full flavor, not of what it had
But of crap in the funky air, and this is sad.
Any fool who would do this is quite the jackass.
One who chews funky putty needs wise mental care.

One must use proper hygiene when dealing with gum…
Never mind that the bedpost, because it’s erect
Through the night in a dark room may give someone pause,
Why put something disgusting back between your jaws?
The harm put upon gum from nocturnal neglect
Can come back to upset one and make one feel dumb.

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.

Women And Power

Strategy In Power

When and how to use force are the questions to ask
Among so many others before waging war.
We’d prefer conversation and working things out
Yet throughout all our history there’s little doubt
That we are prone to fight and to even the score.
When it comes to destruction we’re up to the task.

Have there been female generals in the wars past?
Who knows how they would fight and what harm they could do?
There are some of a fortunate few who could tell
Of the hell they went through that we cannot know well.
We know only of fighting men. Women, we view,
As still much less than lethal and of lower caste.

Women have been in office, but playing the game
On a man’s world stage and with the rules now in place
Is a leadership lacking in human resolve.
We can remain one-sided in how we evolve
But our old ways embellish our racial disgrace.
When women define power things won’t be the same.

Unmasking The Face Of Fear

Beneath The Mask

Do I fear the unmasking? What horror awaits
That I should know is coming by guilt that I feel
At the pit of my gut? Why this sense of surprise
That I have something coming? I wear a disguise
That is known as the ego. It is grossly real.
I cannot feel wholehearted when it dominates.

The ego is a force field that works like a lens.
It reflects what is inside outward but with flaws.
Our perceptions are finite. We use them to deal
With this rigid reality, damned to conceal
All that is not of this world and bound by its laws.
When the ego dies, that is the moment life ends.

Do I fear my undoing or fumbling head on
To a possible train wreck, or living in grace
Among those who I equal? What can penetrate
What I sense as my force field can cause me to hate.
What reflects back into me in time I will face.
The fear will cease completely when the mask is gone.

Toward The Soul’s Inner Truth

Remaking of the Soul

Many times through the year Mercury takes a break.
In his flight through the beltway he seems to sit still
Then track backwards, as if he’s retracing his trek.
When it happens folks complain their lives are a wreck.
Actions must be repeated. We all know the drill.
Simple things go awry. It can be a headache.

That’s not all it’s about, though. What lies at the heart
Of miscommunication is just an alarm
Sounded gently and frequently so we’ll review
Old ways of doing business and then make some new.
When we examine him closely we may disarm
How we feel when he’s retrograde in any chart.

Scorpio is his resting place, and for a while
We will be healing venom. The Truth of the Soul
May restore what’s been poisoned to healthy potion.
It’s the time that emotional cleansing be done.
Conversation in honesty can be the goal
Lest we remain indignant and stuck in denial.

Retrograde means re-knowing the path we have made.
Mercury, in his moonwalk, resets weakened ties
Or releases them if they’re no longer of use.
And in Scorpio, dark ties and secrets profuse
Are revealed. They will no longer hold their disguise.
The Soul’s Truth is a substance no one can evade.

The Ease Of The Sneeze

Nazality of Being

In a slow-motion instant a function takes place
In the body that makes people spray DNA.
Often it’s irritation from an allergy.
Many things can bring on one, and people agree
That “God bless you” should be said, if but to convey
Some concern, as if God may be stingy on grace.

My maturity plummets upon its approach.
I become less than grosser a lighthearted child
While expecting a big rush. The high that comes on
I will ride like a Ferris wheel until it’s gone.
It seems somewhat orgasmic as I become wild
Like a horse that’s been freed from its stringent stagecoach.

All but most of a sudden is all that it takes.
In a synchronized sequence the plan is played out.
The brain tells the eyes, nose and mouth to shut down tight
Then the stomach and chest muscles convulse with might
While the throat remains open, dispelling all doubt
That explosive expulsion, the whole room awakes.

People respond to sneezes in various ways
Depending on their culture and things they believe.
Always it’s a fine gesture to wish someone well.
Lord knows we could use more of it. Who cannot tell?
We need not show concern, though may yet be naïve
To the ways nature blesses us and gives us praise.

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.

Those Who Watch Us

Providence

The cosmos is expanding, so it creates space
At a rate most phenomenal – faster than light!
In that space there is substance, but not very much
Compared to all existence. Creation is such
That space is the main product. It has taken flight
Like a bat out of nowhere with nothing to chase.

Why there is so much space being made, and so fast,
May remain a grand mystery to the best minds
Until we come to know some things well understood
By the ones who are watching us, not for our good
But for close observation within their confines.
They would not interfere even if they were asked.

They have not come to harm us nor help us at all.
Their mindset is collective. Some have never met,
Yet they’ve joined for one purpose. It is not their goal
To prevent self-undoing of the human soul.
If they acted, it then would be seen as a threat.
Space contains all existence. That’s why we seem small.

The Nodes And My Modes

Lunar

The moon’s nodes form an arrow. It has a force field
That is grossly magnetic. It pulls on the earth
As it points to the way that my spirit should grow.
On the wheel of the natal chart, it’s good to know
Where the point and the feathered part were at my birth.
Therein are profound secrets that must be revealed.

Some folk say it’s a dragon with a head and tail.
But it makes not a difference. All see the same.
We all came with some talents that we perform well.
We have also deficiencies that often tell
Where we need to put focus. I cannot disclaim
Where the arrow is pointing, so I must prevail.

From the earth and the intellect, I’m pointed to
That which I cannot fathom. Aquatic and vague
Is the nature of nonsense and being at ease.
I find comfort and safety in my expertise.
I cannot just avoid what is not, like the plague.
I have come to seek balance, and it shall ensue.

Day Of Tough Love

Antidote

It’s The Day Of The Dove… or perhaps of Tough Love
That resembles the justice that must become due.
There’s an alien creature that feeds on our hate.
We’ve become deeply sided. We cannot see straight.
Civil War is its true wish, and its point of view
Is the sole source of nourishment it can speak of.

Not on earth did it come from. It just floated in.
A hot gas of no substance, it draws energy
From the drama of chaos which once were the lives
Of its innermost circles. He alone survives
Until those who’d been enemies finally see
How the creature is harming them, to its chagrin.

All our sides deal with one foe. The nation is not
One that can be divided and sapped of its worth.
We can laugh at the enemy and take delight
In the fact that the laughing will drive it from sight.
Such a creature should never take over the earth.
Life is like science fiction. They share the same plot.

Ping Pong Brain

Half Brains At Play

Do I not have a whole brain contained as one piece
Of the bodily puzzle? They say that it’s split
Down the middle. Each half has its ways to process
Cognitive information and how to express
Its version of reality. When they are fit
They can play well together. Good health can increase.

Constant communication defines how this pair
Can fit two sets of focus in one frame of mind.
It’s the corpus callosum that bounces the ball
Back and forth through the consciousness. If it should fall
Neither side takes a hit. Their game is of a kind
That will only continue. There’s always a spare.

We are binary beings – bipolar to some.
Separate are the functions among the same mass.
Mastering much of meaning, the mind mitigates
Or adds to our illusions as social primates.
Both the artist and scientist are of one class.
We may pray that the game never has an outcome.

Did Someone Use The ‘L’ Word?

Hang 'Em High!

Did Someone Use The ‘L’ Word? Who sounds the alarm
That I must pay attention to? Is it for me
Or someone who is like me? Who does it come from?
You don’t look like my brother who has overcome
Lethal racial injustice, and I cannot see
That your well-deserved drama is causing you harm.

Wash your mouth out with history, ignorant fool!
Having no sense of dignity, joke genius plays
Any card that seems feasible in delusion.
It may seem like a hanging to you, brilliant one,
Since you’re caught up in all kinds of trouble these days.
But your red neck will never know something so cruel.

You know nothing of lynching. Your analogy,
Like the others you come up with, are an insult
Belching forth from entitlement. You will soon be
With the criminals like you who see as you see.
Some who speak about lynching are those of a cult
Most accustomed to spewing incongruency.

As Long As The Pigs Can Pay…

Great Law!

Lord knows I need a living. I must make ends meet.
There is scant litigation to feast on these days.
Law degrees are a dime for a dozen or so.
Some who earn them are criminals for what they know.
I can make some big money with alternate ways
Of observing behaviors of those who eat meat.

To some, pork is inferior. It has a smell.
On a cellular level it is quite less than
Something healthy and sacred for people to eat.
People’s unyielding prejudices are complete
With the backlash of pig populations that span
Pretty much of the country. I do serve them well.

We have formed a class action for pigs who protest.
All who are U.S. certified have legal rights
To due process if they feel they’re looked down upon.
People should not bad mouth pork from dusk until dawn.
Pigs and people who hate them can get into fights.
I make sure things get settled and stay nicely dressed.

The Heart Of The Drama

Cosmic Play

At the heart of all drama there is a time stamp
That relates to all others, so they interact
To provide a performance upon a grand stage
Big enough that all creation wants to engage.
Astral bodies don’t govern us but do impact
The deployment of actors and where they encamp.

The big space sphere surrounding us, studded with stars,
Is a glass ball of ether suspended in place.
The particulate matter caused to flow adrift
Each have unique identity. This is a gift
And a practical guidance for the human race.
All the specks in the cosmos are our avatars.

The performance is ongoing. There is no end
To complex combinations. The drama at play
Is for whose understanding? Whom does it all please?
Information recorded over centuries
Has been used by production crews unto this day
To enhance entertainment for all who attend.

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.

The Light

Beacon Spirit

There’s a light that shines brightly in each human heart,
As the form we have taken, we use to do well
What the heart had intended before leaving Home,
Far outside this reality. Here, as we roam,
Sometimes deep in the darkness we may chose to dwell.
Light may dim as life goes on from our humble start.

Some will keep their light shining. It burns like a flame
In a world of much darkness. Their wisdom is seen
In expression of wholesomeness. Kindness is there
Intermixed with the wisdom they willfully share.
By the time they return Home, their vision is keen.
We are all lighted candles. We burn not the same.

This world’s light burns without yours, and that is our loss
Unless acts of the spirit support memory
Of a voice of pure conscience and will to do right.
I have learned from you that all souls shine in God’s sight.
We shall get on without you… much as it must be.
We know you need some time to check in with the Boss.

And we who must remain here must have much to learn.
Life resembles detention at Harsh Cosmic High.
There are students and staff here. Who else would we need?
Your have served us with honor. Farewell and Godspeed.
All the teachers among us do identify
What we have turned away from which we should return.

The Proper Disposal Of Black Hole Waste

Magnetic Personality

When disposing of black holes, protection is wise
In the way of great distance and lawful technique
To avoid the horizon. Events taking place
Do resemble spaghettification in space.
As the king’s men begin stretching, so they will freak.
Having gotten too close, they have sealed their demise.

Black holes start out as big stars, but then they grow old
Such that their massive egos begin to cave in
Drawing all who are near into utter darkness.
So distorted are their minds, no need to confess
And come free would occur to them. Is this their sin?
Is it that they’ve become the horizon threshold?

Stars that die can be menacing and a real threat
To all matter around them and within their fields
Of executive influence through slight of mind
And a stale, foolish tactic pulled from the behind.
We can make time and distance most effective shields
Along with a good lesson this world won’t forget.

Whistles Blowing

Danger There!

Many people blow whistles rather than ignore
What they see as their duty to country and God.
Whistles are used because they can make a loud sound.
If lifeguards did not use them, many would be drowned
Or become living shark feed, or victims of fraud.
Any person can use one. It’s not such a chore.

One’s attention is called, when a whistle is blown,
To detail of the nature of danger perceived.
It is up to those listening to give support
And protection to those brave enough to report
Ways in which We The People are wrongly deceived.
Such are people of honor and solid backbone.

Many whistles are blowing not unto deaf ears.
As the drama unfolds upon our earthly stage,
Punctuated with danger on levels complex,
One can see that we live as the future expects.
What we have is a chance to rewrite the next page.
What prevents us from doing so remains our fears.

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.

Data Loss

Disgust

Putting all eggs in one basket does me no good
For who knows when the next scheduled screwup will come?
Data are much like eggs these days. I’ll cry out loud
Because I’ve put my trust in someone else’s cloud.
Now I feel kind of empty like I’ve been struck dumb.
I can see I own nothing. This is understood.

Do I own the Machine or is it lord of me?
That I must ask the question should give all some pause.
I’m not all for technology. It serves us well.
In return, though, it puts people through lives of hell.
Common sense remains missing from our noble cause
So some end up as losers, unfortunately.

So, I’ve lost all my data. I’ll just start from scratch
Like the birds of the barnyard do better than I.
Eggs are easily made, but containers are not.
Can I make my life simpler? I’ll give that a shot
Since there’s no other choice other than to comply
With humanity’s master. I’m free to detach.

Election Mode

The Promisory Nature of Politics

In the space of four years’ time, a lot can get done
But what gets done depends quite a bit on which mode
Leadership is locked into. One can’t be in both
Working Mode and Election Mode. One takes the oath
To work but for this country. Honor is bestowed
On the leader who knows we are second to none.

The election campaign is an aberrant glitch
In the internal workings of democracy.
Never ending, news cyclic, and wasteful, campaigns
Are a circus for many, but few will reap gains
As the balance of work done we’re not meant to see.
Who become the needy, We The People enrich.

In Election Mode, most leaders look far ahead
As if they have a strategy and enough charm
To stay hired for another term. Others are blind
To the nature of leadership of any kind.
They are put into place to dispense utter harm
As their foolish decisions beget death and dread.

Thoughts Are Things

Thoughtfulness

Thoughts are thought to be thoughtful in that they are not
Of definitive substance that one can behold.
Ethereal is their essence. They hide in the brain
Where no others may reach them then dare to complain
That way too many thoughts are thought and it gets old.
They are fluff like the feathers. That’s what we are taught.

Thoughts are much more than nothingness trapped like a school
In a translucent medium waxing adrift.
Often harder than metal, they can pierce the flesh.
They can also create subtle traps that enmesh
One’s good life into chaos in manner most swift.
They can lift one to sainthood or make one the fool.

All our thoughts are magnetic, induced in the nerves
As the movement of thought fragments by electrons
Causes energy thought waves to radiate from
That source which has created them. Now they’ve become
Airborne soldiers of fortune with hard erections
To provide all the real things the thinker deserves.

Spilt Milk

Perceived Waste Or Abundance

Things to do over Spilt Milk remain to be few.
Surely this is a good thing. There’d be many more
Reactions to make possible… most, not of worth.
Every moment conceals an abundance of mirth.
It is how I perceive things that I let life pour
Into my blessed bowl. Let it drench me anew.

Over Spilt Milk I watch from a vantage point far
Above all that is happening as it takes place.
I see also from close up, since I am right there
In the midst of the drama, not seeming to care
That somehow it affects my deserving of grace.
If I cleaned up the excess, would that be bizarre?

I jerk off over Spilt Milk. The mix is sublime.
My life is like a serial drama complete
With the fruits of my labor, in like way adorned
In a Milk of Magnificence, not to be scorned
To the point that I feel that I’ve no right to eat.
This is true now. I wish it were so all the time.

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.

Tight Slap

How Dare You!

“What would be called a Tight Slap is one that’s not loose,”
One would say who receives one from out of the blue
On a pleasant day when everything should be fine.
If I come off in error, do give me a sign
Other than a swift zinger. I have not a clue
What I’ve done to deserve this outrageous abuse.

Often times I’m well-mannered. Sometimes I’m a slave
To the sweat beast within me. Control I have not.
Can the creature of true heart be blamed for his act?
To survive a blind gesture with eyeballs intact
Is a fool’s expectation. I don’t fret a lot.
But I do take account for the way I behave.

 You are not my own flower, nor fruit from my tree.
I don’t have my own garden. People are not plants.
Knowledge comes as a Tight Slap upside the manhood
So that it’s maintained and forever understood.
Wisdom is abundant in any circumstance.
One does not need the Tight Slap to properly see.

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.

How Intact Is Eternity?

Growth Upon Eternity

How Intact Is Eternity? Is it secure
In the sense that it is and forever shall be?
Can we fill all of time with it with room to spare?
If it can’t be filled full, then should anyone care?
It exists in the moment the mind’s eye can see
Life experience merging into something pure.

It exists without needing existence to know
That there is no beginning nor ending to be.
There is only this moment. The rest intersect
Other possible outcomes we choose to neglect.
Now converges all wavelength to zero degree
So what was and what will be become a combo.

Intactness is then relative, meaning to some
That existence is futile and also the law
One’s becoming is subject to. Others may see
Life as much more cohesive. Do eternity
And existence engage, then release without flaw?
Need I know that, from this now, the next one will come?

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.

Fashion Show

Mystical Feminine

“She is clothed with strength and dignity, and she laughs
Without fear of the future.”
What mystical one

And whose breath re-enlightens the depleted space
Where humanity suffers? She is one with grace
…Nothing bestowed upon her but truly homespun.
Turning chaos to love is but one of her crafts.

It’s a Show of her Power to Speak to us All
Of the will to be kinder, passed out in our hearts.
Laughter can be a weapon. She knows this too well.
But then egos are meaningless, so what the hell?
She knows this is the issue, and where hatred starts.
Her most delicate wisdom does make her stand tall.

Is life much about fashion? As men are the same
But that we call it ego, no one will explain.
Goddesses become goblins? No, that is reversed!
If we can’t look up to her, we’re bound for the worst.
Expressing the True Goddess is not being vain.
Can this world know what’s coming? There’s much to proclaim.

A Supreme DUI Judge

Horror

It’s not that I’ve no content. I’ve got that and more.
Politics interrupts, then I push things aside
That are worthwhile discussing rather than a guy
Who could be a fine poster boy for DUI.
He’s quite fond of the froth. He admits that with pride.
Does he share this with colleagues passed out on the floor?

I like beer. I’ll admit it. But I’m not a judge.
So I guess if you’re privileged, it scores a plus.
I throw many a tantrum. I don’t get my way.
I do hope that this madman is not here to stay.
He got in underhandedly. What’s to discuss
When a judge acts the fool and the right do not budge?

Can you look at this punk’s face and find justice there?
The question is not legal. Faces are allowed
To display bouts of lunacy. Justice, therefore,
Is a drunken perverseness. What may be in store
For the beer boasting psycho behind the black shroud
Is a seat on a prison bench. Would that be fair?

…Maybe not. Perhaps DUI justice is more
Apropos to the temperament and core belief
That some people get what they deserve by virtue
Of the fate that has branded them for life to screw.
Until he takes that robe off, to me, he’s a thief.
Justice that isn’t justice is hard to ignore.

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.

Psychic Peek At A Puter

Crack of Putin

Something like a computer, a Vladimir Puter
Assumes an identity somewhat human.
An asshole of a neural net masters the mind
In the mold of a tyrant for all humankind
Who had nearly succeeded in his master plan
To reshape the whole world to what he would prefer.

Still, a world class accomplishment to have sewn hate
Throughout many a nation, he feels not that well.
His own people are waking up from their deep sleep
In a bitter cold governance as frozen sheep.
Why does he not feel powerful? Close aids can tell
Unidentified enemies may seal his fate.

True… this Puter likes poison. It’s lethal and sure
To eliminate nuisances who misbehave.
Some soldier in the galley knows of his fine taste
And is feeding him slowly. Soon he will be waste.
What would be then most fitting to put on his grave?
“Once there lived a great Puter. Now he is manure.”