Tag Archive | Death

Afterlife Now!

No Other Time Is Better

As the fit hits the shan and I get the back hand
Of a pissed off society, what can I do?
There’s no left or right exiting off of this stage.
I wish that I could wave a wand and disengage
From this path I have taken. I am someone who
Has screwed up so profoundly that I can’t expand.

It’s not that it’s a cruel world. This I had known
Since before my arrival into this strange now.
Since from spirit I did come, why then would I choose
To submit to a gamble wherein I may lose
And create yet more karma? How can I know how
To see clearly the guidance I clearly am shown?

They remain yet unanswered… These questions I ask
Of an infinite universe… Are they worthwhile
To be spending time pondering while I am here?
Would heaven build a schoolhouse to learn about fear?
I cannot shake the feeling that I’m in exile
And to find my way back to somewhere is my task.

What I feel is nostalgia for somewhere unknown
To my present reality, and my yearning
Is for how I felt coming here – not going back
Until I get to deal with my issues of lack.
Contemplating the afterlife often will bring
On that wonderful feeling right now on its own.

Lose Yourself

The 'Self' Does Not Exist

Lose Yourself In This Love… You will find everything.
In This Love, when you lose yourself, all will be well.
Lose Yourself in the moment. Do Not fear the loss.
You will rise from the earth and meet up with The Boss
While embracing the heavens. In bliss you will dwell
With others who are like you, and may angels sing!

Lose Yourself and escape from this frail earthly form.
This body is a chain, and I, its prisoner.
 I must smash through the prison wall and walk outside
With the kings and the princes. No dream is denied.
Never mind what others back on earth would prefer.
Grieving over the loss of folks is quite the norm.

Find escape from the black cloud that does surround you
Then you’ll see your own light as bright as the full moon.
Enter now into that silence. The surest way
Is to Lose Yourself each moment of every day.
What is your life about anyway but a strewn
All about mess of memories that you accrue?

My own life is a struggle. For myself I speak –
Not for anyone else here. It isn’t my place.
I have been someone naughty and too often mean.
My own silence I run from. I cannot be seen
In the light of most others. Am I a disgrace?
One’s own self loss is personal and quite unique.

The Hereafter Is Here

There Is No Need To Search

The Hereafter Is Here. If I live it in fear
Then my life is of horror and has no meaning.
That it does in the first place is misconception.
All partake of this silly game. Sometimes it’s fun
Treating death like a breath of fresh air in the spring
When it is much more sacred than it does appear.

Don’t go looking for death in the graveyards at night.
Consciousness doesn’t hang out among dirt and stone
Yet it may on the cheap screen for entertainment.
Death occurs all around us. The fatal event
Can happen in an instant, and it can’t be known
How and when it will happen, which seems only right.

Everything that has meaning in form physical
Is the dust of the flat earth and will remain so.
Any means of survival requires energy
Otherwise it will definitely cease to be.
When mine runs out completely, then it’s time to go.
The dark tunnel of light is the next birth canal.

If I’m gone but a brief while before my return
To this earth man made wretched, then there is the chance
That I’ll start with a clean slate to try this again,
If this is my last life on earth, I await when
I’ll hang out with the angels, and we shall all dance
Happily ever after and without concern.

Cave In

Inner Escape From Outer Turmoil

There cannot be a pain worse than surmounting debt.
As the tonnage increases it takes up more space
In the places my guts were before their seizure.
Should I act out in panic, more harm I’d endure.
By my credit score I am consumed in disgrace.
Every phone call or message I’ll take as a threat.

No wonder I’m so weary and pissed of a lot.
Energy that I would have for creating things
Is diverted to struggle finding strategies
To reverse severe bleeding through tense arteries.
Embarrassed that I cling on to life’s apron strings,
A fine candidate for employment I am not.

Life is caving in on me. There is no escape
Short of something most tragic or a miracle
Like a change in perception so that I will hear
The exact steps I must take to mitigate fear
And the guidance to exit my fecal canal.
I’m a far cry from being in much better shape.

If I don’t find a hustle or some employment
In the next few days, things will get way out of hand.
And I don’t have an answer, nor am I afraid.
I must pay for the foolish decisions I’ve made.
May it cost me my life. That would be more than grand.
In survival, my task is to learn to repent.

Death Is Fiction

...A Tiny Chapter in the Story of Eternity

In my life, have I ever died? Did I come back?
I can say that I’ve not had that experience.
Nor do I know another who’s done such a trick.
People come up with stories, then lay it on thick
To all ears that will hear them at their own expense
When their weak minds are susceptible to attack.

Have I ever met someone supposedly dead –
An ethereal wisp of a faint silhouette…
Or a form of some essence apparently true?
If I heard voices, folks would ask, “What’s Wrong With You?”
So, I’d never admit that. I’d have deep regret

If the dead spoke to me and I heard what they said.

I have not seen or met one beyond the doornail
Nor has anyone else with feet flat on the ground.
It takes imagination, special connection,
Or some measure of both before faith has begun
To depart from reality where all is bound
By the strict laws of physics that always prevail.

So, where does this idea come from that I’ll die?
The nonsequitur notion is fiction at best
Created by the limited view I allow.
There is life after life in the eternal now.
I shall not be accustomed to being at rest.
Death is merely a fairytale most will deny.

Death Rattle

Painted Into The Corner Of Darkness

Stay Alive. That’s a challenge. I’d better not fail.
Chances are I won’t do that, but chances are that
I will die in the process through no fault of mine…
Not even indirectly, which would suit me fine.
Let the shit happen quickly. The drop of a hat
Is a reason acceptable for me to bail.

As the brunt of life’s karma comes on at full force…
When there’s no one to go to; all bridges are burnt,
And I can’t find an answer to save my own soul,
Have I left any reason to aim for a goal?
I must still think I’m worthy, because if I weren’t
I would not be attuned to a special resource.

As the hat drops, the shoe falls. I know not which one
To entangle the horns of with my intellect
Or the brute force I muster when misdirected.
Anyone who would say that I’m better off dead
Hasn’t suffered like I have and has no respect
For the foolish and how in err they get things done.

The Death Rattle I feel, and it hangs fairly low.
In the pit of my stomach is where it begins
To erupt through the heart chakra into my throat.
When denied every platform I need to promote…
I must know that it’s karma for all my past sins.
Hopefully there’s an answer my living can show.

 

Appreciation

Life And Death Are Both Blessings

There’s so much that I live for. It’s easy to say.
Often times I may say it while not feeling whole.
It is by social habit I wear the costume
Of the life-loving specimen who hides much gloom.
Time I have on this earth is for growth of my soul.
Should death come within hours, I’ll have much time to pray.

All my prospects and travels and brief love affairs
I do cherish more strongly when faced with the threat
That within a small march of days all will be gone.
How would I spend that time? Will the song of the swan
Be discordant to deaf ears? Will there be regret?
Or will I in bliss wait for my moving upstairs?

The dear deer in the headlights on one pitch black night
Is frozen in astonishment and total shock
That life may end abruptly. If the driver yields
Then the creature finds newness in grazing its fields.
Reveille from the universe is a hard knock
To quotidian consciousness, but that’s alright.

If the cataclysm doesn’t happen as planned
I won’t miss all the good things I normally do,
And with consciousness freshened with each living breath,
It is truly a blessing to come close to death –
Close enough to be shaken to a brighter view.
I appreciate living a life that is grand.

So… Live Your Life

There's No Alternative To Living

Who whispers the answers to what I haven’t asked,
Knowing that I seek guidance along my own way?
If my way is my own, should I not be the one
To reply to my questions? In doubt I must shun
Solutions I come up with each and every day.
I know not what I’m doing. This is my forecast.

“Live your life so that fear of death never enters
Your brave heart or your spirit. Live and beautify
All the things in your life. Respect all whom you meet.
Love your life. Be of service. Ignore the drumbeat
That is harsh and discordant, and never deny
Your alignment with your truth, as spirit prefers.

Find your joy and be grateful for all that you’ve got.
Gratitude is the attitude worthy of grace
To help you get through tough times with relative ease.
Grovel not to another as if their feces
Is of glorified essence. Self-pride do embrace.
If you cannot feel grateful, you suffer a lot.

You will sing like a hero your going home song
And not long for more time to relive what has passed
In a different way. The regretful one weeps
For the loss of the dying self. The wise one keeps
In the heart memories of well-challenged contrast.
Know that life is a blessing that doesn’t last long.”

Our Time Is Limited

The Swirl Of Eternity

Mother nature gives birth to death, and life renews.
That’s the way it has been since it all came to be
Beheld within the consciousness of humankind
…Surely eons before that if one keeps in mind
That forever is something that humans can’t see.
Death is life’s invention. No one does it excuse.

If I live each day if it were to be my last,
Someday certainly I’ll be correct. But would I
Want to do things I’d planned on when I didn’t know
I’d have one day to do them? Perhaps I’d forego
Most for the most important so that when I die
I won’t leave a big mess by my living half-assed.

I’ll do well to remember my mortality.
Knowing that I’ll be dead someday is a great tool
To help me make big choices in life that remains
By the will of whatever existence maintains
To support constant change. Though up close it looks cruel,
From the spirit’s perspective, there’s much more to see.

 I am already naked. I’ve nothing to lose
So there’s no good reason to not follow my heart.
Death is life’s special agent. It moves me along
So that I am prepared for a richer swan song.
I must not live for others nor be torn apart
By entrapment in dogma and death-wishing views.

Thoughts On Death

The Adjustment Through Mourning

Wondering what it would be like to go to sleep
And to never wake up is the fog of mourning.
The next logical question, were it to be asked
Through gut wrenching emotion for one who has passed,
Is: “What was it like waking up after having
Never been asleep?”
(If you don’t know… This Is Deep!)

Thoughts of death bring on panic – an instinct normal
For surviving, as creatures of nature we are.
Disappearance from earth is simply seasonal.
Every current of life leads to one waterfall.
One cannot fight the current. The stream is by far
Too much for the mere ego who must feel but small.

Happiness and security doesn’t consist
Of the clinging onto things… especially change.
Senses become awakened with this much insight.
A discernible difference ever so slight
Between this world and heaven can be not so strange.
It’s been known that the two worlds indeed coexist.

We all know very well that after people die
Other people are born, and we all are the same.
We can only experience one at a time
Each and everyone of us. Is this not sublime?
When death comes to us we are still part of the game.
Letting oneself accept it is the best goodbye.

The Mind After Death

Release Of The Intellect

A small child with a lollipop is full of joy.
When it’s taken away, there is true agony.
These extremes felt by young ones are intense but brief.
Older children won’t let themselves show that much grief
Over what they consider triviality.
The discretional mind they have learned to employ.

My pain comes from inside me; my pleasure as well.
There are stimuli outside, but I am the one
Who decides how to take them. The cause within me
Is the source of feeling experientially.
The discretional mind is the only reason
I can feel like I’m in heaven or else in hell.

The source of all my human experiences
Always is the discretional mind, ‘til it dies.
With no lack of discretion the disembodied
Will be flooded with feelings that greatly exceed
Any felt while in human form. I’ll realize
That without the gray matter, I’m left in pieces…

…Until those in the spirit realm whom I have known
While on earth here will greet me and offer guidance.
By the force of my habit I create my hell.
With no mind to sort out things, in darkness I dwell.
I do not want to end up in that circumstance
So my quest for alignment is not overblown.

Moments Before Death

Apex Of Transition

The release of the struggle is all I live for.
Anything else is trivial if I so choose
To believe in no meaning in all existence.
All I do here is try to make some human sense
Of the whole damned experience. I pay my dues
To the denseness of this earth and long for but more.

It will come in its own time, and I know not when.
But when dark death approaches, I will be prepared.
Knowing just what might happen, I anticipate
Party time with the spirits. The mind can create
The illusion of afterlife, and what is shared
Is a scrutinous story heard over again.

It’s a humbling experience being around
Those approaching transition. Their final moments
Are spent with their focused eyes in one direction.
Looking up before liftoff, new life has begun.
The eyes follow the soul, and the last of events
To occur is a feeling of comfort profound.

When the dying look past me I know what is near.
Ego death is the only death that can occur.
It is also the only thing that can be born.
Should it be of my nature to grieve or to morn
That which gets itself from me? Do Not call it sir
For It’s but an illusion that knows only fear.

Ego Death

Melting The Mortal Idea

Predetermined is the exact moment of death.
I can’t leave this earth one single moment before
Nor an instant beyond the time I’m allotted.
What is not set how that I will end up dead.
I must know my surrender is the open door
Through which ego is deprived of its dying breath.

That which I know as myself and separate from
All else that must exist must be nonexistent.
It is only then that knowingness can come through.
To give up my person is a hard thing to do.
I survive by the providence of blind consent
Of forces of divinity. I must succumb.

My persona is not the essence and the source
Of affirmative consciousness given as me.
Rather it’s a well-constructed survival tool.
It behaves well mostly, but it can act the fool –
Something my true self tolerates to some degree,
For it knows not of judgment or will to enforce.

Ego death is the only death that can occur
Since the true self is selfless in every respect.
When it dies, the ego’s agony is but brief.
What is left after grieving is profound relief
From the weight of existence – the need to protect
My assumed personality and saboteur.

When I Die

At The Point of Return

How can there be an ending? The sun, when it sets,
Will again rise, and swiftly. This world I’ll not miss.
Don’t lament, or feel sorrow, or shed any tears.
Know that I am in joy as your grief disappears.
I’ll have not fallen into a monster’s abyss.
Knowing then love eternal, I’ll have no regrets.

As my carcass is lowered, please don’t say goodbye,
For I won’t be there hanging out. I’ll be set free.
But a curtain is grieving to the paradise
That exists just behind it where being is nice.
Beyond cosmos eternal is where I will be.
There’s no need for a full-scale parade when I die.

From the seed that is buried new life will arise,
Every day and forever. This also is true:
When the bucket is lowered down into the well
It comes back full of water. My wish is to quell
Any feelings of loss to the awfully few
Who may come to become witness to my demise.

Much of this is from Rumi. I messed with it some.
It retains his intent, though. At least I think so.
Seriously, his outlook shows deepness of heart.
My respect is for what his ideas impart
To this poet in training. To others I owe
Gratitude for my content from who much does come.

The Vegetable Vendor

Life In Service To Life

Every human being has a story to tell.
Being that we are human, the quest is to be.
Our life journeys of drama are food for ripe ears.
Those who’ve been being human for dozens of years
Offer tales of significance. Often carefree,
What they do for a living they do very well.

 A wise vendor of vegetables by nature
Is outgoing, kindhearted, and beaming with life.
Having not always been that way, something occurred
Where the life force within them, sufficiently stirred,
Was awakened completely. How they handle strife
Is to grow through the process that they may endure.

Knowing that we are mortal is something most take
With a grain of indifference. Yet it is true
That if we lived forever we’d grow more insane,
Acting out in all ways that yield utter disdain.
Somewhat sane we are now because we think things through,
Knowing our time is brief here. Safe choices we make.

So to live and to die mean exactly the same.
I can know that I’m living by all that I feel.
But I also am dying slowly day by day.
The process will complete one day. Life is this way.
Being conscious of mortality is for real.
Righteousness is in knowing that life is a game.

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.

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.