Tag Archive | karma and reincarnation

What To Do While In Spirit…

Not near death nor near living, for what do I wait?
…No sense of being conscious of self nor no one
Since the mere act of being is made of its own
Only substance of time flow ever to be known
As the thought come before next becomes the end run
Of this life come to be passed much due to dead weight?

This thought form of a body exists very real.
As an everyday model old, fine does it run.
Remembers it insanely well how to behave,
Or how to send its master to its early grave.
Incomplete thought entrapment can never be done.
Absolute nonexistence has no thought appeal.

From the viewpoint exalted far out and away
All of life is presented. Complain does the thought
Not of style nor of format nor technique surreal,
But for just being yanked from the world with such zeal.
Interruption? To think that, who then can’t be caught
In the fool’s web of arrogance for The Long Day?

Practicing hospice routine partakes pleasure’s peace.
Transition through reviewing as all it takes place
Has never been attended by one with a name
That has stuck damned fast to it butt gut wrenching shame.
My allowance here shows me the self I must face
For another while longer undoing my fleece.

Spinning In Place

Jun16

Is it me who is spinning while it’s standing still?
Or are things not abnormal and I’m in control?
Stop the top and enlarge it that I may climb on
If I can’t throw and spin it from dusk until dawn.
If and when it stops turning I feel I’ve no goal
But to continue playing as if it’s free will.

I’ll define ‘it’ as everything I am tied to.
If I want to see balance I rely on speed
That can render it weightless. Is this a façade?
It appears to be motionless. This is not odd.
I must maintain momentum yet dare to be freed
From discerning its meaning in all that I do.

It cannot do much damage while Spinning In Place
Being it gets its power form other than me.
It cannot be a play thing since it’s not my own.
Any gratification I’ll gladly postpone
‘Til its spin and my purpose can rightly agree.
If it happens this lifetime I’ll then rest my case.

The Cycle Unending

Jun7

Life is blissful, ecstatic, and consummate fun.
Why would one want to end the ongoing process
Of eternal becoming? No sense does this make.
It would seem we are here first of all to partake
Of life’s infinite joy, then to learn and express
Loving kindness and thankfulness to everyone.

Clearly this is the take on life that is preferred
By all who, conscientious of what life can mean,
See that all the world’s masses have something to share
Among intimate circles. Life is an affair
Of relations with others whose living is seen
As a wholesome communion where spirit is stirred.

Do I speak what is true here, or am I deceived
By a sarcastic premise that isn’t the norm?
I cannot know the answer. My mind isn’t clear.
It may be that my knowing is nestled in fear
That I’m one of the sick few who cannot conform
Despite tried and false efforts to be well received.

How does life unfold for those whose efforts are true
To the mark of acceptance by all humankind?
Does it play along smoothly with gloom now and then?
Is it handled appropriately if and when
It occurs? It’s true that to each soul is assigned
Certain lessons to learn that it may not get to.

So the cycle continues as it is believed
By at least many people. To some, it’s the end…
Like a story book closed and put back on the shelf.
No one knows quite for sure what to make of oneself.
We’re all steeped in a circumstance we can’t transcend
But through some sort of practice of spirit conceived.

Some may then find a stairway to something beyond.
A release from the dark pool and into the light
Is a thing one may strive for so living can be
One big step toward promotion to realms that are free
Of more lessons in living and gaining insight.
Until then, to this earth there’s a natural bond.

Communicable Heart

Jun7

Something pulled from the anus to gift humankind
Is of maximum benefit. No one complains
Of the odor contingent nor toxic effect
Of the degrading process that stains self-respect.
One who offers a bathing may go through great pains
Yet encounter resentment which then blows his mind.

Who maintains the illusion? Indeed, is there one?
Is it I who supports what I can’t understand?
Or is there a world order of which I’m apart
That surpasses my knowledge and alien heart?
I can sense severe effort by how I demand
What it is that I’m missing. What is to be done?

If excessive and useless describes what I give
And/or how I present it then how do I err?
Spirit says if there’s struggle then it’s a sure clue
That I’m far off my path in the thing that I do.
I could leave life alone, but that wouldn’t be fair.
There must be some solution that I can then live.

Where I am in life matters itself to no one
But the eternal spirit internal among
Other selves now alive in dimensions unknown
That belong to me also. They need not be shown
To this self nor to others. The virulent tongue
Is the grandest illusion that’s ever begun.

What is communicated is straight from my heart
Made of flesh and of substances I can’t describe.
I need not live in worry of not being heard.
There are no ears to hear. Perhaps that is preferred.
There are none I’m among now to claim as my tribe.
To the thick fecal air I have much to impart.

This Old Child

Jun5

This Old Child needs attention. It that how it is?
It’s a shame. I’m embarrassed. I meant no one harm.
Is it time I surrendered and be an adult?
Most grownups that I know act as if they’re a cult.
I apply for acceptance, but I must disarm
Subtle rigors of consciousness. It’s a tough quiz.

I still think that I’m dreaming this life that I live.
At profound disadvantage, I know but a part
Of the unfolding story. Others know it all
As they move with a swiftness where I can but crawl.
Uninsured innuendo is meant to impart
But small bits of the puzzle. This I must forgive.

Do I feel I’m that different and out of place
Among others who “get” things that I can’t conceive?
Does my aberrant youthfulness make me a fool
Among those who consider my tantrums a tool
That I use out of boredom? Am I that naïve
That I see life as something that I can’t embrace?

Are these questions that children ask just to annoy
Those who can’t help but hear them because they’re so loud?
My emotions aren’t pretty when out of control
And it causes severe detriment to my soul
Yet somewhere in my illness I feel somewhat proud
Of rare moments when I can exist in pure joy.

Patience, Heal Thyself

Jan17

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

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

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

For The Future

Jan16

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

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

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

Animated Suspension )Versus Vice Versa(

Jan10

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

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

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

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

Intermediate Frequency

Jan3

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

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

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

Afterlife

Nov11

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.

Karmic Circle

Sep3

Time is not of the essence of all that is real.
It is but a translation from my point of view
Of what’s known as eternity within my soul.
Should I know of that consciousness? Is that my goal?
We’d perceived time as linear until a new
Way to deal with the endpoints gave birth to the wheel.

Now, that’s more like a circle. Could it be a sphere?
Does that add more dimension? If all time is true,
There exist then some other selves who are my own.
If the sphere is eternity, can I be shown
What is next to conceive of to broaden my view?
If I knew of those selves, could I keep my mind clear?

Should I see it as nonsense… all this past life stuff
Even though I can know of its truth in such ways
That can well be refuted? Perhaps that is wise.
Right now, I’m who I’m living… and with no disguise.
Was I someone before me? Does that soul get praise?
I’ll just stick with the circle. For me, that’s enough.

The Perfection Of Matter

Aug23

Have we come to make happen a most astral state
Such that by merely thinking, things then come to be?
If we don’t, as a species, last this time around,
Is the next one for granted? Are we somehow bound
To evolve once a certain way that all may see
Matter made to perfection? Could that be our fate?

I was made to move matter. I feel that to be
Paramount, part and parcel to that which I am.
To feel or see another way would be untrue
To who I in reality could offer you
And still feel that connected. I dare to exam
What most couldn’t be bothered with wholeheartedly.

Psychic is evolution. Cosmic is our source
Of particulate substance. We mirror all things
That exist in the universe. All we can fear
Is the present condition. That which we hold dear
At this time, as a species, dangle by loose strings.
We can do this all over or steer back on course.

Bathe And Begone

Aug18

What compounds a sick joke is no one knows I’m bored
To the point of extinction. Yet, why won’t I go
To whatever is next for me? Am I afraid
That I’ll feel even worse than this hell that I’ve made?
I have lost vital patience with all that I know.
If this life is a game, indeed I’ve poorly scored.

I can’t stand my own playpen by now. It’s become
Prison-like in predation. I can’t let you in.
I can keep myself tidy. My soul needs a bath
From its foul incarnation. Am I on the path
Of profound transformation? What nature of sin
Have I done that my life is a tub full of scum.

Loosely rooted in this world, I am at a loss
To know it more sufficiently. Time has run past
Dissipating to nothingness of my free will.
This odd self I’ve created cannot learn to thrill
Anyone to sensation. How long will this last?
Is my health doomed to dive as I carry this cross?

If my complex of inhibition is a clue
That I’m not meant to be here, what could that look like?
As long as I remain here, I’ll do what I do.
Thinking that it has meaning leads to feeling blue.
My need for recognition needs to take a hike.
My hurt self along with it would be something new.

Advanced Placement Afterlife

Jun29

The ‘Accelerated’ they were called way back when.
I was but a mere idiot due to my grades.
I was coerced to worship them. Damn them today
And the teachers who fucked with my mind in that way!
From the callously perverse school system cascades
Condescension toward those ‘less than’ time and again.

Something happened to me my last year of high school.
It’s a loose-fitting fragment that moves while in place
As a traumatic episode. Mister Feeney
Chose to instruct the whole class to make fun of me.
My life changed in an instant. I left in disgrace
Both from school and from home to escape ridicule.

Sometimes I can’t remember that. Others, I do.
When it happens, contempt for all pumps through my veins.
I did manage to graduate with no time lost
But not from that same Catholic school. I had crossed
Their red line of defiance. The nightmare remains
One of psychic incontinence. It’s sad but true.

During my brief hiatus, my sick teenaged mind
Felt enough guilt that it thought that it could assume
Quite another identity… go back to school.
Since I had advanced knowledge, I’d have to be cool.
Thanks to God and the angels, I was plucked from doom.
But I must prove I’m not stupid to humankind.

This is not about pity. It’s coming to light
Of the full realization that I am of worth
To myself and the whole world, as all people are.
I persist in the myth of the mind superstar,
Using it as a weapon, also to unearth
What my soul needs to express. It seems only right.

So, how bad a residual can this become?
I’m hellbent on displaying this cursed intellect
In its absolute brilliance. Do others seem bright?
Most would pale in comparison next to my light.
On your grave, Mister Feeney, I’ll give due respect.
I shall defecate gleefully, you rotten scum!

If you know me, do not make the stupid mistake
Of thinking that I’m stupid. I’ll Lay You To Waste!
Just because it’s been twisted, my mind can do harm.
It also Commands English with masterful charm.
Don’t you dare look down on me, or you will be faced
With the wrath of an intellect none can forsake.

The Past Remains The Past

Jun27

“How did I come to marry you?” is what she asked.
She had past life regression hypnotherapy.
Ever since then, my life has been turned upside down.
Why I’m out in the forest and wearing a frown
Is because there’s no reason that she should leave me.
She should love who I am now. The past remains masked.

Holding on to someone who one’s been with before
To some seems quite romantic. Some people feel stuck
In a bad situation. What Purgatory!
I should want to be with you so that I can see
All the good things about you now – not those that suck,
Nor the things of another life. Those I’ll ignore.

Once it was in the feudal times people were seen
As a function of their family and its worth.
People weren’t seen for who they are. They were objects,
More or less, so it seems we’ve evolved in aspects
Of the ways that we view life. A love life of mirth
Is the one lived in this time with outlook pristine.

Re-Walk-In

Jun8

I’ve walked out of this life many times, I must say,
Thinking each time I’ll never see this one again.
I’ll expect I’ll walk into another life, but
I’ll find soon that I’ve entered the same frigging rut.
I’d be happy if I could forget where I’d been
Until I’d reached the point where I don’t want to stay.

Yes, I’ve heard about Walk-In’s. I think it is strange
That some soul on the rebound would want to enter
Someone’s hell of a half-life. Can spirits go mad?
Or are they simply willing to be a comrade
To the soul in a tailspin? Indeed, I’d prefer
Infinite horizons as I wander free range.

Could I make this a boring life? I could well try.
How much effort it would take depends not upon
Anyone who may share my most chaotic realm,
But upon my perceiving, in life’s overwhelm,
The life I must walk into, come hell or new dawn.
As I re-enter this life, need I wonder why?

Pluperfect Precognizance

May19

I continue to write even since I am gone
From the earth plane. Explaining this I can well do.
All of time is eternal. I write from a place
That knows nothing of substance nor wanting for grace.
That this world is both here and there is more than true.
I will do my best writing where it’s always dawn.

And it ain’t always dawn here on this wretched earth
With its lethal life lessons and lead-laden laws.
Here is my remote office. There is where I live.
While I’m out on assignment, my best I do give.
All the work I am given is of the First Cause.
I compose in contentment until my rebirth.

As the soul disengages from this earthly plane
And I yield to due process, my words dissipate,
Like the flesh I have borrowed and things I have done,
Back into the whole clockwork where all had begun.
Nothing said is immortal. Should this be my fate,
Life becomes an enigma. There’s nothing to gain.

How do I reconcile this? Or is there the need
To make meaning from meaning? My recycling will,
For the most part, eliminate work that is bad
In the viewpoint of others. Had I a comrade
In consumption, perhaps that does improve my skill.
Counterparts in eternity do intercede.

…As It Should Be In Heaven

May5

Life, according to Plato, reflects the ideal.
This world is but a replica of the real thing
That exists in the abstract as perfect and whole.
Here only is the body – both places, the soul.
On this side, it’s a chess game. Those who would be king
Know that their wills are done on earth, yet it’s surreal.

Folks have called it a barrier; some… a thin veil
Separating the two worlds, both mother and child.
Some can see somewhat easily the other side.
Others won’t see. Indeed, if they did so, they’d hide
That from everyone, fearing they may be reviled
Just for being so gifted. Why such an odd tale?

When we speak of The Kingdom, which one do we mean?
There is only one ideal one. It’s in us all.
All we need do to know this is to look within.
If we do that, might we shed concern about sin?
A significant change in the soul’s protocol
Yields a glimpse into heaven that was yet unseen.

After Death

Apr3

After Death, what becomes of me? Am I still here
To grab hold of another life without a break?
Or do I become nothingness, absent of thought?
No one living knows really, yet so much is taught
Of the nature awaiting all. It’s my mistake
If I claim to be certain my knowing is clear.

Each of us is a pamphlet of many pages.
It’s a system of thought one may cater to heart.
Each page is of a different self. Some are more dense
Than the others. The purest self needs no defense
Due to its lack of seeming a viable part
Of our being and doing and earning wages.

Every page will disintegrate except the one
Least attached to identity with time and place.
That page is the pure spirit – the long narrative
Of existence eternal. What more can I give
To improve the condition of my human race?
I can speak of my own journey ever begun.

Past And Future Lives Of Children

Mar11

Sometimes children will speak of a life lived before
They became part of this life. It gives people pause.
They’ll recall how they died and what killed them and such.
Some become quite insistent and we don’t pay much
Of attention to their stories mostly because
We think that they are made up of folly and more.

We don’t have to believe them and neither do they.
Whether true or not makes not a big difference.
Nature’s veil is designed to cocoon us from all
But the present and this life. Our focus is small.
If we recalled our past lives, turmoil would commence.
The torrent of confusion would cause great dismay.

It’s a good thing that children forget who they were
Before they became who they are now. So, in time,
Memories of the lives lived before dissipate.
We then focus on this life and what we create
So that getting through this life won’t be a hard climb.
We succumb to the circumstance that we incur.

Programmed Obsolescence

Mar8

Who accounts for the elderly absent at home
That is earth and society? There is no one
But the family, if I were trapped in that way.
Far much worse, I have consciousness and will to stay
Just a little while longer. My time is past done.
My Programmed Obsolescence does cleanse the genome.

The objective accounting subjectively done
Will examine my assets then come to assess
My depreciation as accumulated
Over too long a lifespan of sorrow and dread.
The one character defect I need not confess
Radiates like a beacon to warn everyone.

Keep away from me, new world, I will do my best
To detain my detachment and preface my pain
With a footnote to contemplate from whence I came
To create such a nightmare where I am to blame.
Since I don’t recall having been driven insane,
I’ll assume that I am so at my own behest.

A Dream Between Dreams

Mar6

It’s a dream of survival. This world made of mass
Is a fugue of impermanence and enigma.
From the time of conception there’s no turning back.
Life is on the defensive for fear of attack
From the life become part of. This hard replica
Of reality can be a pain in the ass.

Yet, it’s all just a dream, manufactured and played
Like a cheap sci-fi movie with elements of
Situational comic relief. Tragically
Actors perform unscripted so others can’t see
How the drama plays out. Thus, there is need for love
In this Dream Between Dreams where my spirit has strayed.

Does survival lack joy? Is the nightmare by day
Something I can see any way other than that?
Any dream is as ethereal as the next.
When perceiving the harshness do I become hexed
By forgone mis-conclusions through mental chitchat?
It’s a dream worth engaging with in my own way.

Death Of A Pixel

Feb13

What’s the root cause of pixel death? We all should know
Because death among pixels is something most rare.
Are the screens they appear upon made to outlast
Every last pixel’s life span? I would say no fast!
Things aren’t made for longevity and folks don’t care.
But for some, such a dead spot puts on a tough show.

Promulgation of pixel health is something done
At the time of their making through careful process
And en masse by machinery at micro scale.
One would think then that equality must prevail.
When the ass of a pixel makes my mind a mess
I must know that it can’t up and do that for fun.

Pixels made of near nothingness can coexist
With the realms of pure spirit somewhat easily.
And if they retain consciousness, then when they die,
Each exists as a waveform related to pi.
Every pixel or person who wants to be free
Must have full right to do so although they are missed.

Spirit Matter

Dec4

From somewhere deep in spirit to this place we come.
A magnificent replica of the real thing,
This earth plane does poor justice to living life there.
What’s reflected from spirit is beyond compare.
Yet, upon this dirt schoolhouse we solemnly cling
Until we are released back to where we came from.

There’s no cleaning in spirit… not rubbish to tend.
No dust ever collects because none can exist
In its corners. No mourners do cry do to that.
One can eat like a pig and will never get fat.
All the heartache that goes on here will not be missed.
Everyone we encounter will be our best friend.

This is not just a fluke, here – this flesh and bone stuff.
It exists in ideal form that cannot be form
In the ways we perceive the projection it makes
Upon our feeble senses. But make no mistakes,
What we gain from our time romancing the dust storm
Is a spirit well-seasoned who has had enough.

Karma Is My Only Risk

Dec2

Take a dip into earth life. Things may turn out well,
Or adjustment to living may feel to be hard.
There are things to be learned about getting along
With other skinny dippers. The spirit is strong
In that it holds experience in high regard.
But, there’s always the chance one could make of life hell.

We are building our homes in the afterlife now,
Here on earth with the acts we commit everyday.
And the things we care most about, shallow or deep,
Will surround us in spirit. It is best to keep
One’s fixations aligned in a most righteous way.
I may want to be good, but I may not know how.

Our most brief interactions, and those over years,
With the ones we encounter in this karmic sea,
Weave an intricate fabric. It covers our deeds
In appropriate costume. Our karma proceeds
From the moment of contact with new life to be.
I can’t help but make karma. This heightens my fears.

That is why that forgiveness is such a godsend.
Like sliced bread, it’s the mother necessity craved.
Though somewhat inconceivable to the ill heart,
It’s a wise thing to count on, with me at the start.
There’s the chance that my life can be spirit depraved,
But there is always guidance on which to depend.

Don’t Believe, Don’t Disbelieve

Sep20

Will I be born again? Have I been here before?
These are questions I could ask, or I could care not.
My keen eyes don’t have vision. It’s me who’s inside,
Just as windows can see things. It’s they who reside
Squarely on one side of them. Is this what is taught?
How I wish this were so. Then we’d suffer no more.

I know I’m not my body. It is loaned to me
By the Mother of all matter born of this place.
When the loan time expires, I will pay it back.
She’s the best at collection. She keeps perfect track
Of all molecules managed in her time and space.
I exist to incur the loan most frequently.

This is only a story to those who have not
Had the kinds of experience to offer claim.
Don’t believe in the story if it makes no sense.
But don’t disbelieve either for your own defense.
To consider what’s said to you is not a shame.
Wise is one who observes and is open in thought.

Akashic Cloud Storage

Sep4

I’m confused, and I should be, as well as content.
That means I am still searching, through dawn’s early light,
For some deep understanding beyond what is flesh
Wherein hard fact and spirit can easily mesh.
We are made the recording by our own birthright
Into firm physicality for fulfillment.

The Akash is an ether, but unlike the sea,
It links many dimensions that dare to be known.
I’m aware of my grossness of physical form.
It looks like it has weathered a horrific storm.
Can I look far beyond that and thereby postpone
An event unbecoming my reason to be?

I am things that are subtler. There’s lots of space
Between atoms. I’m also essentially wet.
I burn fuel and make heat, and I do that each day.
There is much less confusion in thinking this way.
I contain basic elements. Need I forget
That the force that enables me is not of place?

We are at once the record and whom which records.
Like sea coral, we imprint experience on
The fabric of existence. Pure wisdom it holds.
Truthful permanence permeates as it unfolds.
What remains of one’s being when this life is gone
Will take note of what living has moved the soul towards.

Acute Fear Of Failure

Sep3

Failure is an abstraction dependent on fear.
As it can be well crafted, it can be undone.
Before my self-undoing, I dare to swing high.
Should it be of concern that someday I will die?
Is there sense to one’s living if it’s not begun?
Would it matter had I something real to hold dear?

All of life is a steppingstone to only more
Of whatever I’ve held onto up until now.
I can alter the nowness, therefore, how I go
With my life without having to strut through a show.
I’ll act out my performance and then take a bow.
Within triumph and downfall there’s much to explore.

I’ll do well with my planning and setting my goal.
It’s a worthwhile activity to stay in shape.
But it’s also a huge hindrance to my soul growth.
Should my goal be to honor and integrate both?
It’s my self-condemnation I need to escape
And my gift of free will that I need to extol.

It Happens Some Now Ago

Aug24

In an instant the world is, and I am as well
On the way toward no ending beginning with now.
There are things that take place in the now yet ahead.
They do happen before now. Nothing is misread.
My existence transcends what my mind can’t avow.
Whether past tense or pretense, my senses can’t tell.

Nowness is a wet fabric to velvet the gears
Of the cosmic machinery made to be known
By the senses and mind to be that which is real.
Within seas of perception there’s ample appeal
To decipher the cyclical until we’re shown
How to make sense of things and to conquer our fears.

So, this happens some now ago, as I partake
Of the presence around me. Some peace do I find
In the solace of mindfulness and a fresh start.
To engage with the nowness, do so from the heart.
Since there is but eternity, need we be kind?
It would seem wise to do so. Our souls are at stake.

Longer Life Span

Jun17

I would hate to hang out here for hundreds of years.
That’s a game for elite folk to feather their dreams.
All the rest of us think we would love to remain
Yet the more we compete, the less we can attain.
As technology favors our fool-hearted schemes,
Do we keep our souls stagnant because of our fears?

I’m an eternal being, therefore I know change
Has to be quintessential to such a lifestyle.
I’m designed to spend some time here. Not too damned long.
With each moment that passes something could go wrong.
I entered into contract to stay for a while.
To lock down in this fishbowl would be worse than strange.

Nature knows the recycling gig inside out.
She’s been at it for eons. She’s got it down pat.
We may point to some old text at folks who lived long.
Common sense – not faith – tells me that this must be wrong.
People counted years strangely back then, and that’s that!
I will exit this carnival ride with no doubt.

A Reality Experiment

Jun11

What we can but perceive is a scant few percent
Of the whole of reality, science believes.
So, the ninety some missing, yet meshed with the few,
May suggest we’re important… the universe too.
All the stars that we can see are like scattered leaves
On a vast lawn of darkness seemingly content.

The dark matter, dark energy and other stuff
That the mind cannot fathom yet numbers can prove,
Keep this 3D world going and being so real.
I’m a creature who knows this world because I feel.
When one feels with the mind, one makes energy move.
The Great Whole will deliver ‘til one’s had enough.

This toe dip into consciousness is brought to us
By the ones we can’t see now because we are here
In this space within non-space and time within time.
Was I sent here because I’ve committed some crime?
I came much by my own will to navigate fear.
When I feel satisfaction, I’ve much to discuss.

Everything is of spirit. No substance is real.
All we know is of consciousness and nothing more.
All was thought into being and is kept in place
By the thoughts of the whole of us that we embrace.
This world is an illusion. Do we know what for?
In our spiritual growth, we must learn how to feel.

No One Is Gone

Jan27

I could look at it this way… I’m not here at all.
I exist in a non-place, so ‘here’ cannot be.
From that non-ness of space-time within the non-place
Every soul that wants wisdom will gladly embrace
Any opportune chance to emerge physically
To live life on a blue-green, immaculate ball.

I existed, then, long before I became flesh.
Every thing that exists comes from that which does not.
What defines the eternal is infinite speed
In a world I deem finite. I harbor the need
To converge the two worlds and give all that I’ve got
Then return to the not-world, that I may refresh.

I existed forever, but right now, I me
In a physical casing subjected to laws.
The earth body is finite. It will turn to dust.
It obeys that law faithfully. Indeed, it must.
But the life force that is me considers what was
Then moves on to meet others whomever they be.

Do I Need To Be Gotten?

Dec26

My most difficult lesson in life is my pride.
I have not much to speak of. That’s why I speak out
With a loud voice that people pretend they can’t hear.
Show respect for the rock star as I shed my tear.
It’s about time all worthiness should carry clout
But the populace present is not on my side.

Why that this is so puzzles me. Should I believe
I’m a loser with nary a card in his hand
He can play to bring worthiness into his sight?
Do they have something I don’t have? Maybe that’s right.
I don’t profit from praise. I’m in no high demand.
I give birth from my heart of what e’er it conceives.

I’ve a case for resentment. I know very well,
Though, that spending my life force in pity and gloom
Will enhance my declining and speed up its pace.
It’s been all about Facebook and winning some race.
All my work I will have self-inscribed in my tomb.
I’d be happy to take a long break from this hell!

Becoming Eternal

Dec16

To be locked in a physical form for a while
Is both horror and wonder combined as the whole
Of a part of the nothingness whence wholeness came.
The world out there and right here are one and the same.
The costume of the flesh well embraces my soul.
I may act out my audience through my profile.

If I’m not the eternal, then what is the Tao
But a set of instructions for robots of grace?
I am here for a short time. It seems rather long.
Yet eternity whispers its unending song
Not of form nor of essence and through timeless space.
The Tao speaks only one word, and that word is Now.

Then becoming eternal is not a hard task.
It’s a matter of being then coming to know
That the universe is me and I am it too.
There’s no program to follow and nothing to do
But to bask in the cosmos’s generous flow
Of abundance. Indeed, what more could a soul ask?

Celestial Susan

Nov10

A gigantic turntable exists in the sky.
It is called the ecliptic. It is the sun’s path
That outlines its circumference in such a way
That it marks off twelve slices in polar array.
It becomes not a hard task to learn all the math
That is needed to figure out where planets lie.

Seems it is both or neither a science nor art
Though its practice dates back to the dawning of time.
Those who think it is folly are set in their ways.
With the scientist’s method, sometimes progress stays
On the cusp of discovery, stuck in mid climb.
Yet the mind and the heart are not lightyears apart.

The Celestial Susan is put into place
As a piece of a clockwork in sync with the ways
Of behaviors of people according to when
And where time introduced them to this life again.
Our precise correlations can awe and amaze.
We are live on a turntable nestled in space.

Customer Service

Oct15

Have I been of good service? I’m nervous to know
Because I’ve grown so old in a very short time.
Have I done unto others what they’ve done for me?
Have I taught them – or they, me – a new way to see?
Have I wasted my time with my making verse rhyme?
Valued Customer, should I remain here or go?

Many crossroads or turning points scatter my way.
They reflect my decisions made well in advance
Of my birth in the physical realness of earth.
Each new vantage point offers one choice of self-worth
Or the other one where soothing has not a chance.
When I choose incorrectly, do self I betray?

My reflection on earth does not fear to be wrong.
It is but a mere image of all I’ve become.
I cannot make a bad choice. No end is in sight.
Consciousness is eternal. My future is bright.
My decisions in life amount to the grand sum
Of a soulful surviving. My life force is strong.

Spirit Is a Full Wave Rectifier

Oct11

A long series of ups and downs marks this sort trip
Through a life that is lived induced into the next.
One half cycle is joy, and the other is pain.
I experience both to my truest self’s gain.
But my true self in spirit can never be vexed
As the half cycle negative, true self will flip.

Any life situation I see in some way
That is not to my liking – a pain up the path
My true self doesn’t go there. That’s why I feel pain.
It does see things quite differently, without disdain.
As it processes sine waves, the cool aftermath
Is full rectification with zero delay.

Life in spirit is positive – nothing but good.
It’s our good times – and bad times – that do make it so.
I can translate the pain any way that I may.
But I know that my true self just knows a great day.
Though my negative half cycles hinder my flow
I can know they will pass as I will and well should.

Interlaced Video

Oct7

I am radio active. I am a half-life
And a wavelength that’s shorter than my eyes can know.
I am half here… half not here for each moment passed.
Some converge into now, and I wish those would last.
I’m an incomplete being most moments although
Every moment’s reception is sharp as a knife.

This is not Dress Rehearsal. I’m rarely on stage
And my act is not drama, for that can be judged.
I believe in this half-life I live here and now
And I chose it wholeheartedly so I’d allow
Ample room for becoming. But I haven’t budged
Since believing I’m measured by some other’s gauge.

It’s a half-life for me. I won’t get it all done.
A complete fully functioning being I’m not.
I prepare for the next life. This life is not all
Life that I’ll ever live. That would be living small.
As my world sees right through me, I could be forgot.
I’m at home with my half-life. It’s better than none.

Life Is a Lockwash

Oct2

My caress is a wash unto those of my kind
And my kind could be all kind or no one but me.
One can think about kindness awash in pure love.
Surely all kinds can do kind things sort of kind of.
I can’t keep life from washing straight out to the sea
Because we’re locked together. Our souls are combined.

It’s awash in some contrast. My life’s not a dream.
Often times I’m impatient and damned to be right.
In the long run my life could explode in my face
If I don’t learn to concede some battles in grace.
Life before and life after this life is a bright
Reawakening to self-fulfillment supreme.

Life’s a lockwash. I’m screwed down to earth, as it were.
I am taut way past finger tight. Pressure is keen
Yet it can’t be perceived well unless I express
It in some way appropriate – not to excess.
When released from the lockwash of life there is seen
All that held me together for life to occur.

The Black Widow Is Benign in Spirit

Sep24

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’s the natural 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

Sep20

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.

Hitler Went to Heaven?

Sep11

Get the Hell out my face! You say Hitler went where?
I can’t take for a second what you say as true.
That dark ne’er-do-well bastard killed millions without
Any sense of remorse and much terror to tout.
When it comes to such scumbags I take grim view.
He should suffer in Hades for all that I care.

One can rest assured Karma somehow is at work.
That is if one believes in such things in some way.
Some believe that all deeds when performed while alive
Are deleted from consciousness like a hard drive.
As we step into spirit no discord can stay
As a part of our being. Thus, death’s a huge perk.

Those who know we attract what we most think about
Know that feeling repulsion or righteous disgust
Is a thing that comes naturally to mankind.
What can trip one and get one caught up in a bind
Is not knowing above all to willingly trust
That a God who is loving can heal any doubt.

Oh Drench Me, Dear Life!

Aug9

It’s a wonderful life. It is said here and now
In the present as much as it was in the past.
No condition need be so that I can feel good.
I tune in to my spirit as all creatures should.
If I’m playful about things, good feelings will last
For as long as I want them to. I just allow.

Fully Drench Me, dear life. Give me all that you’ve got.
Know my soul is a fragrant sponge thirsting for more
Of your sweet liquid lavishness perfectly pure.
It’s a joy to be living. Of this I am sure.
I am eager to savor what life has in store.
There is much more to praising than what there is not.

Bless the heel that may crush me. No harm can be done.
I am planted on earth but my consciousness dwells
In dimensions that parallel all that exist.
And this form, when it perishes, shouldn’t be missed.
This now moment is mine as it’s ringing my bells.
Life is less about fretting and more about fun.

We Are All Being Played

Jul16

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

Jun19

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

Jun16

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.

Pillar Performer

May13

For my last day on earth I shall hang by the face
To a branch that is sturdy, yet tender and new.
To spring forth and perform natural acts is pure bliss.
I don’t take life’s meal lightly; no leaf I’ll dismiss.
I convert all to protein as fast as I chew.
Though I’m slow and deliberate, I run a fast race.

I’ve a lifetime to ponder and munch as I go
Automatic and focused on fattening fill.
In a multi ring circus no tent could contain
I’m an expert already and don’t have to train
For the feats I will die for. I do have free will
To remain from the spotlight. I steal no one’s show.

My death would come quickly if I became prey
In the beak of some dinosaur with a sharp eye.
Our act would end smartly, by nature’s demand.
Those who strive toward the big top will well understand
That the show must go on even though creatures die
And replace one another throughout nature’s Day.

Reintarnation

Mar21

Does this count as a life? I don’t care either way
But only in the 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 good life I am given may be near its end.
What sensation 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 brand new exposure to re-comprehend.

This damned 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

Oct2

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.

The Point Not Taken

Mar27

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.

The Magic Realist

A Poet's Path

Tag Archive | karma and reincarnation

Patience, Heal Thyself

For The Future

Animated Suspension )Versus Vice Versa(

Afterlife

Karmic Circle

Bathe And Begone

Re-Walk-In

Pluperfect Precognizance

…As It Should Be In Heaven

After Death

A Dream Between Dreams

Death Of A Pixel

Spirit Matter

Akashic Cloud Storage

Longer Life Span

A Reality Experiment

No One Is Gone

Becoming Eternal

Customer Service

Spirit Is a Full Wave Rectifier

Interlaced Video

Life Is a Lockwash

The Black Widow Is Benign in Spirit

Earth Trek

Hitler Went to Heaven?

Oh Drench Me, Dear Life!

We Are All Being Played

Algorrhythmia

How Wonderful I Am

Pillar Performer

Backfire

The Point Not Taken