Tag Archive | sadness

Stop Trying To Read Other People’s Minds

Colorful Minds

Unless you’re truly psychic don’t take for granted
That what others are thinking are your thoughts as well.
Others don’t think the same way more often than not.
One who’s ill may believe there’s a sinister plot
To undo oneself and it’s the worst kind of hell
To go through. In the mind what’s not true is planted.

So I don’t make assumptions because it allows
Me to hear people, be more present, and not take
Things where they’re not supposed to go. I can be more
In the moment instead of in my head. Before
I jump to a conclusion, mostly for my sake,
To the purest of logic my heart must espouse.

All the sadness and drama that we manifest
In our lives is because of assumptions we’ve made
About others. We can’t read other people’s minds.
We come up with fantastic stories of all kinds
But they’re just that. We’re not on a foolish crusade
To gain knowledge of what people haven’t expressed.

We don’t have the courage to ask questions, so we
Make assumptions. We take things too personally.
We love people therefore we expect them to know
How we feel and think, so learning how to let go
Of our thoughts about it all is one way to free
Ourselves of our self-torment eventually.

Other People’s Minds

Minding Areas Of Avoidance

Other People’s Minds chatter and so does my own.
I cannot make assumptions about what goes on
In their heads. I cannot read Other People’s Minds.
I will only come up with mistruths of all kinds.
Then profusely misguided conclusions are drawn.
In a world of confusion I’ll find myself thrown.

In my head I am mostly. Drama I create.
Taking things where they should not go causes me grief.
I assume everybody thinks just as I do
Then end up traveling down the wrong avenue.
If I make no assumptions I will find relief
From the duty that carries emotional weight.

Do I make assumptions because I am afraid
To ask questions of others for more clarity?
Going deeper, I can find the place in between
 My thoughts and inner silence. All that must come clean
Will do so, then the right answer must come to me.
I can benefit from a no chatter crusade.

All the sadness and drama I experience
Is rooted in assuming or in my taking
Things personally. It is far better that I
Leave the unknown unfettered rather than to try
To construct my own story. That would be breaking
A spiritual rule and that of commonsense.

Pain

Concentrated Misery

Pain is the braking of the shell that encloses
My understanding. Just as the stone of the fruit
Must break open so that its heart stands in the sun,
I must know pain. Can this be true for everyone?
How can the depth of my sorrow feel so acute?
Agony is the truth that my heart exposes.

Yet, if I knew not my pain, could I know wonder
In my life of the daily miracles that bring
Me much joy? And would I accept the seasons of
My heart, even as I’ve accepted those I love?
Through the winters of my grief, my awakening
With serenity shall not be cast asunder.

Much of my pain is self-chosen. The physician
Within me prepares a bitter potion to heal
My sickness. I drink this remedy in silence
And tranquility. The healer’s grip is immense,
But it’s guided by what the unseen can’t reveal
To the healer or my self-imposed condition.

The hand is hard and heavy. The cup that is brought
To my lips, though it burns, has been fashioned of the
Clay which the Potter has moistened with sacred tears.
Can there soon be an ending to what now appears
To be hopeless? It depends a lot upon me.
I accept the lesson that my living has taught.

Tonight I Can Write The Saddest Lines

Heartbroken

The night is immense but of a different kind
Of expansion that makes of my soul a vacuum.
Once the night was of splendor. It can be no more.
I could write about the way my life was before,
But tonight I’m content in expressing my gloom.
If I’m paralyzed fully, no peace shall I find.

The night is starry and the stars are blue, and they
Shiver in the distance. The detergent night wind
Revolves in the sky singing. I did love her so
And sometimes she loved me too. I suffer the woe
Of not knowing in what manner that I have sinned.
Loneliness is the bitter price she’d have me pay.

Through the nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her profusely under the endless sky.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes? To think
That I do not have her pushes me past the brink
Of feeling that I’ve lost her. Need I wonder why
I no longer partake of her feminine charms?

My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
Love is so short. Forgetting is fretfully long.
Another’s she will be as she was before my
Adoration. My senses continue to try
To perceive her. I hear in the distance a song,
But I can’t make the music make things as they were.

Hope?

The Fuel Of Continuance

Almost all of my life I’ve been mentally ill.
This profound revelation comes at a late stage.
I have made poor decisions that caused harm and grief.
In a fit of psychosis beyond my belief,
I have severed my roots. I am left to engage
In extreme self-analysis. It is no thrill.

I’m face down in my own crap, and my, what a mess.
It would take me a lifetime to straighten things out.
But I’ve already screwed up this life as it be.
Can I find a solution somewhere inside me?
Quickly I was approaching the terminal doubt…
That I should not have been born. I feel less than less.

What I wanted my whole life I already had…
Loving parents, a fine home, and family life.
I flushed that down the toilet. Now, having done so,
I am haunted by thoughts of where my soul might go,
But at least I’d not be here to cause people strife.
I recall only times when I’ve made people sad.

My big plan is to clean up the big mess I’ve made.
With the help of my God I can get this thing done.
I shall pay off my huge debts and own property
Through the special talents God bestowed upon me.
All that I ever wanted was to be someone
Who is loving, and I am still on that crusade.

A Call To Deep Rest

Requirement For Detachment

I must use the word ‘I’ but I does not exist.
And it baffles the rational mind easily
To consider who I is at any moment.
Characters we must play; the body may resent.
If we just keep on acting and show no pity
We may need to befriend a good psychiatrist.

I am not the performer. The roles that I play
Represent parts of myself who act out of fear.
I am not the damned poet that I’d love to be
Nor am I my well crafted personality.
What I am truly is something sacred and dear.
I am that which is programmed to stand in its way.

Sadness happens to everyone once in a while
And is brief in duration, whatever the cause.
Depression is a different animal, though.
It’s my body informing me that it wants no
More to do with my avatar. So it withdraws
Into a state of disease to where I can’t smile.

When the body says, “Screw you,” and it is ignored,
Then in retaliation it will be depressed.
Depressed means that a Deep Rest is clearly called for.
I must answer that calling. My act is a chore
That I use for survival. Yet there’s no conquest
That is of more significance than self explored.

On The Passing Of A Dear Friend

Pools of Damping Vibration

It’s always surprising – inevitable news
Of the passing of someone. It happens to all.
Yet it still causes ripples through one’s consciousness.
I speak some about death here, but I must confess
That what I know of anything is rather small
As the shock wave consuming I cannot refuse.

A dear friend with a heart of pure gold is most rare.
Why they spend a brief while here is not to be known –
At least not by the living. The lesson I’ve learned
From this one of pure spirit may now be discerned
In the depths of my sorrow. I feel not alone
In her presence or absence. I’ve learned how to care.

And this isn’t about me. It is about she
Who’s most angelic presence is felt in her smile.
Bright and Pearlie, her essence is straight from her heart.
Down to earth is her wholesomeness with human art.
Fun and games she’s a master of. Her friendly style
Generates warmth within folk whomever they be.

I’ll remember her laughter, the warmth of her heart,
And her kind, loving nature. She has taken wings
And is now one with Spirit. Some envy I feel.
The impact of her sudden loss I can’t conceal.
There is now new meaning to my own offerings
To the people I love and of whom I’m a part.

Why Suffering?

Hopelessness of Suffering

Take a close look at suffering – not yours or mine
But the hell of the hopeless. No matter what kind
Of dark cloud overcomes one, all translate to pain.
And it all has but one source. Through profit and gain
Few have grabbed up most resources. Most are resigned
To the struggle the gamble in life does assign.

We may call ourselves human, but what’s in a name?
Like Hell’s Angels, we rev up the atmosphere with
Our own brand of excitement despite nature’s nerves.
Have we not come to learn that our Mother deserves
Peace and silent cooperation? It’s a myth
That we’re separate beings and not all the same.

Every morsel that enters this body today
Is connected to some stomach writhing in need.
Every good time relates to the drug overdose.
Taking time to acknowledge that, I can get close
To an understanding of the nature of greed.
It is best that I eat well, but after I pray.

Belongingness Longing

TheMagicRealist.com

My Belongingness Longing is called loneliness.
To belong to someone or something that I love
Is to be in fulfillment of much of life’s dream.
Yet, I’m already part of the total life stream
That has taken its residence, like hand in glove,
Into physical matter. To Be Is Success!

I belong to myself. Does it long much for me?
No more than any other does it give a rip
Because it longs for sustenance, just as all flesh.
Its consumption of substance it does to refresh
Its flesh package. At times life can be a strange trip.
I’ve belonged for a while. No one needs to agree.

Longingness is of feelings… affairs of the heart
And of things that no matter can well understand.
Matter needs not the spirit to justify pain.
It endures well within it for ultimate gain.
I’ll recover as I take my heart by the hand
And we both will discover a loving new start.