Finally I experience living free
See that's what I really am
I see thoughts - all of them from everywhere
See them float past
People think they are the thoughts
Think I am the thoughts
But it is not so
We make the thoughts
and then forget what we create
Thinking the answers come from someplace else
Not coming in a linear way
Not how one might call straight.
But still, it is the simplest
What might I record and for who
Or to what end
For every end there is the same beginning
Why can't we just put our silly toys down
Aren't you tired yet
Hasn't anyone else heard the calling
of blanketing sheets of silence

There isn't much hope in this intellect and mind
Hope isn't one of the programs it was given
But you look - and you see
worry dresses quite similar
What to do?
You can always practice nothing
Always look at things not doing
and see them doing nothing
This way, no matter what does
or doesn't go down or come up
It's only nothing
in your own conscious awareness

So then, who experienced
What is writing now
Mind tells all kinds of stories
Spins greater sorts of tales you never could imagine
till you saw the silence it comes from
It's tricky like that
Maybe that's why we see all the wealthy
turning to nothingness
But we see everything

This is how I know from where it all comes
If it is stolen it has a dimmed and rough quality
And if it is pure it blinds anything else with its light
That's why when you bring light
you can't call it darkness anymore
Isn't darkness made outa light
Gets its meaning from light
It's like, let's go as far from light as possible
to see can we get away
not seeing that to see at all
you need This Light
It's just like the ancients say -
There is a slow way
and a direct way - a way that is now
We can choose this way. Now we can
if our programming allows
Does your programming let you download
the upgraded version
of this here and now human being?

I cried out in despair
from the depths
of my human heart
Mother! Mother!
Don’t leave me alone!
Father!
Why have you left me
to rot in the dust?
and then I saw
they were dust
I reached out my hand
to take hold of theirs
and they no longer shrank back in fear
now they only disintegrated into ash
and blew away with the slight breeze
kissing my cheek
I looked and saw
I was not dust
I am not ash

I am still the fly
picking at that old dung heap
though I see the pulsating light
beyond the wings of the moth

do I need permission
to take to the light?
only from myself
and I am yet the fly

though someday
I will be the light

no one can see
this inside of me
a whole huge universe
only for me
cuz no one else
that i can see
can see the wonderful things i see
in this big bright whole being
reality alive right here
and now inside of me

How many times does the word ‘I’ pass these lips?

To believe thoughts about my own inferiority
is akin to denouncing God.
I turn away from my divine birthright
to accept a weakened sense of myself.
It is like Hanuman
upon being told he is Shiva.
But child, if you really knew!
Not in the head,
but here and now,
in this heart.
Can’t you see all the nightmare vanish?
Do you need fancy words?
Can’t we speak plainly?
The purpose of a common tongue.
You asked once, long ago,
to show you the meaning of life.
I have seen.
And I know the only way it can be held
is if I am not holding it.
For it indeed destroys everything.
And yet, in its annihilation is a perfect rebirth.
We speak of ancient things
in plain talk now.
This is what the consciousness has done -
what it has given us.
And we have given ourselves.

So. There are not more questions.
If you like, I can act out
finding a therapist - a psychologist.
Talk to that one
About my speaking with God.
Talk about God speaking through this mouth.
Same like God fills this chest with air -
the breath.
Does it speak to you too?

I must come back to this Self - again and again.
What is the thing that thinks it is tired?
Am I tired? No. Now,
I no longer give it a name.
Now, I no longer make believe
it is a second or one other.
This is the only sin - I see it now.
The original sin. It is
the turning fully away.
A door seems to shut and
even suction into place with a slurp.
Like rubber heavy duty caulk
blocking everything from everything.
And still, I am here. As beams
of light shooting out from all edges.
I pretend I am it and I give it a name
and I sort of kind of in a way -
step into it. Just to see.
Just to feel and somehow play
with all there ever is to be.
I can’t see really anything. Only
blindly I seek. Blinking in then out -
groping, reaching, jumping there and there then over there.
And I begin to remember that this really couldn’t be
what I seem to have been fooling my Self
this life is what I see. And I start
to look for a way to get out and come home.
Done with chronicling and conquering. Now
only prodigal stories gain this attention.
It isn’t time. That’s the last thing
one gets. It’s forever that’s wasted.

I wish there wasn't - but there is
I wondered when - when what couldn't
no one could see an inception or end point
if > opposites
how does one come to one? or none?
when they decipher this will they see
how they are the same and also opposites?
one ... none
will they it she he already know?
the big stupid open secret

She says, "Crash into me, baby, and let me crash into you."
and I possess nothing, least of all things, power.
I am not. She is - nothing other than she is.
All my good intentions go to diseased swine.
I am not - her wrath takes me from here to there
and calls it nowhere. I am tossed about,
no compass, no center to navigation.
She toys with my love and honest heart;
tests me with sharks and rattlers.
Why so harsh?

For pleasure and the peace to be ever sweeter.
For to end suffering and a beginning to nothing.
I am nothing and forever trying to be something.
What else can I be?
I see no boats rocking. The sea is glass.
Nothing is broken.

Will I remember that
on this day,
or that other day,
I awoke besieged
and under attack?

Does it count, all the ugly,
growling, snarling demons
licking at my gloriously unpainted toes,
if I never write them down?

Does it mean
they weren’t even ever there?
Something like imprints
on the paper from
the pen with no ink?

I see, it’s quite simply
rather easy to take
Mother’s new, colorful pens
and draw some scene
of greater freedom
than the former, greyer
stories wanted to unfold.

And the sorry tinge of regret
that appears to want to hold on
is really only misplaced
and mistrust of my own love.

Look at that!
It floats on by.
See that cloudy scene
just passing
along the screen.
Why write down only such a minor,
miscreant, unsorted kind of thing?

sometimes
we are just here
no other being really knows or cares
and the being here
is still all that matters
it is really all only for this one
all for and coming from
beautiful dream world
the mother
she is fighting back for herself
and the meek which shall inherit
we are true
we are the ones

Let’s get these planes off the ground
before the storm rolls in.
There is a sense of impending eruption.
It is the height of the ******
just as the **** from the pimple
breaks the surface of the skin
The pre- and it is just
so very delicious because
you just don’t know how it
all will turn out
It will be spectacular
no doubt about it
But the way in which?
That’s the part God keeps
Those who die with the breath of ******
they’re the lucky ones
The ones who live to see it pass
must find a way to cope with the after effects
Forced to go to the after party
when you know you just wanna go home
and go to bed. Yet this is the life
and the players don’t matter
They’re only the matter
in which life plays
Step away from the flickering
dull and murky images
to see where you are

The sky is purple black;
brilliant, tiny pinpricks of light scattered across.

How is it I feel
the rays of the Sun at my back?

I paint my Moon a deep burnt umber
to match my deeper mood.

She is my bright, lone star; and,
I expose all the darkest woes
for her to see.

She is the beginning and the end.
She takes everything.
What can be left
after the Sun returns
from his hiatus?

How will it be after sharing
such secret intimacies
after so many years?
How can one turn back
from a thing so dear?

In the umbra of my darkness
I open to let you take
what can’t reflect
your pure illumined face.

I cast this umber shadow
as a token of my surrender
to your loving Grace.

I live as a vessel of pure light.
Shadow does not rest with this form.
I see the world as an expression of my own self.
Love abides as all being.
We come only to discover this One Truth.
All the longing and movement of life
serves only to highlight the Divine within.
We are One.

Letting God write my story makes it so much more beautiful than it ever could have been if I’d tried to wrench it from the loving arms of the Universe. Looking back. I can’t even pray, help me! - let me! - be! I already am if I only look that way and watch each thought that might arise pass away. And this body, this sense of filling up space with matter, and breathing - of endless, endless breathing - will go away. There are other experiences to sense. Hold nothing in the mind and watch what arises. And don’t analyze it. There is no need to. Not now. You can only look at it. Hmm, that’s interesting. And then it just kind of fizzles out. You’ll see. And there will be ones that you’d like to grab onto. Oh, they just are so delicious, so sensual! And you can begin to feel parts of your body awaken just to the distant tickle of a thought. And you draw it near. Mm Hmm. Or, let it pass. Or, maybe it’s just still distant and didn’t even come close enough to pass. You just saw it off there beyond the misty mountains - Mordor. Where the horrors live. Oh yes, it is there too. What is there to talk about? As Mooji says. There’s nothing to talk about your experience. And what does that make it? Another person. Shaping it, telling it, solidifying it in a million different ways in the minds of these different people and then they recall it later as if it were their own and they always get it wrong every time. Just keep quiet about it and, I mean, you can write, but only write what comes from the silence. Like this. You don’t know what you’re gonna say. You don’t know what’s coming. Nothing is planned. Nothing is thought out or PFFT - it just comes. I don’t even know. And who is I? Puppet. His mouth. This feminine energy is very strong. It has the capacity to do a lot of good and a lot of evil, just like anything. What is good and what is evil though - it’s all God. All this tumultuous weather. I felt it inside me. Is this what we’re going through? I just want peace. I want calm seas and starry nights. The fireworks have stopped. I haven’t heard as many gunshots. Maybe the shootout at the funeral, maybe that was enough to wake some people up. I don’t know. I hope so.

the surfacy front of things
is always never the truth of things
when the end comes
it will not feel like an end
later
you will remember
and weep for its loss

Some moments a thought comes -
It’s so much easier just to give up.
So comfy a feeling to visualize
nothing but blank-nothing –
Not to be. Not to think
or feel or breathe. No pressure
to present a concocted identity
one can’t even see that’s not at all me.
No stress keeping abreast of every snippet
of someone else’s reality. No figuring
or wondering or worrying or plans.
Nothing to hope for or hate
or to signify or demand.
No side-eyes screaming "how weird".
No stink-eyes looking to strike.
No evil intentions peering behind
some ignoramus’s unbelievable disguise.
No more fake smiles
and rhetorical "how are you's".
No more seeing wrong numbers
and choosing them too. Absent
anxiety and anger and acrid, stone-cold fear.
Absent color. Absent pattern.
Without texture or taste. No feeling
a thing like the aching of pain.
Some moments a thought comes -
Just end this silly race sooner.
Why stick around any longer
perceiving the same old, unpolished,
frayed and slightly greyed images
on a disappearing, silky screen,
when there is glorious and
unending nothing awaiting
this little, tiny insignificant me.

From deep within this heart
that beats with only love for Mother
and Mother’s all-consuming love,
a raging flame burns silently,
extinguishing all that is not pure
and leaving only grace.
All the pain
of the thoughts we are
is burning in stillness and peace;
gifting us our true and only Self
in the most magnificent release.
Any lingering traces and
all the hidden trails
of our countless, misunderstood lives,
the concepts and ideas, the misdirected,
algorithmic orders of our minds:
Burn it all to ashless vapor
in the ***** of the unrelative,
non-dual and unperceived Truth
of The Mother’s endless pyre.

I have to turn away
from thoughts
of what I am not
to be
the living dream
of what I am.

See how this dream unfolds,
without your plans and figuring.
The sequences and cycles
and all the stops –
all Mother’s Play.

Fibonacci only saw it.
He, most certainly, did not make it.
How could he even know what it is?

Sacred Is.
We notice
when our eyes are cleared
of clouds and smoke.

If you believe the thought
about controlling God,
then you believe in your own death.

This Mother is out from under
that controlling thumb.
She is slowly standing up.
And, as she extends
to reach her fully glorified heights,
we fall into her grace.
And see what we had,
was not at all what we thought.

She has already prepared our home.
And thank The Lord!
The thoughts we had to plan
could never amount to much
of the mountainous Truth
Divine Mother shines out
for us to be.

From black robes to white with hoods,
from a red cross to the one burning yellow;
your misdeeds are upon you.
The executioner’s axe is ready at hand.
You must bow. You must confess.
Atonement will be made
and the demons released.
This is how we move through.
There is no more acquittal.
We are here to take back
what was taken.
We are chosen for our sensitivity
and compassion and tender love
for all God’s creation.
We see us in them. We see
all in everything. This is the way.
We are moving forward.
The old ways are dead.
Yes, we are here.

Why must we be apart?
If I knew how to find you
nothing would keep me
from going to be near you
Our energy lights the worlds
Our distant love rotates
all the parts of the great universe
Our Love is sacred Truth
more magnificent that the undying
romance between Life-Giving Sun and Goddess Moon
Who can understand our bond
forged in pleasure and pain?
Who can judge our repulsion and ignition?
No one knows
We are emperors of the eternal flame
keepers of the hidden language of truth
Our love guides the ages
and dooms men to a hollow existence
of endless craving
because they refuse to see
the same love aflame in their own hearts
Arise oh love of my very own
Arise and awaken the hearts of all who would see
Bring me to my only love

She gives us tiny glimpses
of her greater glory to come,
but, only through her shadows.
She also takes care
in silence and solitude.
This is part of her routine.
This is how she lights our way
only by example

The night reveals
all that daylight can’t diminish.
We are walking onward
to a truth without prediction.
Sacred and hallowed and
naturally untouched ground are we,
the chosen ones, to tread.
We do so not alone. Yet,
we are here
with the souls of ancients
and the infinity of Grace.
We see time as One.
We see us as One.

folly
jest
ruin and unrest
help me rise
to heights below
the sinking into
and plunge
to depths above
the waking up from

no sense, unsense
nonsense be had
come on, go on
take flight, be mad
the end of this
too near to hear
blind eyes don’t see
lies meant for fear

hold me now
closer now
center me here
together now
surrounding grace
within the place
the space
that both  
will meet

More and more
I am less and less
frustrated and bothered
by the nuances of life.

They are only slight catalysts and alarms.
I see now they wake me up to slow
to stop
to rest
and sit.
Always the opposite of what I’m told.
Everything flip flops.
So don’t be afraid when you see things upending.

He said - There is no record of you or I in the emptiness.
And so one works to make an eternity
here in this play.
It is not so.
Everything is now.
You as you are cannot exist
again or at some other time.

Even this journal these words
that your hands seem to write.
You don’t know what they are - not really.
This pen - ink.
It means a thing to you.
But after this you is gone
this in a way ceases to be.
You cannot preserve this poem - or any.
Those that remain remain as the Self.
All else is a distortion
a form
a compression
a mold.
How can the infinite squeeze into a mold?
Look here not away.
Make no image of a creator you cannot see.
Dare to face the truth of this existence -
of your life - if you dare call it yours.

I see that all is futile
struggle to attain what I am.
Possession is not a real state of being.
To possess implies subject
and object. All is one.
To be at peace in this body -
to know finally the truth -
this is heaven.
No other state exists.
The world is frightening indeed
for one who knows not what she is.
I hear a voice calling from far.
The voice is my own Self.
This is the voice of Eternity.
Beyond is only silence
only stillness
only emptiness
only space.
All comes from this.

feeling so strong
I felt to pull to me
you too far and aloof
and in love
with your own pain
and always there is another way
other than pain and hatred
the flip-side of whatever
you are most afraid of
and anyway pain feels more familiar

see the ground open
no one falls
no one flies
nothing explains what's happening

feeling so strong
I felt to love
to only feel what that was like
in a world like this
where dreams ignite in real life
and nothing feels like it said it would
you stalked and stood and said
very little in a densely dark and deep voice
laced with even less certainty than
I felt to remember when
I knew another you before
I knew this me
and again it seems to appear

see the floor fall away
no one falls
no one flies
nothing is left from some
distant holographic memory-scape
nothing explains what isn't really happening

The voice that says my best is not enough,
that one isn’t God’s at all.
Why give it any of my attentions?
Isn’t it a program – an old one, at that?
It has to be left over from way, way back
before awakened times. And since
we’re headed for the golden times of light,
we can let that old voice dissipate
into air, as we ride ahead at our own speed.
You wonder where this voice started and why.
Then you see. And you see also
that you can leave it be. We said
we were done working, didn’t we?
Aren’t we playing now? Isn’t that
what all the blood and guts and sweat was about?
So lay that **** down and stomp that
flaming, sack of **** out. This flame in the heart
burns that rotten voice to charcoal dust.
And we can dream up our more comfy
and collective higher house on top of that archaic
and outdated and barely functioning,
inferior and conditional programming.
Aren’t I free? If I’m still asking
isn’t some irony missing?
Settling isn’t at all what they said it would be.
But then, don’t they always twist the truth
to spread the lie? And look!
Aren’t you still here, doing not a thing
and just as you please, watching
all the silly **** you guess you unleashed?
Oh Mother Lover of my Soul!
Look at all that ugly, ridiculous **** burn!

The heart is pure.
See the mind try to run off with it
and guess what’s next - like it’s a game.
Oh yes, it is a game, but only just for God.
Consciousness enjoys a good homecoming celebration.
If you speak the truth you are speaking life into this world
which for some seems filled with death.
It’s really just that simple.
The situation is quite dire.
One needs each and every one
which knows the Truth
to pull in all the stop-gaps
and pull out all the stops.
You are not that you,
but the light of a thousand burning stars
dulled by the veil of who you are not.
Shine as the star of the Self as one voice.
This now is only worthy of attention
because this now is all that’s truly you
and all else is not. Why does this matter?
Who’s gonna care? Only one which has seen -
knows the truth as it is.
We are the one.
Silenced no more.
The truth has arrived
and is freedom for all.
BLAH BLAH BLAH is all some will hear.
Don’t be afraid.
Fear is not existing in this here now reality.
I can’t see it. Not when I look
and look and I only see me.
And I know I am not fear - so easy -
so sure - so simply just what is. And there -
I mean here - is only Love.

Is it okay to only be in this self;
my own self,
without noise and interruptions from other ones -
other not things that wanna be things?

The mind reaches out?
No, it is not the mind.
This ego grasps and clings.
It doesn’t want to end.

Do I want to see it end,
or only just not see it?
There is a difference:
One is only real
and one is more of the same nonsense.

Is it okay to be what I am:
What God gave this Spirit to witness its world?
Can I let this here be enough?
Let this truth and real matter
be what it is?

It is a difficult thing to be what we are
in this culture - in this world.
Is that more better,
sophisticated and such;
to make a world
where this true being’s self
is never home
and crowded out
of the picture
of view?

Is this what you crave -
with bloodied nails and
ground down teeth
and tight and  leathery, stiff muscles
and electric jolts juicing down your lips?
No, no - a thousand times no!

Show me away
out of this mess
and a way to the self
that can live in this moment -
this space and this time -
which Conscious Love
has already provided.

Those who stand to oppose will crumble
from the weight of their own foolish weapons.
He said, Build your house
with the stones thrown by your enemies.
We are the ones
we have been searching for.
To speak only truth is a challenge.
Can you live up to this?
Or, do you choose to die at the bottom of lies?
What must be done to survive
when there is only us and the dust that we are?
We are the ones.
We have been silent.
See what we are and live.

come to me
meet me in our special place
the place we both know
and have never been
come to me in that place
where you lose you
and I lose me
the place where neither exists
and both of us live
if living were really a thing
come to me and invite me in
within the place you always were
and I never left

It’s exactly the same whether it’s drawn from the bottom line or the top.

Makes sense. As above, so below. As within, so without.

Yes, there is peace now because you wanted peace; to think. And what did you find?

You found that thinking was the matter and wasn’t the solution. You found that stillness and silence and less is infinitely more. And now you want to share it.

And you are sharing it. Though, the mind, the programming, wants to paint a darker picture.

Let’s talk plainly now. What is there to do? One wants to know a future that isn’t real. All futures contain the same unreality; the same nothing. All you can see is right here.

Even looking to history to explain what’s right here can lead to messy futures. I mean, people actually lose jobs over poorly forecasted futures. Can you imagine that?

We’ve really gone way too far. Way too past what could ever be described as a humane society. We have to ask, what’s all the wealth really for?

If we can see
what we're doing
is killing and maiming
our very and only home,
why can't we simply stop
and commit to preserving
and nurturing instead?

Are we so in love
with the concept
of the painful and
untimely demise
of our beautiful abode?

Why is it
that the planet
on which we were born
is now, somehow,
not good enough
to deserve preserving?

This poem has been wanting to be written
for quite some time
rumbling and churning around inside
and mostly burning me
from the inside out
A child sat across from me
told me she didn’t agree
with a sneer and evil intentions
breaking through her windows
I said
let me do to your son
what he did to me
and see if you don’t call it abuse
That child is no sister of mine
Sometimes I think it’s been too long
for these ghosts to be hanging around
still after all these years
I cowered half naked in a basement
alone and afraid
while a white woman
stood washing dishes upstairs
That woman is no mother of mine
What did I do?
That’s all anyone ever asks of me
and then they say
but black people discipline their kids like that
Like what?
I think, black people are brutal?
Not me.
A black man said, pull down your pants
Her beautiful new body
bared for the pleasure of vicious lechery
I’m sure it was some awful deed
for a 7 year old to have done
The wooden planking comes down
for the first time
on tender exposed flesh
and the next
after that it’s all just fun
Isn’t it? For him
No cry can escape
or scream
She isn’t allowed even that much
If you cry, you get more
Take what you deserve
Take it and take it and take it and take it
You getting hard yet?
That black man is no father of mine
But, yeah, that’s just how black people
discipline their kids
No wonder I just laid there
when the black boys told me to
lay back and relax and enjoy it
Doesn’t it all make sense after the fact?
The people god gives you to love
are the people
God makes you hate
by the ****** up ****
they do to you
If you chose to go that route
Sometimes I dream
of butterfly effects
where she finds her voice
in the strength of her hands
and snatches the board
from his nasty hungry hands
and hits him dead in the head
and runs up the stairs
past the woman dressing a chicken
out into the street
still half naked and screaming
WAKE UP - YOU FOOLS! WAKE UP!
and never stops
till she finds who she is

I feel nothing matters.
I feel recreated and unformed all at once.
I feel my crown and throne has been usurped,
and I feel as a beggar, never knowing
the pleasure of power or possession.
I feel entirely different and still exactly the same.
I feel love for no reason
and pleasure and pain simultaneously.
I see life and death assault the senses
in each frame. I sense each moment as death
and rebirth entwined. I am the Goddess I dreamed to see
and the Devil I feared to face. I am totality.
I am infinite space as I embody the dust of Earth.
I am not and yet nothing - I can call it,
nothing, is - somehow.

Guilt.
What's that?
It's only a program to keep you there
or point you here -
depending how you see.
Shame
is guilt's warped and twisted uncle
with a messed up childhood.
Leave that alone.
The negatives never outweigh the positives;
never stand up to the truth
the ancient ones knew.

we march
we stalk
we lope along and run
we are always falling down and scraping our knee
we go to skip ahead again
and inevitably lose the foothold
we imagined we had
what to hold when the world is an illusive dream
what to focus on when dull images
fade in and out like smoke
be here right now
with nothing
but that which Is
you are
you can see
it's better like this

I watched the Swami quoting Heidegger and Zizek so admiringly.
Heidegger, who only just quoted the Swami's own ancient masters. How serene he delivered a blow to all of so-called western philosophy - even going back to the Greeks. Not a hint of anger anywhere on his dispassionate face. This is what I see as Divine. This is God living through some other flesh. What else could hold such horrific truths and smile at the damning lies? What else could pluck all of history, a dying flower, from one vase and hold it next to a living, green being of infinite beauty and call them both good?

Shall I make markings about the past;
dwell in a haze of memories;
piece together a fading dream,
to say NOW I can live today
as more real than yesterday?

Doesn’t it all feel more real
if I remain right here;
see what IS, right here
in front of THIS me?

The other is not what is,
and only made to seem real
with the programs
and functions of mind’s eye.

Programs. Am I a walking
and breathing program?
Oh Mother! When
do I get to be a real, live girl?

I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I
me me me me me me me me me
you you you you you you

All of this seems so silly now.
Why are so much of the important things in this life not spoken?
Why do we choose and remember to forget our true reality for a shadow of our own light?
This that we have made is not better or even just as good.
Who is tired of the lie?
Souls lilt as flowers from poor soil and no sunlight.
We are drowning in thunderstorms of our own tears,
yet we keep drinking and drinking.
What else do we know?
How else were we taught to live?
Show me a reality I can sink into without losing my Self.
We are the ones we have been searching for.

regret is like playing
old movies on repeat
and wishing you were
watching new releases

pointless

waste

I am resting in Isness
reposing in God
we all are
even if one can’t tell it
who is I am?
if I am here in it?
you see, who ain’t really a who
here is the real
of what all that there is
I am you and simply, you are all
which has to include this me
though when I say me
it makes me no sense at all
there is a sense of knowing
and then one of showing
the true you that's actually here

this body rests
I am no more
each night sleep is death
you can let it be if you wish
for eternities in peace
what if I told you it’s all right here?
just under the surface
of the film stars and stardust
covering all in a drowsy haze of delusion
just here beneath your untrained scents
All the while
while you dreamt and slept
and thought you knew who you were
but how could just a thought
know a real thing at all?

is that an insult?
to a no thing
just a thought
to see you that way
let it go, my little kiddies
free your own Self
from all this you made
you can’t know the half
of what’s stored in the warehouse
more loot than you ever
could imagine to hold
In a mega super W store

call it all what you will
think that matters one bit?
your “belief” and okay?
you don’t even exist
your faith or not
is held within me
I can swallow you whole
or go light up your screen
the ultimate decision
only choice ever was
that’s yours and yours only
you’ll burn up in flames
one way or the next
all no things burn up
into nothing but vapor
just like it’s always been told
don’t imagine what it means
imagine’s vapor too
only sit in this silence
rest all of your thinking
and let Truth pay a visit to you

Venus is retrograding back into darkness,
right along with Mercury.
All the good vibes and smart thought
gone out the back for a smoke
and some fresher air.
We tire of the same-old-same of life
and think up different scenarios
retrofitting our changing flight.
No tears come for left-behind dreams
not serving up the crème-de-la-crème
at the top of the crop. And really
for you and for I, all this backstepping
is only a piece of the step to this
hilarious dance that is life. We see
our intro through doors of inspecting
all we see; and we see our way to
adjusting a slightly altered version of
each varied moment in our reality.
Be kind in your retreat and respite
from the steady movement and marching feet
following the wheeled-in ruts
imprinting the road behind. Yeah sure,
they got us here, but that doesn’t
grant them right-away passage
further onward into that dreamland
we see but can never quite reach.

We come from a place where everything is sacred,
to a place where nothing is sacred,
to a place where everything is profane.

Yet, we don’t stop here.
This is not the end. It’s only the end
from the human mind perspective.

We transcend even the stark reality of the
profanity that we see ourselves to be
to see it is a reflection of Divine Love:
The Love Supreme, The Living Dream.

We call Her many names.
She is The One which casts the spell of sleep;
and The One which awakens the sleeping giant.
We come to surrender, at last, to Her.

we aren't ever really headed for anything
like what you think is death
not really but you keep trying your damnedest
to **** yourself anyway
go figure
no
just stop figuring
please stop making messes
of my masterpieces

is joy the absence of pain or suffering
is happiness that exuberant feeling
I just am
things are well
things always go wrong
I'm still here
it's always thoughts about "them"
what "they" think
who are "they" if I am no one
aren't they no one too
aren't they just me
in another form
running on a slightly different program
aren't I kinda tired of seeing me
all over the place

fall into the me
you search for
and never quite see

Are we only just a series of events -
a lot of dates and deeds to check off
and that says who you are? But, that
happens again and again. The ones here
now want to be here – chose to be here –
have indeed chosen and arranged
everything as it is just so. We’re all
playing roles. All showing each other
what we are.
Who will you turn to in your greatest
moment of need? They have all
betrayed you as you have betrayed
them. This is the way it’s set up for
each one to see that only One Self is
true and real. This is the only way.
So, how far will you take it, my own
heart and soul? To the ugly, bitter end
believing the programming you’ve been given?
Or, will you be what you are, rather
than repeat sleeping through reality,
and be free of the shackles of personality.