Lies are lies
they deny you the truth.
Truth is truth
it denies you the lie.
when examined closely both are exactly the same.
They are interchangeable.
People that tell the "truth" to you are denying you lies.
How boring and dangerous and malevolent are people full of truth.
Choose your religious truth---
Christian truth.
Islamic truth.
Judaic truth.
Vedic Hindoo truth.
Buddist truth.
Capitalist truth.
Socialist truth.
Free market truth.
Managed market truth.
Monarchist truth.
Democratic truth.
Militarist truth.
Liberal truth.
Fascist truth.

People that tell lies to you are denying you truthfulness.
How boring and dangerous and malevolent are people full of lies.
Choose your lies.
Christian lies.
Islamic lies.
Judaic lies.
Vedic Hindoo lies.
Buddist lies.
Capitalist lies.
Socialist lies.
Free market lies.
Managed market lies.
Monarchist lies.
Democratic lies.
Militarist lies.
Liberal lies.
Fascist lies.
Truthfulness is neither truth nor lies.
It exists on its own.
Truthfulness is free of the Duality of Truth and Lies..
The individual Isness exists in the state of Separate and Merged with the Isness of the Universe.
Permanent Mindlessness is unconditional love--just ask any Dog or Cat.
The Mind separates us from the Isness of the Universe.
The Mind creates Duality which is governed by Conditional Love.
The individual Isness creates Unconditional Love(Consciousness) which is outside Duality.
Mind cannot create Unconditional Love.
The individual Isness cannot create Conditional Love.
If you have Mind/Conditioned Identity in your head you cannot love Unconditionally.
If you do not have Mind/Conditioned Identity then you can only love Unconditionally.
If you have Mind and Conditioned Identity  you cannot be Merged with the Isness of the Universe.
If you are Mindless and Conditioned Identityless you are merged with the Isness of the Universe.
Conditional Love says I love you on Condition I can hate you.
Unconditional Love says I will never stop loving you but I may dissapprove of your actions but I will never hate you because I cannot hate..
Conditional Love is selective--it only applies to Family and Friends and fellow GroupMind members.
Unconditional Love is not selective--it applies to every living being--human or otherwise.
Unconditional Love does not see people as Friends and Enemies.
Unconditional Love sees people as individual Isness incarnated in bodies.
Humans are deceived by the Mind into believing that the Conditioned Identity is their true Identity and deceived by the Mind into believing that they should leave the running of their brains and therefore their lives to the Mind.
The individual Isness is a small but equal individual independent,
nameless,formless,genderless,autonomous portion of the Isness of the Universe that people controlled by Mind are taught to call a Soul.
The Soul is just another Mind created Conditioned Identity.
The Atman is just another Mind created Conditioned Identity.
The individual  Isness is formed from a small but equal portion of the essence of the Isness of the Universe and incarnated in a Human Body of either Gender-_male or female of any skin colour.



www.beyondenlightenment.co.uk

The memories have always been there
I never observed

When work matters dominated
my world order

The thought of one low-level bully
Repeatedly appeared

Guiding me slowly to the self-
referential argument.  Never decided.

Where did my mind cling
While I reverently shaved?

Infrequently, did I nick my phyllo flesh
And blame the dough roller razor in my hand

While the hell of razor-leaved tree-
Jungles surrounded my mind

But now
Now a torrent of important memories
Tied to love and loss
Yearning

Bake the leavened dough
Of my empty existence

I want to write a poem
But I don't know what to write.
I'm such a broken doll
I wish I could make this rhyme
But nothing works in my mind
Well except those two lines
Well now it's three
Oops

My Brian isnt really working right now
Oops spelling error I mean brain
That probably proves just how little my brain wants to work
I think I might be in denial.
I've probably been in denial all day.
But once I finally got there
The denial went away

Now I'm crying
I was crying in the ICU
And I'm crying now.
In the waiting room.
I want to put my words down onto this page.
I want to make this page my stage
I want to pour my emotions into this piece
But I can't seem to get it right
Seeing as this poem barely rhymes
Not that a poem ever has to rhyme.

I read her one of my poems while I talked at her.
Well I should say talked to her
But she couldn't respond.
She was trying.
I know she was trying.
But it didn't really work.
She had, I think it's called a respirator, down her throat.
So she couldnt speak a single note.

I think I'm going to go back in soon.
My dad is talking to her alone.
They say there's only a 50% chance she'll make it through the night
And everyone says they're praying
But I'm not quite sure who to pray to.
So I don't pray.
I just hope
And I believe in her
I trust that if she wants to fight and make her way back that we will.
And I hope that that's what she wants.

I feel like I never really spent any time with her now.
I feel like I barely know her.
I feel like when it comes down to it.
We don't really know each other.
When I first found out she was in the hospital,
I was getting ready for school.
I had to get to band at 7
And it was already 6:40
I needed to hurry.
So when I heard them talk about it
I wasn't sure what to say

There's been some scares before but it always turned out okay.
But now they say it's worse
Now my family is coming into town.
My family doesn't talk.
We aren't close.
We only speak if necessary
We do the least, not the most.
The fact that they are coming
Leaves me in shock

Is this the last time I'll see her?
I don't know
I have hope that she'll make it.
She keeps trying to talk
I'm sure it will all be alright I guess
But I can't help but worry.

The plans for your construction are precise
The design and engineering are true
The foundations solid, the drains are laid
In mathematics pure, infallible

The offices are bright with light, well-aired
The flow of work geometrically set
The shops and stores convenient to the staff
In tactical practicalities placed

But do you wonder, at night beneath your lamp -
Why are you building a concentration camp?

Come, come you avian darlings
You hawks, gulls, wrens and turkey vulchers
Lo! I have a sacred place
Where mountains are made
From unburnt debris longing to be ashes

Come, come you airborne circlers
Wafting up on heat streams unseen
Your kin abide on Jealousy Lane
Thinking you are satisfied.   All your needs met
Without having to scour the ground

Those careless human benefactors, wry and grizzly
Poking fun at the sight
Of so many black shadows
Flies in swarms
Gnats attacking the pitcher’s mound in August in the swamp
Bees.  Caressing the Queen.  Delicate, Loving, Caring
How can we not anthropomorphize the cackle,

They arise out of curiosity
And stay out of satiation
When do the bats revivify the seeds of waste?
Why are there no jackals?
Who built the fence?

That glorious victory mound
Miccosukee burial ground
Green seeded with local grasses
Humbled with railroad trances
We, your dancing gymnopedies
Bow down.
Constant motion
In your service

Thank the wasteful trash purveyors,
May the dump rise high!

There’s a tree in the road
Not in the middle
But it can’t be confused for being
Off

Two cars cannot pass abreast
Polite driving may be necessary
Who was in charge of the decision
To trust human nature,
To entrust safety and cooperation to those who follow?

I arrived after this phenomenon was well-established
How could this be?  How did it come to be?

I
The road was an afterthought
Paved years after the tree was firm
Autos rarely passed this way, lorries never
Should you wish to traverse
The tree takes precedence
As river traffic takes precedence over vehicles crossing a bridge
The bridgekeeper must obey - the tree is firm not flowing.

II
The tree was a sapling when the road was built
A mere twiglet unobserved by most
Her massive trunk growing imperceptibly year after year
One ring after another
Until tectonic forces lifted the road ocean floor
Becoming one with the tree mountain.

III
The tree was well established and observed to be a hazard
But the road is small
And the beauty of the oak
And the comfort of the shade
Bring joy to those
Walking and living
Cars be ******
Let them find their way.  However it is

IV
Our civil engineers are conducting an experiment
There are conflicting interests
Between the Road Advocates and the Tree-ers
RA: “For safety sake, Tear Down That Tree!”
Tree-ers: “We can live in harmony”
Germany or Switzerland
A tie vote.  What to do?

V
Mr. Hitchins, a kind community-minded resident
Willed to the City, fair, the once-thin alleyway
Which grew into a shunway; then a dirt trench; then a passage
Passing from the lonely two way street in front
Through to the loading area behind.
From 1856 until 1973 the road was sparsely used.
Upon proclamation of the Burghers
“Civilised society warrants paved roads.”
Whereupon the deed was dusted off
Provision 12.b.1. of Mr. Hitchens’ will:
“Let it be known to all who hear these words,
that the strip of land running from Virginia Street
to Ferris St, on Platt 687, recorded in book 14009
be and forever is the property of the Fair City
subject only to the right of my favorite tree, Emily, the Oak
to forever reside as she currently is - just on the West side of the strip.”

I arrived long after this phenomenon was established.

I didn’t know it at the time
The bench seemed more a subject
A reminder to sit and look

Ease one’s load
Reflect upon the day
Reach for plumbs unexplored

Years later the memories were revived
The day we saw the bench

She and they
Strolled leisurely
Quaint small exhibits of musty furniture
The rickety interior of the old stone manor

Please, can you take our picture?
Here.  Use my phone.

We were on our way home
Through the garden path
Unflowered in the early winter’s dusk
Brisk but not too chilly.  The cold would come later.

Waiting, alone, I chanced a shot
The composition was
Just OK.  My fans said “good”.  I, “no not”.

I now recall the view
From behind the porch
Looking upward at the stained
Glass dormer
Halfway between the house and the bench

I remember that day
When I saw her.
When I was able to see her.