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In order to spend leisure time
Something I need to write
One thing I google search
It offers me so much
That I never heard
Take case of astral body or dress
It showed me 'Astral ***' in result
Bizarre beliefs, bizarre concepts
Your astral body floats off physical body
Mates with your partner's astral body
There's no physical contact
It's just mating of soulmates floating in the air
They say it's more satisfying
Free from STD and ***
Population remains in control
There being no procreation of course
Tremendous are the benefits
They tell you the techniques
Mysticism of mystiques!
Great men and their stories
I listen to them carefully
I learnt of astral body
It can come out of your physical body
You've to be an advanced yogi
If a bhogi, you've to die
Astral body to come out and fly
I craved for such an astral experience
Turned an yogi from a bhogi
I had two options
Either wander jungle jungle
Meditate and practice yoga like a traditional sadhu
For decades to have magical powers
Or sit in an air conditioned environment
Take yogic lessons from some modern Guru
I chose the second option
For I was lazy dog like Albert Einstein
In terms of Hermann Minkowski's language
Lo and behold!
Miracle happened
I turned into an advanced yogi
I came out of my physical body
I floated in my astral body
I set out on a journey
Astral world of heavenly tourney
The journey was quite comfortable
Except that I was naked
The thought what would
I do if I met women on the circuit
Made me a little bit jittery
Nonetheless all went well
My dad already in the astral world
Had some telepathic inkling
He met me there in the beginning
He asked me in an authoritative tone
After all I was his son
Have you come with official records
No, I've turned an advanced yogi
I can go anywhere, everywhere
Go in, come out of black holes, white holes
Except S370HSSV
I told
With confidence
Mistaken you are my boy
He said with concern in his eyes
You aren't allowed without official records
You won't get astral clothes at the astro-drome
If caught, you would face an additional charge of obscenity
For being naked in public
So he hid me behind a bush
Bushes were as if jewelry of diamonds, gold and platinum
As I peeked behind the bush
My dad appeared on the scene after sometime
He had brought an astral chaddi for me
Buying full astral dress was very costly
It would have been sheer wastage
I realised lateron
I put on the astral chaddi
My dad gave me tight hug
He asked me to return
Come when it is my turn
Back home I took off my astral chaddi
As I was to enter my physical body
I kept it safely in my wardrobe
My physical body was lying on the bed
As if I were dead
With little effort, I entered it
Went to sleep and woke up in the morning
I searched for my prize possession
Astral chaddi in my wardrobe
It was nowhere visible
I was in utter confusion
Suddenly, a modern Guru appeared before my eyes
Prostrate on his feet I was lying
He said, get up you ignorant guy
For you enlightenment hasn't yet arrived
You need more yogic lessons
And my special blessings
With full devotion do my "seva"
Till I die, be my chela
Astral bodies and objects aren't visible in the physical world
That's why your astral chaddi has disappeared
With this I woke up from sleep
It all happened in my dream!
Chaddi = Underpants
Bhogi = A person given to pleasure and luxury
Sadhu = Ascetic
Chela = Disciple
Seva = Service
Astral body is said to be exact copy of your physical body. At the time of death, if your physical body has diseased organs and cells, so should be your astral body. If limbs are missing, astral limbs should also be missing. Average life span is 77 years, so astral world should be inhabited by aged people of average age 77 years. It is said, souls take rebirth. How, and when does one shed astral body of previous birth and acquire new astral body of an infant to fit in counterpart physical body in mother's womb? Can one explain?
kaunis Diana Mar 16
Endora:
I can’t breath, my lungs are burning
Everything around me is twirling.
Everything inside me squeezes eminently, grabbing away my desire to live on.
I am filled with pain, till my last bone.
My eyes are full of blood rivers.
He is dying in the roaring silence.

Lucas:
As I opened my eyes,
I saw dazzling stars dancing in the sunset
It was as quiet as a dead silence, creating a peaceful setting.
I breathed in, a fresh freezing air
I can’t stop gazing at this glare.
Am I dead or is it just a dream?

Endora:
Is it a dream or he is really dead?
This shouldn’t be the end!
Each moment, memory with him,  was a blest
It flashed to the right and to the left
I wish I could say ‘I love you  till death’
  Just as a lest

Lucas:
As I walked in a gloomy forest
I felt that Endora felt the sorest
I can't stop thinking about her. Besides.

Out of the blue,I noticed a glorious figure.
Her dress was fluttering in the wind.
However, I didn't have a chance to see the owner of this gracious dress.
“Come back, come back” said the soft voice
I didn't have a chance to see the owner of this soft voice.

Endora:
As I came back, he opened his eyes...
Dante Rocío Sep 2020
It is sharpening crimson steel in a knife as of that, with it fingers softly bleed like care and rise as a shuttered peach in
a sturdy piece of scarlet, paid in heed.

Your foreboding onthou my skin is no more truly nor less rigid unplugging of violin strings out of a guttural chords into a straight morbid fire, and a pain structure
hardens, straightens,
embeds them forever into every light’s riddance, this trial mended.
Welcomed fireflies in a
solstice. bonfire. forest. [stygian].

Love, my dearest Love, if your ever evanescent body or voice even exists:
if I ever dare to greet in my tears music it only may be to bleed with you in one common fluid, to have my ribs torn gently by
each your promise barely for my hand’s taking,
endure time to have my truer form by you,
a sensation, clad in lilac velvet that goes
under the name of “Paper Airplane” by
my thoughts.

To keep.
Us.
Intact.
More than as rain we always are.

A child picked up a solitary chalk and sketching protruded some things by that hand & sight, some sun with injustice drawn, that elders’ words and acts
have not put up.

Some of the chalk simply lays everyday crushed.
Foundance.
With no human passage, luggage.
No matter how hard I’ll come to cry
Never shall I reject my waters.
My Love, you who kiss me further and further
Without lips or anything to align,
I wish for you to never earn a step or body,
And to marry my sand-sea plaited follies.
Be veritable Garden Song.
parthenope Aug 2020
Four walls,
Trapped in deep.
Windows blocked,
Black in ink.
Shadows locked,
Will freedom win?
Dead inside, finally,
The astral body leaves.
Dante Rocío Jun 2020
[Pour Marie C.]
Tu te souviens de cette fois
Quand tu m’as demandé
Si j’ai jamais pleuré de la douleur ?
Car je te réponds
profondément et tendrement
que oui.
« Oui » vrai de nouveau chaque jour.
De supporter un nom
Un sexe
Un âge
Des vêtements qui me donnent
des descriptions
et m’emprisonnent en plus.
De la longueur de ma maison.
Et ça fait mal comme un pur viol.
Voir, sur les genoux parmi des bêtes,
devant soi-même tout ce qui t’admire,
ce qui te laisse respirer,
t’aime,
te donne l’identité
et vit en tes soupirs des yeux
et des larmes,
juste à la distance de la main
pour ne pas être jamais rendu à toi
en publique
et te tuant ainsi dans un pays étrange.
« Oui » de souffrance inédite.

Quand j’t’entends,
te vois en mon esprit,
Je nous demande
Combien de nuits sourdes,
trop silencieuses,
du goût du sang et du métal
as-tu passé séparé, tout en eau,
Sans air, les mélodies
comme la seule compagnie ?
Combien des choses y a-t-il
auxquels tu ne donne jamais la voix ?
Combien de masques as-tu créés
et détruits ?
Combien des portes as-tu claqué
devant les personnes
qui s’appelaient ta famille ?
Combien d’êtres as-tu blessé
pour te protéger ?
La masque de pierre n’endurcira
plus un jour
Et la pierre se cassera en porcelaine sanglante.

Je désire te voir te romper,
Toucher une corde sensible de ton piano,
Pour que tu meurtes et naisses de nouveau.
Pour que tu puisses authentiquement respirer.
Pour que tu te laisse pleurer sans cesse.
Pour que je puisse te tenir dans mes bras.
Comme si tu étais la chose plus valeureuse
et fragile du monde,
Et pour qu’on puisse se regarder
dans nos yeux pour des heures,
Sans mots ni pensées se retrouver,
Devenir fragiles tous les deux.

« T’es trop lumineux », tu dis,
« pour moi »,
Eh ben, t’es pas trop sombre
pour moi.

Tu t’emportes des écouteurs,
Ta barrière et ta rédemption.
Seule distraction et chemin au ciel.

On se rend tous les deux aux étoiles,
On peut s’y rencontrer un jour
et entrelacer les mains.
Peut-être même s’appeler
de derrière de nos miroirs étroits
Avec des nouveaux sons pour nos noms.

Je t’embrasse, observe
Et écris de là,
Marie.
I know you might never see the note here, Mary, but I wish you all the truth,
eyesight beyond
and your life given to you back.
Wish I could delve into you like God does
To make you out and hold your state
Like that of a broken child.
Pozdrawiam cię z tego miejsca powyżej zrodzonego w francuskim,
tak dawno a jednak wciąż.
Choćbyśmy miały się już nie zmówić.
Zaprawdę nasza relacja specyficzną jest i była.
TheWitheredSoul May 2020
Afloat in the loveless void of space loving a soul that bleeds  of slithering in solitude.

Accross the allevation of what the soul seeks among the hearts that no longer beat,

I managed to stumble upon a heart that beats,

Never knew what to give for that graceful heart, for all i knew was dull and dark.

Wish i had a rhythm to realign but then i realized i had no voice.

Wondered if could shine to catch her eyes then i have light.

Wish i had a fragrance to frantically Flirt yet then i knew no flowers bloom in space.

So i stand right here in the astral space in a distant place where she ll never know that i ever existed.
‘︿’
Comment your views.
katie Mar 2020
he called me, "honey" as if it was second nature
and in his presence, i felt comfortable and calm
does he know that these tears are a result of longing,
and not of my evergrowing qualms?
i dreamt about my love, and there he called me his darling.
Bad Luck Nov 2019
It's the same familiar road,
Dark and slightly paved,
Toward which my soul drifts at nighttime,
Pulled by nearly broken chains.
Sleepwalking to find some danger
Where, among the chaos, it can feel
A little less like a stranger;
Around the blind side of a curve.

While I sleep, it finds a way
To - despite my slumber - travel.
Laying down, and replaying how
Life and death, seemed to briefly
                    Stop their battle . . .
And rest so soundly,
Sprawled out, side-by-side,
Strewn 'cross the roadway's gravel.

           - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Each morning I awake
And to the same spot I've returned,
Laying next to my soul, in wait,
For a lucky car to make its turn.
I stand up, and spark a cigarette
-- click --
Just to watch the orange light burn.

        I inhale the noxious gases,
        As a car skids, and passes.
        I start back home with a shrug,
        And flick the ashes to the masses,
        Burn some bibles, and break some glasses.
        And as the rain soaks to my skin,
        It corrodes the memory like acid.
"Bad Luck: In a Wakeful Contradiction" is now available on Amazon in paperback!

Link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1691941182
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