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The Dybbuk Jan 2020
The warping of the walls,
fills my troubled mind with dread,
For in the neon of the night,
is the fear of being dead.
The shaking of the floors,
burns my mind beneath the sun,
And the gunshot lodged inside me,
was the race's starting gun.
Now the air is caving in,
and reality's a lie,
So I jump off this mortal plane,
and sink deep into the sky.
Suddenly, in darkness,
I lose all sense of control
And in the place where I should be,
is a tattered rainbow hole.
This poem was written after my first ego death experience.
Mark Wanless Jan 2020
to see enlightenment
in the mirror
no other choice
MatteoFPJ Nov 2019
To be conscious and aware,
what a greater gesture of suicide,
what an alternative to happiness,
what a solution to meaningfulness.
To be conscious and aware,
the act of killing a magical existence,
the purpose of morose joy,
a waste of time.
M Srisaravana Nov 2019
O' My lord of infinite layers,
You are the house upon I am built,
The self, that is I, is the echo of your's,
No more I can be, losing myself at ends,
I search for the path, enlightenment hails,
It is the line between all the extremes,
You, O' my lord Mara, the self-ego of me,
Dragging me to the extremes of my mind,
No more, no more, the land is my witness,
You are the illusion of my witted mind,
Let myself go of the idea of I, at last,
Let whatever is left, be at peace, at once.
Seán Mac Falls Nov 2019
.
Notes wash over
The no angled ear
Listener, journeyer
See trails leading
To a cloud of sun,
Break in the skies,
Soon to know again
What was creeping
In the eyes of restless
Thought, unrequited
Sense, the whirling
Ride in the globes
Of vertigo and touch.

Dismembered by mood,
The musician conjures
Lost jewels in thought,
Sparks to the mind,
Sorcery in the bland,
Wayout, man, you dig,
Tap the deep rythmns
Drowning under toes,
Shutters we have lined
Go ourselves together
In the blinds.  Turn on,

Off those penny eyes,
The horn careening
In its heights of low
Down blues and sheen,
Be bop and stirring
In a rush, unfinished
The player knows
Your got number,
Is offbeat, syncopated
With the pearly drums
Of the sheet, read heart.

Jazzman is charmer
To sleepy serpent
Kept, shot in only bars
That leech into night,
The looking glasses
Pouring over misery
Ride sweet nowhere
In the tempos of fix,
Youngling daddy-o,
Plenty is the brass horn
Of Jazz in the clears,
Cool fingers singing
What the mind hears.
.
SpiritHeart67 Oct 2019
The Glass is not half empty
Nor is it half full
It is simply awaiting its fate,
Always Held in someone else's hands.

And Then I Saw.
And  Found That I had Loved.
And My Cup is Always Full.
Even When It Overflows,
It's Sides Will Never Empty.

There is no top nor bottom,
Only that which is held in between,
The source and keeper
Of all and every thing.

6/2018
"There is no top nor bottom
(to my Love or Heart)
Only that which is held in between
(It is a bottomless swelling spring without end)
The source and keeper
Of all and every thing"
Sara Rumi Nov 2019
I’ve reached a stage in my life where I only want people around me who believe in God and higher powers
People whose stench reek of spirituality and enlightenment
Everything else just seems like a distraction
Temporary pleasure
An environment where I’m constantly reminded that I’m powerless by myself,
an insignificant being
That I’m at my most powerful when I’m connected to the universe’s frequency and surrender myself to Him.
I’m trying to be the love child of Rumi and Ibn Arabi
Yue Wang Yitkbel Oct 2019
Enlightenment isn’t the discovery of the already known.
     No need to illuminate where the sun had already shone.

I. The Roads Endlessly Traveled

The Truth may be hidden and infallible
It can’t be said the same for its roads
For all past voyagers false or true
Will leave marks, endless trails of clues
A path may be closed
Others cut through
Wind and dust, and overgrowth
May cover and obscure a shallow few
And though light footprints oft lose to leaves and dew
We can’t blame them all for us being astray still
        If we stomp out the old
        And naively begin anew
Then we will truly be lost
To unknowingly retrace
Footpath already abandoned and used



II. The Miner and the Gardener

And now there are two ways
One clear path to the garden of reason
Always in the open, clear as day
And
Another a tunnel to either valleys or caves
Ever shrouded behind a gateway obscured
Dark in passion, fright or daze

And there are two travellers
Workers searching for the same

  The one of the tunnel
  Always mines for ore
Dreaming to one day find the sunkissed
Palace

The other of the garden
Constantly gather berries
To fill his insatiable hunger for sweet
Sense and wits

Till now
Both of them have gathered more than
They’ll ever need or use

What pleasant wonder, and departure from this
Tedium  
Could they discover if they would switch places

Would the gardener of sense
Finally have a vessel for his fruits
Unused
To not be sullied
And preserve
For all men and women, and children to enjoy
Always, anytime in any season
From summer days of knowledge
To even wintry days of reason

Would the miner of lofty dreams
Rejoice in the replenishing of strength
Forevermore
Sipping the sugary wine
Of ceaseless ideas
Along with his gardener mate
And ***** friends of all earthly grace
All the more stronger
To altogether breach
And reach The Forever
Cloudless Place



Where the sun never sleeps,
But only dreamy coze will we embrace.
Please read: :)
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3354537/learn-from-scars-not-flesh-unmarked-song-of-tormented-souls/

---
Travel All Roads - The Rational and The Ideal
     Enlightenment isn’t the discovery of the already known.
     No need to illuminate where the sun had already shone.
By: Yue Xing Yitkbel ****
October 6, 2019, Finished Writing at 23:17


I really should be getting back to reading. But I just can't stop writing all these thoughts that rush to mind. Not exactly that divine and guiding nausea I always feel and have often written about but close:
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2236340/the-guiding-nausea/
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3120157/the-divine-nausea/




---
This came to me spontaneously, and so I wrote all in one go. It is my immature exploration of the age-old problem of dualism, and what has been repeated a million times in the dire warning of the various variations of “If we forget the past, we’re doomed to repeat it.” Ironically it is more than likely, now that I have read it through, that it is too simple and obvious of a metaphor and allegory to not have been told before, perhaps even countlessly, and in many languages.  The irony being me having read so little to not actually be familiar with human history and our literary past.

Alas, even so, I see too many wise men boast about their correctness in a fallible road to truth while mocking those that walk a different path, perhaps not entirely correct, but still, infallible and non-disprovable as lost souls.

Even though we are all still lost. Perhaps, we are getting ever closer to the end, but nevertheless, it is yet unreached.

And so perhaps it is not so redundant for me to repeat this Critique of Pure Reason in my childish words.

Travel All Roads, Walk All Path.

You’ll never know where it goes, what it shows until you’ve seen and experienced the journey yourself.

Enlightenment isn’t the discovery of the already known.
No need to brighten where the sun had already shone.
Simon Oct 2019
Frequencies are tough. Frequencies are managed. Two frequencies combine surfaces not existing in one another. Unless strips of different wavelengths are pushing each frequency to each others enlightenment. Nothing judges. Except one binding these apparitions together. A form becoming static too mutual for any compromise. Frequencies become laced with purposes. Easily definable. Never perfect enough for change. Only enough for simple practices. Practices reminding two frequencies of compromise. Compromises aren’t welcome, if one’s purpose is easily definable. If so, then why ask? It’s already staring you right in the face. Proceed with balance! Strips of wavelengths letting frequencies off chains made of static. Finally! One rippling a new focus. Releasing their time and service to entities holding them back. Purpose lays waiting, for all to see. Two frequencies happily definable now. Without change, static doesn’t occupy their purpose. Sparking a judgeable wavelength. Letting you off with a warning. A warning filled with benefits to a newer frequency. One that doesn’t hold frequencies by chains of static. Chains stripping connections between outer wholes. Sparks flying around its properties. Molding your own frequency together. Molding static between ripples of its own actions. Actions feeling the ripples of energy contracting with concern. Movements seeping into another part of itself that wasn’t identifiable. Becoming what wasn’t apart of its own identity. Surging pressure of rippling actions not belonging to itself. Stinging the outer symmetry of ripples. Frequency becoming thoughtless. Submerging into a shocked exterior. Feeling stressed without foreboding it’s purpose. Rippling the caregiver away from its own appreciation. Apparitions flowing misinterpretations. Faltered to a halt! Filling volumes of enlightenment too closed off when trying to supply purpose. Energy is a purpose. Rippling all around each spark to pledge. Pledge what? Pledging a way out! How will it turn out for these rippling fabrics of stationary purposes? Only two halves to a greater wavelength tapping into its own energy supplier.
Frequencies are judgeable when fluent practices run a muck! Only to ones staying broad within perimeters of itself. Only then will things shake moments into the clearing.
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