Resurrection


When the seas, all seven, align and combine,
To form one tide, do you believe we have a selection, to
Reside, hide and remain alive?
Or is that our mind tryna confide,
In our own made lie, afraid to die?
If the angels rein down a path to heaven,
I wish to accept, find, listen and abide,
Until I arrive.
Once I’ve arrived at my final destination,
Only then will I quit the investigation,
Quit the pacing,
Where thoughts are constantly racing.
End of days where I communicate,
Debate and question every nation.
An owl of silent observation,
Mixed with a perfection I can imagination,
To relate,
To create,
And modulate,
An exhilarating answer to the allegation,
Fact or fiction,
Which is resurrection?
Such unbelievers, who claim afterlife is an illusion,
Unaware that they are too, just bait,
Heading straight,
Into the great,
Hands of fate.
The weight of the truth,
And proof,
In representation of resurrection,
Cannot be ignored, just like an antique china plate,
Or a mate,
Who’s at times, difficult to tolerate.
It’s inevitable,
So renumerate,
Your pure self, and reinstate,
Circumnavigate,
To the Golden Slate Gate.
Enter your new estate,
Where you are enchanted with the power of illumination.
Before you can await,
The glorious one who turns death into rebirth,
Giving your soul a chance to resurrect,
Recreate, and once again illuminate.





Natasha .K. Bailey

the first spark sparks

in the wastes of Shabsheer
his bread and water, that of niter
where he would spend nights here
worked as dawn neared

his flame soon to burn a million
harshness and saltpeter
his nickname was 'Paidarion'
his future more bitter

ⲇⲉⲁⲑ took a paid lover
and soon, mother and father
no home, no lamp for his feet

as the Egyptian sun began to blister
under the shade of one's beard
he sought an elder

"watch- for you are awake
you are seeing
you are knowing

watch- the baker as he bakes
the thieves fleeing
and the farmer sowing

"starve- we'll eat later
now we ponder
the hunger of  the beggar

the next we pass one
dont let him wonder
invite him to share our supper

"know to rise above
and to go under
to pass through-
and asunder

for He weaves
our lives together
we hold each other

in the pattern of our souls

He weaves us together
that we may hold one another
from the cradle to the casket

humanity woven well
holds on to much more
like a good basket

Peace is the still waters
of space and time
that no longer
ripple in my mind,
sweet stillness.

But your boulder
bounces from
the bottom up,
splashing and splattering
all that brain
that matters to me.
Till, I am unable to think clearly.

Peace is a pleasant memory,
a space where I find
a specific a place or time,
and revisit them
when I close my eyes.

However,
your heavy presence
shifts the soil
which these memories
sit in,
and their sediment
is swept away
by the currents you create
when you intrude
upon my day.

Peace is detachment
from toxic connections,
but my heart can’t
release them
when they keep returning.

What is the body,
but a pile of meat?
Moving around,
seeking only to eat?

What makes us human,
what makes us strong?
What is it that pulls us along?

Do we have a soul?
Or just a mind?
Do we have an identity,
beyond what we can define?

What exactly lasts,
what thing underlies,
our very existence,
whose meaning is undefined?

Some call it "soul",
others simply "mind,
yet there are others,
who call it not "mine".

The first sees an eventual, heavenly life,
borne from the sacrifice of a holy Christ,
or the forgiveness and judgement of a heavenly being,
or the results of past actions, coming into being.

The second sees the mind,
a product of the brain.
No different from nature,
which never ceases or begins.
Having existed since beginningless time,
what comes to be, eventually declines,
and one is returned, to the darkness underlined.

The 3rd is one, who does not distinguish,
he sees the body and mind,
not as one who would wish,
for a lasting identity, or an eternal peace,
nor does he see it, as one who just is.

Instead he sees things, unlikely as it may,
the aggregates of consciousness and body, clear as day.
He does not deceive himself, thinking of meaning,
nor does he lie, thinking himself as "body".

He separates the speculation of a soulless man,
as he does the thought of a mind separate from man.
He overcomes the dualities which we normally comprehend,
With a sight that sees, what is simply at hand.

The truth that this body, its aggregates and mind,
are all but products of our imaginary mind,
which projects and creates,
in an endless thought-pattern,
a speculation that is ceaseless,
an identity to be had.

Instead he deconstructs,
he sees the body as it is,
an aggregate of thoughts, perceptions and things.
He overcomes the idea of "suffering" that exists,
and does not cling to the idea of "pleasure" for bliss.
He rests in the nature that is rightfully so,
not overthinking, whether he has a soul.
Because such things, are deceptions coming to be,
by the ever-thinking mind, always deceiving thee.