To surpass my own suffering, is to forgive
and let go. No-one to hold onto, no-one
to lean upon, as I cry, no-one there to hear
me calling, so I continue falling, until I
self-destruct and force myself to build up.
In the end, I’ll be alone, isolation in dying
Moments. There is no point in life, where
the suffering will stop. But it would be a
dull world, if I never experienced pain.
I’ll see you at the crossroads, if not, I’ll
see you when I pass death, sinner or saint.

Thoughts expressed with emotion, do not criticize
if one cannot understand, thought look at it, as
if it’s something you cannot accept. As for the artist,
generally they become their own heros. If not, life
will be a bore, unable to fit into something normal.
I’m in too deep to change, I’m already dead, because
everyone looks unfamiliar and I swear I’m going to
die at the hands of someone I know. And that’s real.
No-one can **** the soul of someone’s creation.
(Knowledge Variable)

Perhaps poetry itself invented love, if it didn’t
poetry took advantage of love, only to get noticed.
Now at least I’ve got something to do, just writing
poems about the love I yearn and have not yet
experienced. Troublesome.
(Knowledge Variable)

I create a dream and then lose myself into it.

My whole self.

I create the biggest most soothing dream that I could ever imagine; all of my wants and all of my current needs I put into it.

I invest all of my life energies into the dream and then I crush it.

I really mean that I crush it.

It gets scattered into millions of pieces of stardust and meteorites sprinkled among the mountains and dales of the galaxies and beyond.

Nothing fails as nothing is started. I am nothing. I become nothing and I stay as nothing until a new dream appears and the process is repeated once again. It expands and shrinks as it blinks back at me.

"It is all a big joke August."

I can hear the voices of the gods.

It is all the mystical nature of it all.

"Are you real?" Ravi whispered hoarsely.
Shyama the Mataji from the Yoga Shakti
ashram in Melbourne, smiled,
"As real as any of us," she replied.
Tenderly she tucked warm blankets around Ravi
as he slept on the cold, concrete, cement
steps of the Hindu temple.

Now it all seemed like a mirage to him, a fading dream.
Ravi anxiously waited for David's dark blue van.
Today he was finally leaving the austere environment
of the Buddhist Temple. New born vistas were
blossoming before his astonished eyes.

That morning he had broken the news to his mother.
"Mom I am coming home in a few days!"
His mother gasped with delight on the phone,
nearly swooning. She had just engaged in a
week long sadhana of intense prayers and
pujas in Bangalore pleading for the return of
their only son, Ravi, to their loving arms.

Soon, David and Ravi scooted down the
road waving goodby to the Monk and fellow
Buddhist practitioners. Ravi breathed a deep
sigh of relief. Everything was going so smoothly.
Later in the day I met David and Ravi for lunch.
Ravi had a slightly dazed appearance on his face.
So much had transpired in the past year. It was
as if he had been reborn. Each baby step he took,
God was there urging him on, catching him if he
seemed unsteady or unsure, infusing him with
fortitude, strength and great love.

I asked Ravi if he planned to say
goodbye to Shyama, the Mataji at the ashram.
Since time was pressed he decided to say farewell
in a phone call.

We wrapped up our lunch, David had errands to run,
so I took Ravi in my car. On our way home
we stopped at Walgreens to get some
chocolates for his Mom. We noticed a
woman pulling out of the parking lot.
"Oh My God!" Ravi exclaimed,
"That's Shyama!" We dashed over to her car.
"Ravi's leaving!" I gushed. Shyama Ma
got out of her car, gently embracing Ravi
and blessing him. We chatted briefly, then Shyama left.

Ravi and I stood there gawking at each other
in bedazzled ecstasy.
We both could feel the Divine Hand of God
showering us with His astounding leelas.

We resumed our errands and made our
way back to my house. Rama, our
inquisitive cat greeted Ravi rubbing his
furry little head against his feet.
Ravi relaxed, settling down on the wine
red couch in our front room. We flicked on
the TV. Ravi stammered like an innocent child,
"I haven't watched television in years!" He looked
at me with a befuddled grin, "I still can't believe
this is all real."

The weekend flew by and soon Ravi
was standing at the Check-In counter of
the airport preparing to fly home to
Bangalore, India.
"Ravi," I said softly, "this morning I had
a dream with Sathya Sai Baba."

"Oh really?" Ravi said excitedly,
"Please tell me about it."
I related the dream to Ravi:
I was sitting at a table, I believe my husband
and another man was on my right.
Swami was seated across from me.
He had such a beatific, radiant countenance.
I gazed at our glorious Sai, love surging
through my heart.

An attendant came over and poured juice
into two glasses. I said,
"Please give this to that man first. The attendant
moved the two drinks over.
Swami looked at me with a very
happy expression on His holy face.

As I finished describing the dream,
I said to Ravi, "I think Swami was
letting us know He is pleased with the
service rendered to you."
What a wonderful blessing.

Ravi shoved a package of Pizza flavored
crackers into his Carry-on bag.
David and I watched as Ravi trekked
through the security line of the airport,
his eyes glistened with thankful tears.

We both snapped pictures with our
cell phones of our sweet friend and
blew kisses which he eagerly caught,
a pristine beginning, a magnificent ethereal
bridal bouquet glowing on the rose pink
threshold of an extraordinary new day.

If the future has no hope, trust me, the
present will not escape any bitterness
that life throws this way. As nothing
that cause the heart no stronger pain
than the mute silence from one’s lover,
that all of life’s hope is rested upon, in
such holy trust. One’s hope and one’s
despair, is rendered with one, no other
time or moment, where one’s destiny
is shown so strongly, than it’s shined
in one’s romantic life.  
(knowledge variable)

Laymen, I do not hate you, I just wish
not to be like you, rather die of passion
than boredom, blended with the rest.
I’m in too deep. Thou Shall not steal,
Thou Shall not squeal the secrets, Thou
Shall not ****, rub me the wrong way,
Laymen, I will, Thou Shall not cheat,
Thou Shall not born mystic, one has to
work for it. Civilization will not reach
perfection, until the last philosopher stone
has fallen on the last sinner. Be concerned
of not period of humanity, past, present
or future, always be focused on this current
life, the intensity and rawness of it all.
Laymen, it is fate, I wish not to be like you,
there is no other greater sin to any culture
than ignorance in action and trust me,
and it has not relation to economic poverty
when it comes to war.  
(knowledge variable)

Freedom, the secretive and conclusive gesture,
that life has bread in the either, echoing with it
in the air, perhaps it’s greater than love to the
poets. It is all that above, freedom is, or it does
not exist. There’s a scent to it, as our hands
naturally know how it feels, to every attempt to
grasp upon and hold. Only in moments of death,
perhaps as we let go the life we had just lead,
we can finally experience it, providing better
ecstasy than any illumination. I had always for
something, I could never touch. Poetry cannot
constantly be split into dreams and reality.
For I have no-idea how the soul stays sane,
living in this duality. For me, it’s useless being
alive, if one is not the path of personal revelation,
whether that’s in love of thy soulmate, or just
the transcendence of one’s illumination. But the
saddest thing is, is not whether we can reach it
before death, it’s that those rare people who do,
get frowned upon, be called mad, and turned
away into exile, by the layman's-mundane ignorance.
Finally breathing through the wind, as my body
dives into the bath of Muses below, where I’m
blessed with martyrdom, which is the highest any
human can achieve. It isn’t really true, just because
you witnessed a person die for it. Even though
my life was a discovery of things, worth dying for
like my love for my soulmate.  
(Why be master, when one can be king?)
- Knowledge Variable