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Cierra Norman Jul 16
I
you
am
we
conscious
clouds
of
evergreen
David Bojay May 20
there's nothing to worry about

no images on the screen to mind

realizations before mindless

dissolution

collapsing of all that's around me, including my "self"

no moments to be thought of

no future to await

practicing letting go

noticing a thought

peeling the layers


experiencing the core of it all


this

formless
Aaron Feb 19
If you were in a cage, and you knew,
What would you choose to do?
It seems that maybe that's the key -
The only way to be free is to learn to play,
because even searching for the exit is just another way
To get caught up in the plot and grime and crust
An inevitability - maybe there's no way to be clean
And trying not to play is just the same old game
Biting our own hands doesn't make us any less tame
Because these are the colors we're meant to spark;
You can't steal the song from the throat of the lark
because it's meant to be sung and shared and put on display;
If my life is just a splash of color against the gray,
Well that's okay -
I don't need a time share on eternity to have a life well lived
All I have, I freely give.
This poem can stand alone, but is actually the second part of a bigger poem (also because I'm me I wrote this second part first)
Aaron Feb 18
All the world’s a stage, they say;
And the mind that makes the sun
Cannot quite conceive of None;
Life’s a game we have to play.

Perhaps life is just life to be
And living is the greatest art
And in the end we’re always free
In the balance of our heart

Tell me, then: what tells me this?
The world within, no less real,
Yet not more; therein is bliss.
Behind the door, simply feel.

What’s without and what’s within:
Is there balance; is there zen?
Aaron Feb 18
This is just another perspective
given form by conscious centrality, or
Perhaps I’m too introspective.

From young we learn to seek directive, and
to live with a certain frugality,
But this is just another perspective.

An unmoved pen is too corrective;
The hand hesitates for fear of banality;
Or perhaps I’m too introspective.

Life, as poetry, is connective;
Embrace the paradox of each duality; but
This is just another perspective.

I dream to love the imperfective,
Because we’re all an abnormality;
Perhaps I’m too introspective.

What if we stop trying to be corrective,
And instead embrace individuality?
This is just another perspective,
Or perhaps I’m too introspective.
David Bojay Dec 2018
love I can't deny

letting go of what was "mine"

hopeless cries to a spirit in a sky that doesn't reply

let "it" go by

**** this time in my life

but I must live and experience before I  die
Aryeh Levine Sep 2018
For now
my tears drop only
when the inside of my face fills
with a holy perspiration
that collects with a musical tension
right until the ******
when the drops become too heavy
to cling to the ceiling
of my mind's eye
they fall into the grass
that wiggles my toes
and that's all I can handle
For now
Quantum physics says electrons are lazy.
(They have no position, momentum, or spin
when there’s no-one looking in on them).
Take a second to catch your breath,
for that literally means:
the world is a weird TV show,
its content new each time it’s viewed.

Who knows the morning grass’s real face
when all we see is reflected light
from a giant ball of gas in time and space?
And to make matters worse,
thanks to Darwinian fruits
springing from evolutionary roots,
our hungry eyes, in their perpetual search
for food and *** and shelter,
heavily condition the content of perception:
while a mere 25 percent of snakes have venom,
if you want to stay away from heaven,
it’s better to believe there’s poison in every species
just in case you tumble on one in the jungle…

If there is no Earth beyond
our seeing, smelling, and telling of it,
maybe that bonkers Bishop Berkley
was barking the right tune:
if there are no “public objects”
in some “preexisting space”
then I object to the appellation of
the “public bench” in the park,
a useful fiction like Noah’s Ark,
in the utilitarian utopia
of daily linguistic *******.

Of course, if the idealists are right,
then this explains why aches and pains
are transformed by our mere attention to them!
Meditation would thus be so more
than the chore of intellectual *******
and don’t get me started on the meaning of hallucination…
A kind of semi-poetical regurgitation of the many ideas going through my head about various schools of philosophy, notably the convergence between ancient Eastern and Western idealism, Darwinism, cognitive science, and quantum physics...
Eureka Merton Dec 2017
Perhaps,
the moon does not realize
its Fullness 
Until it begins waining 
And only then 
In its grasping for light 
Does it
 Suffer 

maybe,
in its
 Newness 
Does it begin to think
It is enlightened.
It is finally nothing.
Only to start waxing 
Again 

And only,
the Witness is 
knowing 
It is always whole 
Always empty 
Always there 
Aware.
Eureka Merton Dec 2017
No thought can grasp this
ocean we enter
in Holy embrace
together.

This Placeless place
echoes a memory,
unseen here, only Love
carried in waves of light.

Fingers soft as petals of Lilly
lifting into infinity, touching gently,
with the delicacy of a Lover
bound by Heart to the Beloved.

In Reverence you reach
to meet the unseen song of no-thing
as the One Heart opens, revealing
fragrance mimicing the fields of Heavens on High.

Sharing the feast of Heart
boundless, awake
waves of intoxicated bliss opening This
as He decends upon, as your lips.

Dancing under moonlight
no eyes can see
delighting in poem
no words can speak.

The ocean sings of Silence
to the ship longing for shore
washing away all sense
of "two", all need for "more".

We, ever becoming
take off on a star heading for Truth
and leave the sleeping and waking
to the dreamers.

The Lover's destiny
is the union Absolute,
following the inevitable, miraculous
disappearance of the universe.

Ocean and waves voyaged in Mind
become worldless Void
You and I,
Boundless, Unborn Love
Traveling the cosmic sea
Two become One
Lover and Beloved
Unborn love
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