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Who are you and Why are you Here?
Why did you come to Earth, my Dear?
Begin your Quest, do not Fear!

After 40 years, I started my Quest
I had the Guts to put all Beliefs to Test
The Reward was Worth it, it was the Best!

I am not ‘I’, I Realized the Truth
I Searched and went to the Bottom of the Root
It was my Quest that gave me the Fruit!

I am not this Body, this Body will Die
The Mind, I cannot find! How can it be ‘I’?
The Ego says ‘I’, but it’s a big Lie!

We think life is just to have Fun
We live and soon, life is Done
Like mad people, in this Race we Run!

What is the Truth, Why this Human Birth?
What is the Reason we Came to Earth?
The Quest will help us Answers, Unearth!

It all begins when we Start our Quest
Many Questions we list and we don’t Rest
One by one, the Answers Attest

To get to the Truth, we need a Master
An Enlightened Guru will take us Forward Faster
It is the Master who is our Spiritual Partner

It all begins by Overcoming Ignorance
Transcending the Ego that Creates Arrogance
The Truth and the Myth, Realizing the Difference

Therefore, first, there is Purification
And soon there is Illumination
And finally, there is Realization

The first Realization is, ‘I am the Soul’
This, in the Quest, achieves my Goal
But what in my Purpose does this Play a Role?

The Soul is nothing but a Spark Of Unique Life
I Realized this and now I am Liberated from Strife
Otherwise, with myths, our Life is Rife

The Realization helps us move Ahead
And Ultimately, in that Moment when we are Dead
We are Liberated and United with the Lord, it’s Said!

Our Purpose is to become One with God
To Realize, within is the temple of the Lord
The Quest helps us see how our Beliefs are Flawed!

We always thought God was in a Temple or Church
And then we started the Quest, the Search
To attain the Divine, we had an Urge

Are we just meant to Live and Die?
First, we must find out, ‘Who am I?’
We must Discriminate the Truth from the Lie

We may appear to be made of Bone and Skin
But the Truth is that we are the Divine that Lives Within
Alas! This Ignorance is our Greatest Sin

It is our Mind that makes us Blind
It is the biggest enemy that Makes us Grind
In the Purpose to find, we are Left Behind

So, first, we make the Monkey Mind a Monk
It happens when we remove from it All Junk
Till then, it seems we are Eternally Drunk!

The moment we transcend Body, Ego, and Mind
In that moment, Life’s Truth, we will Find!
We will attain the One for Whom we Pined

When we move from Mind to Consciousness
There are no thoughts, there is Thoughtlessness
Then, there is Peace and Love, Eternal Happiness

Then, we Realize there is no Heaven and Hell
These are lies that People Tell!
There are no Devils and Angels that Dwell

We are Liberated from that Life Race
Where we are running to be an Ace in the Chase
The Quest helps us Live with Grace

In the Quest, we Overcome all our Trauma
When we Realize that Life is a Drama
Everything that happens is Controlled by Karma

At first, we would Cry and look at the Sky
We would just Suffer and ask God, ‘Why?’
Till we Realized the Truth, Who am I?

We Realize two things we don’t control on Earth
We don’t control Death, we don’t control Birth
It is then we learn to live with Mirth

We Realize we are not the Mind and Ego, ME
We are not the one in the Mirror whom we See
Then, we are Free to Be who we are Meant to Be

It is in that moment that all Miseries Cease
It is the Quest that gives us Peace
We Realize all this, Piece by Piece

At first, we had believed, ‘I was I’
The Quest revealed that this was a Lie
I am the Soul that will Never Die!

It is the Quest that Cuts all Strings
It Liberates us, the one who Clings
It helps us fly, it Opens our Wings

We Realize that Pleasure Comes and it Goes
But Eternal Bliss, Forever Flows
Upon going on a Quest, this Truth Glows

The Mind that otherwise says, ‘I am Everything!’
It is exposed, it is a Rascal, not a King!
In fact, it causes All Suffering

It is the Quest that Makes us Shine
We Discover that within, Lives the Divine
Then, there is Eternal Sunshine

Without the Quest, there will be Death and Birth
Ignorance will make us Return to Earth
The Quest Liberates us from Rebirth

How can you remove the Darkness in a Room?
Can you Sweep it away with a Broom?
The Quest brings in Light, that will Eliminate all Gloom

We all arrive from the very same Womb
But Foolishly, through Life we just Zoom
And Ultimately, we reach our Tomb!

Without a Quest, life is like a Circus
We are Clowns living without Purpose
It is the Quest that makes life, Precious

Start your Quest or you will Suffer Again
The Mind will pour Thoughts like Rain
And it will Push you down the Drain

For Thoughts don’t Knock, they Enter the Door
Uninvited they come and Push us on the Floor
The Quest Pushes the Mind out and Shuts the Door

We all live in this World and Crave
Of the Mind and Ego, we become a Slave
It is the Quest that makes us Brave

The Quest begins when there is Yearning
The Yearning is what starts our Learning
It creates that Passion that keeps us Burning

Otherwise, in the Mind, we are all Caught
In Toxic Emotions, in many a Poisonous Thought
The Quest ties the Divine Knot

When we start our Quest we Venture
Then we let go of Worldly Pleasure
And we achieve our Life’s True Treasure

Without the Quest, there is no Light
We live with anger, jealousy and we Fight
The Truth remains Far, Out of Sight!

Ignorance causes all the Blunder
It creates misery, it Creates Thunder
Realization makes us Surrender

Are you looking for Happiness and for Bliss?
The Quest will lead to eternal Happiness
Start it now, it’s not something we should Miss

It will start with Self-Realization
And Ultimately, lead to God-Realization
March ahead without any Hesitation

It is the Quest that will give us the Purpose of Life
It will Liberate us from Misery and Strife
We must cut through the Myth with a Sharp Knife

So start a Quest, don’t just Live and Die
Find out life’s Purpose, ask the question, ‘Why?’
Do it now! Start with, ‘Who am I?’
Red Robregado Dec 2023
Where would a Hobbit be,
struggling alone in his long quest,
without the second set of sturdy feet?

How could a Hobbit
stand a hope
had he to face the eerie taunting of the Ringwraiths,
the haunting, blazing evil gaze
on his own?

How could a Hobbit see
some good in the world,
something worth fighting for,
without those earnest eyes that
speak of stars, of tales that endure,
of light persisting, of promises pure?

And how is it possible for any man,
let alone a Hobbit,
to tread to Mordor’s smoking pit,
up to Mount Doom where nothing but shadow looms,
to bear the unbearable—
the One Ring that whispers its seduction,
too enticing, too powerful,
as to rule creatures and all—
without a friend against all enemies,
whose loyalty as deep as ancient roots?

Impossible. Unimaginable.
Yet however unlikely to win against the odds without aid,
the Hobbit shall stand and brave the gathering storm,
even if the fellowship ceases to exist,
for it’s the Masterful Weaver who holds fate’s thread,
He crafts a tale where heroes small find victory as He intends
No matter the trials, the losses, the cost,
the Hobbitses shall not be lost—
even in the sorrow of parting’s riposte.

Not all tears are evil, some guide to the Undying Lands
where peace harks and wounds find complete healing.
KG Dec 2022
From across the waters of sky and sea, a quest for fire remains.
Contained by borders Zues & Posiedon laugh at this homonculus
What are signs set by stars
division and duality
Smoke drifts from mouth and fingertips as once again the beast howls at the juxtaposing light.
Why then do these walls whisper
"Burn me down,"
"You've suffered us enough,"
"Nothing worth doing was ever easy,"
"Divinity is given to those willing to drown."
Frown turns to grit turns to Grin turns to me and I give my word of agreement.
George Krokos Jan 2022
The birds in the backyard often look there for food
and it seems they're doing so lately in a happier mood;
it was just the other day when I mowed the grass
so now they can move easily over it again and pass.
Their activity is done habitually each and every day
and watching them closely seems as if they're at play.

They scrounge on the soil with their beaks and feet
competing at times for some bite and morsel to eat.
When disturbed by a sound they fly up into any tree
away from the threat of danger they scamper and flee.
A human presence would be enough to get them going
particularly when heading in their direction knowing.

It's a bit of a delight to see them at play in their quest
doing what they all have to do to survive hunger's test.
I used to feed them some crumbs on a regular basis
which became a habit for me to them as in an oasis.
Together with water left in a plastic bowl for a drink
they'd a few things going for them one would think.

It was only after the local cats caught onto the idea
with their basic instinct, that food or game, was near.
One of them would come around and hide in the grass
crouching there patiently for the right moment to pass;
if the birds were unaware they would fly down to eat
of the crumbs left for them so their hunger could beat.

The cat seizing on the opportunity then would by surprise
spring up and race after them as food or game in its eyes.
There would be a mad scramble and loud flutter of wings
as the birds, escaping from that danger a predator brings,
would scatter and fly away as fast as they could to where
they'd be relatively safe from the clutches of death there.

Sometimes when looking out the back window I'd see
a cat roaming in the backyard in the shadows of a tree;
this would be enough warning for me to raise the alarm
and get out to try and keep those local birds from harm.
I would do this by chasing the cat away over the fence
so the area would be clear again for the birds I'd sense.
Written in December, 2020
Elizabeth Kelly Dec 2021
I read a beautiful poem once by a poet named Mary Oliver
(My uncle will tear out pages of The New Yorker sometimes and keep them in a box  the way some people of a certain age do)
called The Poet With His Face in His Hands.

“You want to cry out for your mistakes,” she says rightly and wisely, “But to tell the truth the world doesn’t need any more of that sound.”

Mary Oliver tells me (she has my attention now, she speaks directly to me, my face in my hands) that if I’m going to do it anyway, that I should travel far away from civilization where I won’t bug anyone, a noisy place, like a waterfall or the Internet, where I can scream unheard, a tree falling in the forest. Where I can “drip with despair” unobserved by nature her very self.

Mary Oliver doesn’t want to hear it.

So I go.
I take my hiking boots and my entire supply of shame, guilt, rage, doubt,
I slip it all into a secret compartment just behind my ribs
And we set off together past the city limits to the wastes.
They’re crushing me, the wretched fruit of my faulty design. Too heavy to go on tonight.

I quietly wish Mary Oliver had never been featured in The New Yorker where my uncle would find her, where she would mildly wait for me to crash into her on my world tour of destruction.
I wonder into my dinner
(beans, like cowboys)
if Mary Oliver ever trekked to the waterfall, if I’ll find her there,
an etching, a manifesto.
I imagine myself stepping through, somber, monk-like, and Mary Oliver’s glowing apparition slowly gathering before me.
“You’re so cool and smart,” her energy-being murmurs,
and I wake up feeling important.

Cleveland is so grey in the winter,
my grandmother’s favorite color,
like that song.
The morning sky rides my shoulders and I feel deliciously tragic,
a broken-hearted pioneer woman, maybe, escaping into the wilderness to mourn the loss of her baby…****, too sad.

…to mourn the loss of her old mule Hank, and to find herself among the…
I look around. Generic Cleveland Trees. ****.
I wish I knew about local foliage,
everyone is impressed by a person who is At One With Nature.
I would know if I were a tragic yet somehow glowing from within pioneer woman. Head down, wondering how it can be 53 degrees on December 10th and trying not to think about the polar bears.
I soldier on.

Mary Oliver recommends traveling 40 fields and 40 dark inclines of rocks and water.
(A sweeping arial shot of me traversing the expanse, majestic hair blowing behind like Vigo Mortenssen at Helm’s Deep).

Beans again, like cowboys.

I feel good tired and wonder where a person finds quality poetic landscape like 40 fields and 40 dark inclines of rocks and water.

I didn’t really think this through.

An itch, a burn behind my ribs,
like stars,
like cravings.

A peek.

Just one! Just one, Mary Oliver,
just a ****,
they’ve been in there for days with so little attention.

No one answers, inevitably.
No one’s there, just me, always just me, alone with all of my worst days in the dark in the woods.  

Just one peek.

I wake up and its bright as hell.
What the ****.
What is the point of trees if they don’t dramatically block out the sun at your lowest moment?
The sun.
I squint and automatically say a little thank you,
the sun is so rare in the winter.
A ritual in the cold light.

I flash in, awash with readiness
It’s sudden
Something is coming or something was here but my stomach hollows out like a fake-out gut punch

Was here
Something was here, last night, it’s surrounding me on all sides
Yes that’s right, I remember and Im sorry for the remembering because I’m creative
and before I can stop myself
I’m swallowed whole into the darkness
Just like I wanted.

It’s a struggle,
The swirling absence of light from last nights indulgent, masochistic self-harm parade has expanded like smoke to fill the third space of my body. I am 2 dimensional, a 3rd grade drawing of a person, flat and scribbley, a poor representation.

They always come back.
Sure as eggs.
Sure as taxes.
The greatest hits, everyone was there,
Ripe and healthy,
My well tended heirloom misery, dismal in the garden and aching to stretch its creeping vines.
A vessel to feed on, a disciple,
Bleeding on the alter of self sacrifice, oh happy dagger, ecstatic drag over the open mouths of those cherry coals. Faithless and perfect. Crimson crisp is a broken spirit,
Brittle like nails, and sleep, and ego.

My friends, too, wars within wars. Pale and desperate. Trauma-bonded and aging faster than their parents did, who bought a house, who had three kids, who saved for college. Wars within wars. Shame, guilt, rage, doubt, fear. Pain. So much pain.

I’m lost.
I’m lost in the ******* woods and this poison smoke so black so black it’s in my eyes burning my throat my lungs swirling now sure as eggs sure as taxes I repent I release my will please it’s crushing me I can’t make it Mary Oliver, you shining city on the hill, where are you, Im losing, Im alone, alone, no one knows
Not a cowboy, or a pioneer, or a ranger, or a monk in a waterfall cave.

I’m a poet with my ****** face in my hands.

They come then. Every one of them, as I knew they would, just outside the gate and waiting ravenously  
My endless flaws  
Powerful and obstinate in their glaring humanity
The constellations of hurt snaking from the roots of my well kept garden
Barbed and bound to everyone I ever loved. The horned monsters of unresolved trauma and the ego machine

Deafening static roar, mechanical swarm of devouring plague locusts
descending upon the 40 fields
Oh here, oh now
In the dark of course
Where else but the smoking vessel of my brokenness
I want to laugh at myself for constructing a cliche within my own self reckoning
Choking on my own toxic exhaust and crying  and choking
This is hysteria, I think
Blurred and muffled on the edge of the hole, a ******* slurring descent, it’s there if I want it
I could dive in and

Mary Oliver.

What is happening,
What the ****, Mary Oliver?
Of whom I’ve never seen a photo,
who is crowning now from the bubbling tar pit, who has chosen this  moment to reveal herself, a nice touch.
She rises from the epicenter of my chaos
Like a blinding beacon of holographic light
(Again I check in with myself that it’s weird she is holographic, why is she made of rainbows)
Beautiful and terrible and 10000 feet high
My mighty dragon. What an entrance.

I laugh again, of course Rainbow Bright  is my big bad, how did I not see this coming, the final girl against the final girl, myself against my greatest self betrayal
She is me
She is arbitrary denial
She is suppression and avoidance
She is vying for approval
For attention
Every embarrassing moment and every unbidden 3am attack of self loathing.  
Shame and guilt and doubt and rage and fear.
She is my pain, this awful manifestation, this truly depressing personification of all of my absolute *******…



Blink blink

She turns and sweeps down
And grabs me tightly, ****, oh god you have a nest dont you?

Through the air and I’m wet and dripping and…
is this a cave?

An etching, I have to find something
A manifesto
I desperately search and my teapot is boiling, boiling, boiling over

And there behind that jubilation and water fun
I find no trace of Mary Oliver, who is me and I am her

There in that moment when nothing has been gained and my body begins to release from its own tension and collapse into itself from exhaustion and despair
I notice the air
Fresh and cool and fragrant and something else too
My dragon, far from slain, squirming a little inside me, feeling prodded and suspicious of this quenching.
At least we had this moment
Oh it’s you
Oh god it’s me

And finally then,
I throw my head back

And wail.
ryn Aug 2021
Looking for
the words
and meaning…

To fill the void,

that feels like
lost breath.
Ken Pepiton May 2021
my library is yours, said the universe to me.
A million volumes, thousands of lines,
with etchings and evidence to the art of seeing right,
left brain driven patterned eye,
now shows reflected detail
mirroring into ever as all finer and finer yes
s sound es start esse et al so slow, moo-ee dis passsy oh
say so- amen- if you will

magic, yes, of coursemhmm. Or luck. No lies linger long now.

Luck we allow, magic is evil, and therefore, and only there
for a we I am not in but speak for,
on tv, like in the ads,
I look like an authority, no detail in the image serves no intent.

But the tie. THE TOOLONGREDTIE - choked, the joker,
who happened to be the knot-tying teacher from camp
common-sense-embedded vicariously,
the summer camp experience, ASSEENONTV - manifests
unspeakably real in the minds of those exposed,
flash to the snow, echo shush shushug no woe chile doncha know
Pharoah's army done drownded.
Other's wise and other's woe, as a we in the big am being, the awe,
a we, some we awesome think,
flows on and on with my influency past understanding letting go.

The peace of alienation rests with you,
as they say in passing, and I reflect it back in time to come,
as each passing fancy wonders next into an ifity
such as I may live in and not be burned.

Today, to stop writing, to read, and write, a gain
is made;
if ladders are a thing in your experience, a gain
is made.
In ladder like terms of messages
send and receive
up and down
delivered with no fanfare, whosoever hears
line upon line, reproving instructions as old as protein.

Patterns un prized un expected as un common thoughts
images imagined in the round, carved from stone,
with tools of stone, who imagined doing that
first? How was the task perfected?
Hands raise, as waves of grain grown from wind blown spore,
polisporiatic symbiosis,
see many seeds make a planet,
- answer, we swore we were answers,
- may is our word, we be the salt in the soup

and those who know must act as if knowing is a gift,
not a stolen thing that only gods may hold as true.

Say, I say, say the name that never has been said,
and never shall be I dare shout, unless the deaf say who said,
taking a name is ever vain, if the evidence
whispers, see
hallowed - the idea in hallowed - unspeakable state of knowing
all things all the time as those things occur
randomly at the level of detail involved in ordering matter

with words, yes, words. Why?
I was thinking we may have this knowing knack but never knew.

I know of a microbe, a living thing, it lives to let the light
in a certain kind of phosphorescent squid,
Minus the microbe, the squid never matures, never passes
the know how entailed in being mature light bearing being
at depths simple breathers never

until these last two or three generations of augmented us.

Sapien Sapien Augmentedus, contrarandom access via silicon
symbiosis gnosis subliminal subtle
whistle speak, betting dolphins do bet donuts to sand dollars,
and they laugh at our narrow band width.

War in reason is not a series of big bangs. Peace prevails,
pre means
yeah, you know, you no victim of ignoring pre-cepts.
receipts for time spent musing using - heroic persona
To no avail,
the bitter wail, almost but…

caughtcha, you was lost, outayadamind. S' okeh.

Life ain't like on TV. Reading can be creative.
gnosis level secret sacred knowing, free to eat.

And shame is taken from the game.
Sh-it and fu-ck are squealing sylabicfoul,
but the referee calls
stinkin' thinkin', you step in what you say,
see how it feels, mo'fo, you know, there is no word
for this level
sin being as it is victim of the reconciliation,
hmm- no,
life is in the realm of reason, and hell is out.
Re hook, lizard brain to life in sequence,
re disney
koanic alienation non- in- un- tension
stretch a point to tune
a note,
find the mind's equivalence, eight in the outer edge
of the field,

here, imagine, things matter, just now, just this side
of the dark matter inside the Higgs field
where the initial element of the protein called for
to spark the squid's little light, and let it shine,
so none can say the little squid did not have it in her.

If I were conscious of the universe,
I might use my sci to frame a limit, build a wall
around my garden.

Regarding the original intention.
A generation was put into development, soon after
the event, most recent common ancestor filtration,

the abortion of all but those of she, known as
matrix of all living,
we assume, that means us, for we live,
and we did not form from nothing, in words were we
ever spoken, once a thing is done

o yes, its done
done did done… another one that could end here, but won't.
I felt compelled, full disclosure, Hamilton's Pharmacopeia inspired me to remember a peyote
Odd Odyssey Poet Apr 2021
I'm up, but don't feel awake,
world has me broke,
but I won't let it break.

At times I don't live my worth,
but I'll never forget my place
Stick to my guns,
and aim my ideas straight.

I'm guided by faith,
hopes of it working out in the end
For this life to be alive,
have to stop pretending to be dead.

A simple quest. Journey of life till the very end.
Glenn Currier Feb 2021
The wizened old man told me -
sustain the weary with a word
for many a one has none
to bring love and light
into the blight of their dreary days.

I asked which word
and through a wan smile
he said - you figure it out.
Maybe poets are the best ones
to discover and uncover the light
hidden in the weary and the dreary
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