Awareness: What are you doing?





Unawareness: Many things.





Awareness: You are not doing what you are suppose to do.





Unawareness: What am i "suppose" to do?





Awareness: Nothing at all...





Unawareness: Then what could be my purpose in life?





Awareness: To simply Be.





Unawareness: Be? be what?





Awareness: What you are.





Unawareness: A human? I'm suppose to be a human? Am i not a human already?





Awareness: Ah. I see now. You are still Unaware.

Dearest Destined Jewel,
                                         Of longest heartfelt yearning, Bestow on thee, Hamlet awaits, Ophelia picking flowers, Magnolia branches speaking, Beautifications of Spring.

Supreme buds of new life,  Magnoliaceae of Queen bees, An enterprise of wonder, Symbolic child's enchanted play, Faeries in flight whisper attractions, Fondness, Les fleurs du mal.

Ample blossoms, Bosoms of delight, Devouring light, Little birds sing, Nestling, Chirping a languishing cacophony, Blissful unawareness, Nature nurture the soul.

A slip then fall, Nearby church bells distract, Into abyss fallen, Elevated body all at once, Floating amidst flora, Drowning, Petticoat woven dress, Resting on fresh valley water, Immersion, No contention, Hamlet awaits.

© Sia Jane

Humanity developed a dis-ease in the mind. The dis-ease consists of lies that were created by humans and that were subtlety and slowly imposed on other humans. Rulers and religions started to mix truth with lies. These distortions of truth molded into belief systems.  

The belief systems grew strong. People were forced to join side with these beliefs. There was deadly punishments for those who went against the churches, against the governments. This went on for a long time. Governments and religions brought fear into the world, into the human mind. The human mind lost its purity, it became un-pure, polluted.

At some point in time, the whole of humanity was lost and confused. The truth was so twisted that people forgot what was really true and what was really not true. People grew up believing in so many things. So many religions came about, each declaring a certain truth. A child no longer grew up believing in himself. The world demanded that he/she believed and followed a given path. Everyone became a follower. The human race was in an unconscious state of being. Unconscious because they lost awareness of reality. People would follow, fight, and protect their believes not really knowing why. People sacrificed their freedom for security.

Traditions then came into existence. People became like robots. People became accustomed. People would come into the world and the world already expected a certain lifestyle to be followed. Years of conditioning separated humanity from the whole of existence, the universe. Humanity was fighting for power and control. They went against themselves in the name of their beliefs, in the name of their "gods", and in the name of their "truths".

Life suddenly lost meaning. People were coming into a world of suffering. People were now not only slaves to authority, people were now slaves to their conditioning, to their beliefs. Happiness and joy had to be struggled for. Love and peace had to be earned, had to be worshipped. There was the fear of sin. There was the fear of not being accepted by God. Humans created God in their own image. Their whole life-time was being judged and the judgment was coming from no God, the judgment was coming from their own minds, their own judgments, their own believes.

After many years of conditioning on the human being and on the human mind, conditioning did not need to be reinforced by anybody anymore. The conditioning was already placed and memorized in the mind of the individual. The individual knew what was "right" and "wrong" , knew what "should be" and what "shouldn't be", so the punishments and the rewards were given by the individual himself.  

This was the state of darkness and unawareness that humanity got itself so deeply in. And this is the state of unawareness that humanity is getting out of. Humanity needed to go threw this state of unconsciousness so that it could then become conscious of it and never repeat it again.

The whole dis-ease was in the mind. That whole "reality" was in the mind. It was a virtual reality, an illusion. That reality was kept alive threw compulsive thinking, non-stop thinking. Mind did not rest, and mind was full of lies. Mind gave a label to everything and divided everything. Mind created a symbol, a word for everything it could get its hands on. But mind cannot get its hands on reality, on life, on truth. Because everything is equal in its essence. A dog can be called a horse and it would not change a thing about it. Words  are just an  agreement of symbols put together in order to differentiate things. What you call the flower makes no difference to the flower, the flower will continue to be what it is.

Humanity once again is attaining to the state of consciousness. Humanity is seeing more clearly, there is less dust in its vision. There are fewer beliefs in the mind, so humanity is seeing things as they truly are, threw the labels. It is becoming less superficial, going deeper into the being.

Humanity is destined to awaken once again. If we do not awake in this lifetime, we will awake in the next. It will be a waste of life, but if you are not aware of life as it truly is, you will not be aware of what death truly is either

The perfectionist loves to hear his voice,
He is the respected critic inside,
He is the learned one,
The educated and the educator.
A beautiful constructor,
The finishing touch
To the artist's hand.
The voice is always a partner,
He will always be there to help
The artist, comfort is taken in his ability.

The artist needn't forget,
There are many voices on the side,
Awaiting for their time to speak,
Each one has its time,
All varying in their patience and duration.
The artist sees what he hasn't before:
The voice of support; the voice of love; the voice of decision; and the voice of passion.
There is always time to contemplate his flaws
And he wants to reassure himself:
Perfection is not a demand, but a quest,
One of beauty and one of joy.
Perfection is the beauty in imperfection.
The pursuit of achievement is one to relish, it is not to be rushed or
Ceased, it is a running walk, a walking run, a sitting stand, a moving still.
It is every step he has made.
The artist looks behind and sees
His effort, he is proud to have experienced
His triumphs and his trauma
The voice of comfort will be there all the way,
She is a gentle quieter spirit that deserves as much an ear.
When all voices have calmed and subsided,
Her tenderness remains.

I remind the artist of his friends,
I remind him that the critical voice is the voice of nature,
The physical laws unchanged.
He is the driving force to stasis and movement in the age worry and indecision.

"Do not be overwhelmed" I say to the artist,
You are one of many.
You are with friends.
The voice of change encourages the artist to evolve and to smile,
The voice of happiness allows peaceful living and awareness.
The tiger belongs to nature,
not to be feared, but to be respected
and understood.

Do not despair, do not relinquish hope,
Hope is the shining beacon in a world of anguish.
Hope is the angel shining her torch ever so bright.
Hope is the window that allows pain and suffering to see the light of day ,
Hope allows oneness.

The artist moves his brush: an effortless stroke,
A flicker of joy,
A tear in his eye.
He once was old,
Now is young.
He learns to enjoy
The work he has done,
He can now enjoy the work he does,
He is enjoying the work he is doing.
He enjoys his life.

The state of mind, it is a fickle hatchling.
Able to be pursued and persuaded,
also able to be liberated.
The artist is free,
His thoughts can pass,
His fear will subside,
His body can move,
His heart will follow
And the mind will allow.
Spirit be set free,
Bird do fly,
Artist do paint,
You,
You are.

Peace within oneself is peace with others.

The artist is brave, he is a soul that stands tall in the face of adversity,
He is a sleepless enigma in his room at night,
He is the passionate one,
The artist and his love affair with the critic outshines his charisma,
The love for the sophisticated darkness,
His love for the melodrama,
His quest for knowledge,
Perhaps the only knowledge is
Ignorance.
Blissful unawareness.

I remember so much that I wish I could forget.  

This is a poem about Psalm 23 choked out through tears.  
This is a poem about astro vans and
                                      tractor lawn mowers and
                                      driveway car washes and
                                      small garden spaces and
                                      digger wasps and
                                      three wolves and a moon.  

This is about the Backstreet Boys and
                              Def Leppard and
                              Kenny Chesney.  
“Dreams” by The Cranberries.

About waterparks and
            swim lessons and
            the smell of chlorine.  
Fresh cut grass.  Bonfire smoke permeating through the house.  

Grey diamond tiles on white linoleum.  
                                                                Hands clenched down on washcloths.

Muddled.  It’s all so muddled.  Stuck beneath
                                                           brain­ matter and cerebrospinal fluid and
                                                              down, down, down beneath the lake.  
How can I dig it out while also digging it down deeper?  
I want to forget it all.  No memory, no pain, no ******* problem.  

Goldfish life: a pipedream.

you are so unaware
of your significance
and while you might believe
that i have many passions
i find you to be
the most intriguing
and i like to practice
the way i love
on your lips

What is the void?
Nothingness manifested?
There can’t really be such a thing…
How can there be nothing?

It’s impossible.

You can’t fault me for having trouble wrapping my head around an idea as intricate and deeply infinite as nothing. From a young age, we’re taught that everything, even empty space, is created from protons, neutrons,  subatomic particles…

Empty space is always made from something else.

Some describe the void not as a place, but instead as spiritual enlightenment and/or liberation. As detachment from everything. Some describe entering the void as the moment one realizes that if you try too hard to understand then you will miss the point; as the moment where the student realizes that he will never be able to anticipate his masters surprise attack, so, instead of being anxious he accepts his inability to know; as the understanding that holding on is suffering and letting go is freedom.

There is no way to truly talk about the void, about emptiness, because there is nothing tangible to be expressed in words. And yet, our curious human minds are so fixated on using dialogue to try and articulate this commodity.

Words will always fail.

Even if we could wrap our heads around this idea of emptiness, this complete and total lack of anything (comfort, love, hate, despair, joy, happiness, agony(all pieces of this complicated fabric known as human existence)) we would descend into the deepest and darkest of melancholies. The sudden moment of realization that non-being and being are one and the same and that the only thing separating the two is the awareness of being aware and the unawareness of being unaware would be too much to endure. The weight of realizing that nothing is everything, that we are 0 (placeholders for nothing (the extinction of our species before a return to nature untainted imminent)) would prove to be the strongest link of all in these shackles of existence.

What is the void?

Maybe it’s best not to ponder this any further.

If you judge me by the masks I wear,
you will be guilty of duplicity,
for the masks you judge me with
mask the masks you judge.
We are all hidden, as brood in fright,
standing on empty air, on an illusionary light
that swathes our pointless being,
we create layers and sub-layers
of unawareness and awareness,
that essentially add no factual insight
onto our self or being.
We are fools, fooling ourselves
and other fools, in an uninterrupted
movement we’ve called life.

Cease all judging and the masks collapse -
all foolishness is disrupted,
leaving nor awareness or unawareness,
just simple facts and being.
Live a physical life, through your valid senses.
Live a simple life, through your valid senses.
Live your life, and just your life, through your valid senses.
Be you, simply you, no more, no less than you,
and all will be made plain and be alright.

Sometimes I dig for it.
The lost fragment of my hips,
The way they swayed in front of your lips.
Now lost among the shredded portrait of our kiss.

I shove my fingertips into the night,
looking among the velvet moon and starlight
Between his long legs, underneath her tongue's site
Hoping to taste that bittersweet comfort of pain and flight.

To savor the honesty in the style I loved you
the silent mockery of poetic words desperately glued
to the confused pupils of your green eyes which unconsciously threw
those words of commitment under sly smiles and hidden hands tracing my tattoos.

But sometimes I find it
after a couple of beers and a sip of smoke.
Do you remember the rhythm those humid nights provoked?
They infected my brain with wanderlust and the feeling when time chokes
on whatever logic a perfect second shouts at the unawareness of a lover's hope.

Here. What now?
Driven by swift passion and desire,
driven by destined taxi,
that chooses its own road.

Steering close to the edge,
closer and closer,
until attractive embrace towards the danger,
and unknown, pulls in with violent tug,

Finally – fall,
Tumble down, in drunk state of mind,
unawareness of destination,
Just fall, and fall, and fall,

Until you land on hellish ground,
like new born child, you have no place here,
direction and time are  non-existent,
but you must go on,

Like new born, take first steps,
they’re always the worst,
sharp gravel piercing tender skin,
scars remain on toes, for world to see,

Once rhythm starts,
feel accepted and comfortable,
but wear a disguise,
so they can’t see it’s me.

I often glace towards them,
at the peak, I see them laugh,
together, hand in hand – united,
high on ecstasy and joy.

Here. What now?
What I wanted, to be so sure,
yet – be so very wrong,
no turning back, this is where I belong.

Unhappy on both realms,
bitter boredom never overcome,
individuality illusions, still to be found,
not happy both up with them, and down here.

So where shall I plant my roots?
Perhaps, it’s not the destination,
but the journey of my fall.

I wish I could capture the moment
We exchange glances and smiles
     Creating sparks,
                     and fireworks,
                                   and fireflies.
Admiring you for what seems to be an eternity
Captivated by your face and beauty.
How the sunlight adds a perfect glow to your skin
     Defining each curve,
                     and each lines,
                                   of your face and body.
Unconciously staring at you in just pure adoration
Unable to fathom your perfection.
How the dead silence brings yourself out perfectly
     Hands in your pockets,
                     your lips sealed tightly,
                                   dimples showing slightly.
Mesmerized at your sweet, kindly, innocent acts
Is there anything that you lack?
How your flaws makes you as perfect as can be
     Postured restlessly,                    
                     beauty mark on your back,
                                   messy hair swaying swiftly.
You're soft-spoken within such a great humbleness
Doesn't change you nonetheless!
How unawareness effortlessly makes you perfect
     "Angelic-like music,"
                     "striking like static,"
                                   "scars are beauty from tragic,"
You see the good in everyone me being one, yet-
You don't realize how beautiful you are
And that's what makes you perfect even from afar.

*-djs

When you are coming off drugs, when you are held down by the crippling force of anxiety and pain; when your eyes are finally open and you see your life for what it truly is, all of the things you run from catch up with you. Like a strong surge caused by a hurricane, it washes over you, and the tide tries to pull you back underwater, back where it is safe. Back where the comforting numbness and cold of unawareness can smother your senses and put you back to blissful sleep. You never learned to deal with this reality, the actual discomfort of being alive on planet earth, with all its beautiful anguish and fear. It is hard to see from this point all the wonderful things about life, the things that get the rest of humanity through every day. The bliss that can come from living is obscured because you are still underwater; you can see it, just barely, like sunlight through salt water. But it is so, so far; it is hard to believe anything more can actually exist.

It is comforting to know that there are things bigger than you and your personal pain. That the sun will continue to set and rise with or without you. That there are millions who suffer far worse and live through each day with that struggle. If they can open their eyes each morning, pick up that ever so heavy burden, and walk with it smiling, so can you. There is something indomitable about the human spirit, something unspeakably powerful. Inside you burns a will to live that is stronger than any drug, stronger than any pain, stronger than any fear. The power to defeat what you face is already within you. It resides inside you, deep down, silenced and shuttered; but it will rise again, as will you. There is very little you cannot come home from. Even if you are all alone. Even if your pain must be silent and you must shoulder it by yourself. You are human. You are strong.

And the sunlight is there above the waves, waiting to warm you. Waiting to welcome you back into life. There are only better things ahead.

Hold on.

She is the most beautiful creature on this whole earth flowing in the breeze like a moth to a flame I reason with these forces of nature but something opposes this a twist of fate a bitter twist of fate I just need to make it perfect a factor corrupts I can't control my temper a weird rapacious element of surprise a catch in the throat of real awareness towards something I love so much yet am never around. A blissful unawareness to darker elements I cannot compose anything more meaningful streaming from my mind to the fingers which type this out. I **** Hellopoetry with intelligent prose of which I am capable.

There are some days
When one fatal heart-wrenching
Rejection can cascade into a torrent
Of gut-punching, sick-inducing barrages of failure.
One rejection after another for one long week
Of un...something misery.

The first, well, I saw it coming.
There was a heavy inevitability about it in the air
Like the thick sweat before a summer storm.
Yet, despite this, almost foreknowledge,
My heart still lies in shattered pieces,
My head awash with regret, self-loathing,
And a deep inexplicable sadness.
Swiss chocolate - she was meaningless,
Surely soon forgettable,
But in that moment ever so sweet...
And the sight of her would brighten up my day.

The second was a reminder of my "situation" -
That constant battle between our demons and our angels,
The latter of whom have mostly hung themselves by this stage,
Or drowned themselves in vats of ciders,
Awaiting judgement or an epiphany.
Maybe they were waiting for a train,
And the demons simply gave a firm push,
Or whispered sweet infinities into your ears
As they bristled against the breeze atop a tall building.

The third was another, somewhat self-inflicted, destruction.
Less a rejection, and more an ultimatum:
"Sort your ******* life out Thomas
Because you're ruining hers tall, dark, and handsomely."
- That's not what she said, but it stung,
More or less, with the same venom,
Whilst maintaining that same tinge of flirtatious tone.
Somehow I stumbled into this mess without malicious intent -
Just a stupid little boy with a box of matches,
And a canister of petrol, and a blissful unawareness
Of the inevitable inferno.
Undoubtedly, the demons are laughing
At all the tears that will surely come.

The fourth was particularly unfortunate.
In classic "Thomas" style my first thoughts were to hit restart.
I wonder if all Thomas' are arseholes?
I mean obviously Edison was, and no doubt
There was malice behind Thomas the Tank Engine's smug grin,
But I wonder if it is a scientific certainty, or just dumb luck?
Needless to say I packed my bags in my head
And applied for the trabajo.
New start. New beginning. Old cliché.
And inevitable rejection -
One I didn't see due to my
Rebounded energy to avoid failure.
The repetitive nature of life's cycle is somewhat nauseating.
What kind of sadist designed this ride?
I wonder if his name was Thomas too?
Ah well, I've nothing better to do. "Another go, please."

shadows shuffle with thin letters over heads--
people try to escape the downpour of
Nature’s sadness or self-renewal.
They splash their confusion and unawareness--
the anger of no preparation.

Perhaps it’s Reality’s stupidity,
but they run to safety, warmth, comfort--
the arms of Acceptance that bring contentment--
warm coffee and eskimo kisses;
fingers on clocks vanquish light and

defy some sense of logic we deem
scientifically relevant. Suddenly, life’s bruising is as fresh as wet
pavement--as fresh as your hands--eager and innocent—
racing to find every curve, hill,
valley of my willingness.

I am sore from phantom kisses-broken
from abandonment—a coward’s half-assed fight.
As rain cheats the sun, I have been cheated
with songs that are just songs--words as paradoxical
as rainfall and sunshine harmonized.

As it rains, I don’t move--but
I feel it run; through my hair--down
softness and skin--as familiar as your hands--dust trails
embedded in my closed eyes—people, you and I, aware.
Silently, Reality knows that time—fingers on clocks--vanquishes nothing but itself.

All the things I've said to you
Each word that I've uttered
All the poems that I write to you
Each phrase carefully selected
Everything I do for you
Is from my heart of hearts
I love you truly I do
I'm sorry I'm so complicated

Forgive me for my untrust
I have learnt an important lesson
I will no longer give into fear
And see through my imagination
This filter my mind creates
Based on past relationships
Is not the reality of us my love
A moment of unawareness

I want to see you as you are
My beautiful butterfly
I know you love me so much
So please don't lose faith in us
Just give me a little time
To learn to trust once more
in your bright light shining  
I can learn to love again

Words to use more often...
discombobulate
cleave
eminent
enthralled
fetching
effica­cy
superfluous
audacity
scrumptious
embrace

your eminent embrace left me discombobulated, more so
enthralled with my audacity to cleave to your ideology
to your superfluous information again, and again
you left me fetching, begging for more?
the efficacy of your tongue to influence even the slightest
emotion, twitch of affection...infliction
scrumptious aspiration to
shut you up.
to discern your words of capacity from ignorance
your unawareness of my copious, carnal motives

You sleep so soundly,
   Blissful in your unawareness;

While my mind taunts me with
   Everything I can’t forget

Not utterances of unsolvable contradictions,no

He speaks to me, do you not understand

In incantatory language, intense, so intense

It creates a new heaven and earth

He speaks with magic words

Whose overpowering proof of authenticity

Is in their unawareness of my presence

And would that this be the status of my language

In a world wedded to nothingness this language

Creates a fresh reality that floats free of the body and society

His words are the occupiers of a new

Magical, passionate and transformative speech

That become an absolute singularity in the mind

Where time is stilled in cancellation to a complement

Forms the magical realm of reciprocal imagination

Fear. Desire. Anger.
These are the roads I ride into Hell
Three titans of indescribable power
To create and destroy and control and subdue.
If channeled correctly these emanations
Flow smoothly and make feedback loops
Amplifying exponentially beyond eternity,
(A fragile thing,
Which shimmers blindness selectively
into individual eyes)
But abused in unawareness
And skeletal ignorance
These torrents of energy maim and destroy

Write a letter to yourself and where you think you'll be in eight years time,
the therapist told me it would unlock something in me and so I wrote that letter and put it under the clock on the marble mantelpiece.

Today at five forty three it occurred suddenly to me
that the time had come,
so I opened the letter
and read,

you will be listening to Rachmaninoff
or 'jacking off'
still slacking off
and backing away from today

okay
that's where my head was then
incapable of projecting

protected in a cocoon
wrapped tight in darkness
outside the back of but
soon and how the way then
is not now.

I suppose the writing was a good idea
even though
my head was up my rear
and shows me that not
everything is a tragedy
not everything
is about me
but
it should be,
ha
only joking.

A social disease
A tragedy
Against the wondering minds
A complete unawareness
Of the limitless possibilities
To spoiled by instant gratification
Living with to many
Of a short hand nature
Literally caught in the moment

i want to unzip myself
and throw away the vile contents,
throw it somewhere i can forget it all exists.
throw away the reminders.
throw the unknowing blank faces.
throw away what they would do to me
once they knew:
how hard i was sinking under everything they needed me to be,
how i'm only living half alive,
how much i hate their unawareness
to every baseless "i'm fine" and "i'm okay."
they would throw me deeper down
into this hole i've tried to stay content in.
but my hands are caked in dirt,
and my chest surely will sink me
if i don't shed these pieces of me soon.

the autumn leaves fell
as your eyes became
the only thing i see
you rip me open,
but filled with truth and unawareness
they're like the sharpest thorns.

i cut myself
                        again.
and i'm still bleeding
it never stopped
i never broke away.
pain from roses?
almost not so painful.
it doesn't even burn,
it just keeps bleeding
          till you're done.

someday all these flowers will be gone
but there will be new ones to grow.
and dead trees will just keep existing
they neither breathe,
nor feel.
the same way i can't tell the difference
which pain is thrill,
and which is real.

*the autumn leaves fell
as your eyes became
my sweetest nightmare
you still rip me open.
perhaps paths crossed
but we passed by
the garden faded out forever.

It doesn't take a near-death experience for you to realize that you need to live and you need to do it now.

You need to go find what you want, and go get it.

You need to love who you love and tell them, whenever you think about how much you love them.

You need to appreciate the trees and clouds and your car and your parents and your shoes and all of the little things in your life.

You need to be scared sometimes. You need to be on edge and go out of your comfort zone.

You need to love who you are, most importantly take care of yourself. You need to love you.

You need to wake up and understand that you are afforded the privilege to take in air and walk around and be alive and make an impact, even if it's just your exhale that helps keep a tree alive.

You need to know that life is so precious and it's not cliché or romantic. It's the ******* truth and I can't scream about it enough.

I hope to God you don't need death, and not even literal death, to stare you in the eyes for you to realize that someday you'll be dead and only so many people will grieve and mourn and then they'll move on too.

This isn't about challenging death to a stare off. It's about not even needing to see it to know what it means to live. It's not about being fearless and brave.

This is about how I was almost in a car accident and I wasn't. I got lucky.

I couldn't tell you the last time I told my grandma I love her. I hadn't talked to my brothers in 3 days. My best friends would have last heard from me talking about concerts and books. My parents would have only known that I'd gotten on the road to come home from a text I sent. My boyfriend wouldn't have know that I'd bought him a gift from my trip. My ex boyfriend wouldn't have know that I still care about his general well-being though I'll never forget what he said about me. My dance teacher wouldn't have know how I felt about her cryptic comments. So much left unsaid and maybe it would have remained so if I hadn't almost been in a collision on a fast freeway on a Sunday night on my way home from a weekend away.

People die. They leave. They change. Life keeps going.

So don't wait for the car accident, for the heart break, for the illness or misfortune or misunderstanding or accidents or general unawareness to get you. Don't walk around with everything bottled up.

Tell people why you love them, appreciate the trees, take chances, make sure you're happy with who you are, wake up knowing you're afforded an opportunity to live and live large.

I hope to God it doesn't take too bright of head lights and screeching tires to know that life can be gone in seconds. I hope this poem is enough.