A car pulls up along the shoreside and a man in a suit and tie slides out to find the sand.

The beach has quieted.

A few surfers paddle hurriedly out to sea for a last run in the twilight.

An older couple stands by the water’s edge.

Wisps of the woman’s gray hair flutters above her, caught in the ocean breeze.

The lifeguard station sits quiet, the small, whitewashed house perched on reed-like stilts shuttered for the night, though the sand is still warm from the afternoon sun.

The man rolls up his pant legs and removes his socks and shoes and places them beside him.

He shields his eyes from the splintered sun’s rays as he scans the water clear to the thick black line of the horizon.

A young woman, flaxen-haired, a surfboard cupped effortlessly at her side, the bridge of her nose tinctured white, emerges from the waves.

Wet-suited, bare-footed, head tilted skyward, she hikes along the sand, her day’s work done.

As her shadow lengthens over him, the specter causes him to glance downward.

A few grains of sand have clung to the tips of his polished shoes.

He decides to leave them.

.........and helped to shape your life.

I got this idea from another website a few years ago and thought it would be interesting to post here as well.

Name 10 books that have most inspired and helped to shape your life and if possible in a few words say why.

For me they have been:
1. Autobiography Of A Yogi (In fact all books by Paramahansa Yogananda)
2. New Testament (Including The Psalms and Proverbs)
3. The Bhagavad Gita
4. The Holy Science by Sri Swami Yukteswar - the guru of Yogananda
5. The Science Of Breath by Yogi Ramacharaka
6. Discourses by Meher Baba
7. God Speaks by Meher Baba
8. Play Of Consciousness by Swami Muktananda (also Siddha Meditation by the same author)
9. The Tao Of Physics by Fridjof Capra
10. Cosmic Consciousness by Richard M. Bucke

Not only did the above books inspire me but they also helped to shape my life by offering an alternative world view about a lot of things that we hardly ever hear about and namely that there is a real mystical path towards realization of the purpose and goal of one's life and the way to achieve that end. In effect I can literally say that they blew my mind and have formed a solid inspirational basis for some of the poetry and prose writings that I've posted on the internet over the last several years. There are however many other books which I have also read and studied over the years (by quite a few classical and mystical poets/writers) that come very close, but the 10 books that impressed and stand out most in my mind are those listed above.

What are the 10 books in your life?
______

I learn the stories

while I'm listening to them --


While I'm telling them.

The third eye,
Is a bird’s eye,
View on a hurt guy,
Within a dirt life.

Since first flight,
Cut with a big knife,
By Dad and his wife,
Who gave me life.

What hurt Dad?
Who hurt Dad’s wife?
So much strife,
In this foul scented life.

Bitterness so rife,
In these brown eyes,
Since all that I,
Know is to,
Trust that third eye.

We are not
The monsters
That we sometimes
See each other as

I don't need you
To understand me
I just need you
To believe that
I am having
A human
Experience

Just believe
I'm a person
And that I'm
Going through it

Because
It takes one
To know one

In the quiet expanse of time, I find myself grappling with truths and untruths, wondering if I deceive even my own heart into believing I've attained tranquillity. Indeed, I am in a state of well-being, owing to the strides I've taken on this journey of self-betterment. Yet, the undulating waves of emotion persist – highs and lows interweaving like threads in a tapestry. Perfection remains elusive, and perhaps that's the beauty, for I've poured my essence into every endeavour.

Now, as I stand at the crossroads of zero, an architect of my own renewal, I embrace the task of rebuilding from the ground up. Metamorphosis courses through me, rendering me unrecognisable even to myself. Laughter spills more freely from my lips, though occasionally restrained by the shadows of doubt. Tears flow more earnestly, yet at times, I still restrain their cascade. Solitude becomes a cherished companion, a realm I delve into to nurture my soul. Simultaneously, the embrace of friends becomes a celebration of my being, an affirmation of the love I hold for myself in their company.

In this delicate dance, I witness the scales of life gradually finding equilibrium. The pendulum, once erratic, now sways in a harmonious rhythm. The art of relearning tranquillity unfolds before me, a masterpiece in progress, painted with the hues of experience and wisdom.

Time, the patient sculptor moulds each fragment of my existence. And in its embrace, I find solace. For while the road ahead is veiled in uncertainty, I stand here, resilient, embodying the truth that healing is a symphony of seconds and seasons.

And as I mend, I extend to you, a wish that your heart finds solace too. In this dance of existence, in shadows and light – may we emerge stronger, taking flight.

~
Dead ahead
The target is always
On a similar horizon
It's about surviving
Every blasted thought
More than eliminating all threats
When they strike
They form castellated holes
That network new fears
To long existing trauma
Careening off the deep seams of life
In intervals of jagged breath
I become part of the debris
A genuine tourist attraction
The size of a crater
Even after nothing else
Remains of my former self
~

If you had one year of love,
and then you had to say adios,
should you be glad or morose?

Sure, if it ends, it’s not what I’d hoped,
we just weren’t destined to be betrothed.

We had fun, we were close and jocose,
we snogged until we practically choked,
and we did ALL the fun things that were gross,
but our forte was that we felt safe, I suppose.

Now, I’m not saying it’s over, but I tend to diagnose things,
and while I wouldn’t say that we love overdosed,
I would guess that we’ve shared more love than most.

I carry my bags beneath
my no longer baby blues,
partly framed
and closer to grey

The bags darken with their weight
and they unwittingly pull
the eye down
from the splayed crows feet

I carry my bags

Persons who, not agreeing with you,
Will tell you, your perspective is wrong.
That lived experience,
Has clouded your lense of reality.
But they offer no real difference
Nothing so substantive
As to say,
Mine is fixed
And based in a place
Of true, unbiased rationality.