Posts tagged ‘poetry’

We can absorb both negative and positive energy, transform it into vital force in our self, and direct it in whatever way we choose

Energy is the mind’s power to act. Energy has no movement separate from its director, which is the mind. What the director thinks and feels, energy produces in the physical structure and in its environment, so our situation physically, mentally, emotionally, and in our environment is created by the conditioned structure of the mind.

When a powerful internal or external energy is encountered, it is the mind’s conditioning that sees it as positive, or negative and it manifests the intensity, the effect that is felt, and the action that is taken as a reaction to its programming.

Because the conditioned mind mechanically reacts to the energies it feels through its imposed programming, it does not realize that it can be the sole transformer and director of both internal and external negative and positive energies whether they come from disease, voluntary or involuntary emotions, psychological praise, attack, or suffering in self or others, without reacting to an imposed programming that is either beneficial or detrimental to the entire physical organism according to the situation encountered and how it is programmed to react to it.

When we realize that we can absorb both negative and positive energy, transform it into vital force in our self, and direct it in whatever way we choose, then when we do not want to do something, that energy can become the unit of propulsion to do it, just by realizing and applying the mind’s dormant intention-power.

When we realize that we have this intention-power to transform and redirect energy and we apply it, then the stronger the resistance, the more energy there is available. It is then that we can change the entire physical organism, our life and circumstances, and we can turn the deeply conditioned ‘no don’t’ cells into ‘yes do’ cells with our own intention-power.

Every single thought, emotion, desire and primal urge has a tremendous potential of energy that can be cultivated, transformed into vitality and used for all our daily activities.

I whistle wise words, listening to the whispering of leaves rustling in the wind

Spaceman Sam Surfing the cosmic sands..

I whistle wise words,
listening to the whispering of leaves rustling in the wind;
just a continuous motion, never stopping for anyone.

I forget the past and forge the spirit.
Wishing I was dancing, I’m laughing like I didn’t learn the lesson and pass,
because I don’t care about mundanities which do not last.

Taking my time to write every word, so I know that the final result can be heard. So now, I’m facing forward and learning how to place important words.

A man alone, that keeps writing all these poems.
Day light flickers in slits,
as moonlight creeps between the uneven slits of shady blinds;
bleeding tears out the eyes in cries.
Half alive in the flesh suit, labeled organic, like what’s advertised on some juicy, fresh fruit.
If you haven’t been through IT, then you don’t know what’s to IT..

I sleep ’till dreams dry and crumble.
I sleep ’till I get tired and retire in my dreams.
I heard a faint voice calling out for help,
only to wake and realize it was myself,
wheezing in my sleep..

The simple things we enjoy are based on concepts we fear.
People are usually not deep-rooted, instead, they’re polluted and abusive.
This beautiful girl I see doesn’t purr,
cause she sees something in the world
that can’t be saved.

I’m drawing the line, before crossing it.
Unconfirmed flirting with fate, just before becoming engrossed by IT.
She sends me down to sit. Do I even exist?
Lets kiss with stripped innocence.

What do you think supplies the air you’re breathing?
Maybe I’m fully awake and the rest of the world is dreaming..
As if it’s all free…
I express cognitive dissonance, liberally.

The dead tree is still standing; here comes the hunting axe of lumberjacks.
I do nothing, stopping, relaxed.
My sanity abandoned, I.. Shit, my lips aren’t even moving!
My spaceships’ inspected, ready for blast off.
My egos’ shed, cast off.
No more licking the honey pot sloppily for 25 bucks of monopoly money.

This is my permission slip sized mission statement.
Negative space is where the body meets the mentor;
the borderline of what you perceive as real,
and what you really perceive as the appeal of mere mortals.
I travel portals on a pilgrimage of passage.
Emergency lights flash as my body crashes.
I pick up all the pieces of a broken reality and cut my fingers on technicalities.

I’m optimistic as one man can be,
but I’m married to myself and looking for a family.
Behind these clouds, is the sun I need to grow. I’m
kissing for romance instead of luring with mistletoe.
Parallel realities are getting the best of me, so I’m
juggling the motives and fucking with divine destiny.

I close the window on my ego and watch as time dissappears.
This pressure is enough to make my ears pop,
as the last sand of the hourglass mixes with my teardrops.

Without will, you will be scared.
Break something, this isn’t fair!
Death is impossible, we are invincible.
You should never distance yourself from the things that keep you alive;
the ride is going to be painful and intense.
But it’s worth IT in the end..

My Résumé

Work buy consume

I am an old fashioned maniac, gift giving hypnotist,
exo-skeletal systems’ analyst.
A non-wig wearing, warm weather terrorist.

A low flying river pilot, long distance lumber jack that’s saving the trees. First ever, all at once, ambidextrous,
secret weapon, always wanted,
mint condition,
magician,
anarchist through capitalism, under cover of a thunder cloud,
as a pirate.

An analogue enthusiast,
sunshine boy, certified, tested,
on again, off again astrologist and practical craftsman,
sweet talking maritime mystery man,
presidential sweetie pie, acid washed crotch rocket.

Specialist, two time alphabetical acrobat,
daydream believing, solitaire card shark,
unnatural activist, fan club president, confident/slight hesitant.

Non-mustache master, class tinker totterer,
assassin, television evangelist typecaster,
low down good looking, silver tongued, shit shoveling genius,
A curvier road than ever encountered before.

A deep seated bleeding heart,
broken by culture shock;
with word sculpture, a flag waver, rail grinder/chicken lollipop,
yellow crate finder.

Humongous tree finder,
chocolate chip cookie monster.
A cape wearing vagabond, straight edge, range roving, artist,
Psychedelic, bloodshot,
beat finder,
pack animal, shadowcasted by the fire of a flamethrower
burning a bloodsucking critic’s demeanor.

No one knows exactly how we think, therefore we never really know anything.

Void State

No one knows exactly how we think, therefore we never really know anything. I will live ’till I die. Your mind is your own monster. My favorite thing to do, is to close my eyes and forget I even exist.

A famous Taoist immortalist named Qian Lou, once said:
“Not disturbed by poverty or lowliness;
not hurried by wealth and status’.
The epitome of that saying is here,
In the likes of this man!
He entertains his mind
with intoxication and poetry;
is he not of the clan of Mr. Mindless?”

The Story of Rindercella

The Story of Rindercella

Intro: Peacorn! Popnuts! Chewing Can! and Gumdy!….Have you ever heard about spoonerisms? Well, now let me tell you the story about Rindercella…

Once apon a time, in a coreign fountry, there lived a very geautiful birl; her name was Rindercella. Now, Rindercella lived with her mugly other and her two sad bisters. And in that same coreign fountry, there lived a very prandsom hince.

One day, the prandsom hince decided to have a bancy fall. He invited people from riles amound, especially the pich reople. But Rindercella could not go because all she had to wear were some old rirty dags. So she just cats down and scried. She was a kitten there a scrien, when all of a sudden her gairy fodmother appeared. And she waived her wagic mand…and all of a sudden there appeared before her, a cig boach and hix white sorces to take her to the bancy fall. But now she said to Rindercella, “Rindercella, you must be home before nidmight, or I’ll purn you into a tumpkin!”

So Rindercella went to the bancy fall, where she met the very prandsom hince, who she had been watchin through a widden hindow. She and the prandsom hince nanced all dight till nidmight…and they lell in fove. Suddenly, the mid clock struck night; Rindercella staced down the rairs, and just as she beached the rottom, she slopped her dripper!

The next day, the prandsom hince went all over the coreign fountry looking for the geautiful birl who had slopped her dripper. He came to Rindercella’s house. He tried it on Rendercella’s mugly other…and it fidn’t dit. He tried it on her two sigly usters…and it fidn’t dit. He tried it on Rindercella…and it fid dit, it was exactly the sight rize!

The next day, Rindercella and the prandsom hince were married and they lived everly hafter happward.

Now, the moral of the story is this: If you ever loll in fove with a prandsom hince, be sure and slop your dripper!

 

A constant process without accumulation

Zen-Circle-ZEN-BUDDHIST

First of all, what is meant by learning? I am not offering an opinion, I am looking at the fact. Is learning a process of accumulation of knowledge? From that knowledge I act; that is, I have stored up experiences, memories, and from that I act. Or, is learning a constant process without accumulation and therefore learning is acting? Go slowly, I’ll go into it. It is not that I first learn and then act according to what I have learnt, but learning is acting; the learning is not separate from acting.

One is going to learn about fear, or about what to do, how to live. But if you have a system that tells you how to live, or a method that says, “Live this way”, then you are conforming to the method which is established by somebody else. Therefore you are not learning, you are conforming and acting according to a pattern, which is not action at all, it is just imitation. So if you learn what are the implications of methods, or of systems, then you will put away methods and systems; then you are learning about what you are doing and the very learning about life is the activity of life – right? Have I made it clear? Living, learning and acting are not three separate things, they are indivisible.

A metamorphosis that the butterflies imagine

Dragon Kundalini

Every single night I pray;
my letters form a kiss.
IT blows through the wind, until it rests upon lips.

A metamorphosis that the butterflies imagine,
in an undecided fashion, when weather storms permit.
She settles scores with this and I just sit enchanted;
fireflies dance, until her wish is granted.
I listen frantic, to melodies of heartbreak.
IT feels so temporary, but she’s telling me IT’s always.
I’d die in hell, so my angel’s not alone.
And I’d swim in the mud, for a fatal drop of hope.

I dance to the chorus when the rain hits the solitude.
IT breaks into molecules; that’s her.
Another piece of me, that feels but can’t hurt.
I stand firm, in this apocalyptic breeze.
Until I finally fall apart and my confidence is breached;
And I’m gone..

Hear the sounds of a thousand broken spirits;
a man who wouldn’t lie and a crowd who won’t endear it.
Confessions of a clown that’s sounding so sincere,
when forced to always face the ground.

I wrote it down in quotes and lyrics.
I’ve got a ghost, but he never stays in touch.
Another hole to dig and another grave to love;
another fifth is gone, another day that sucks.
Another dream is dead as the summer fades to dusk.

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