A most interesting film

by trulymadlydeeply On Sunday, August 17, 2014 0 comments
...which was apparently banned in much of Europe and the US. Too many good/powerful messages...


Thoughts, collated

by trulymadlydeeply On Thursday, August 14, 2014 2 comments
You know that untapped percentage of our brain? It's actually a treasure trove of eternal / timeless knowledge and wisdom, deep psychic abilities -- radio towers / signals with which to communicate without words; a dream-power so intense, it will actually project out into reality, as if a hologram took it to the next level and bound into atoms and solid matter. And the puny percent we do use? Well that's just a storage locker for new information, a small allowance to take in certain temporally-influenced, circumstantial realities. Trouble is, we're cramming that tiny locker with information, with reflections of reflections, distorting the original film, blocking the harmonic, universal rhythm, it's compressing in on itself, short-circuiting the whole system.

The huge trove? Picture this: a brain with only a tiny section lit up in colors, sparks, motion, commotion -- the rest is grey and dead-looking. That grey matter? the untapped, forgotten well-of-all we'll ever need? Fully equipped. It just needs a good dusting, to be plugged into a higher source. Tesla on to it, the capstone of Egypt? Check. Vedic scripts? Yip. All these under, above ground truths in myth.

____________

I saw God in a new way today. Well, not entirely new, but the rasa, the feeling, was newly nuanced.

God could be our best of friends, a well-wisher supreme, but we exclude Him from our lives. Like, how would you like it if the people you introduced and help get together just started hanging out without you, having tons of fun on your dime, on your resources and, let's say you're an inventor and artist, on the things you've built and designed? Would make you feel pretty annoyed huh? But if we were to include you? Guess what, you'd probably be super happy and want to share more of your discoveries, your personality, more of your light. Yea, God too.

_____________

This life is actually a hologram of a higher reality. It's not that the invisible, higher platforms of thought, action and existence are manifestations beyond reality; it's that they are reality, and we are living a dream, and these days, an increasingly darkening dream. I find it painfully ironic that in order to maintain 'security' (ego security), police forces are using violence and causing harm. Oh how the natural order has been reversed.......

_____________

The Six Loving Exchanges:

Offering gifts in charity
Accepting charitable gifts
Revealing one's mind in confidence
Inquiring confidentially
Accepting prasada
Offering prasada

are the six symptoms of love shared by one devotee and another.

More of these, please. Always.

______________

Krishna's birthday is this weekend.

______________

What are we living for? What are you living for? Is it your family? You career? A good salary? Your community? Satan? God?

Which of these things echo into eternity and which, like the periodicals that land in the litter box, turn over and pass into history, forgotten and buried in the sands of time? How can we develop understanding of the former, and remain cognizant of the latter, checking the ego towards the pursuit of what is inherently beneficial instead of what twinkles and fades? To develop understanding of eternity... huh, from some little contact I've had with yoga, 13 years of my 28,  (such a drop in the ocean) I've come to understand that being properly situated is half the battle. So many distractions today, I certainly get caught up, especially the political ones... Hmm, like father like daughter. And seek the balance in the spiritual... Hmm, mama I owe you. So, so many distractions. Seemingly benign. But our most precious resource, our consciousness is sapped... I find solace in the yoking of the two. It's not that we reject the world and its delights, it's that we include God in our pursuit of it all and fit that last puzzle piece into place; so that we can find some measure of completion while we still have time to breathe... With the right association and friendship, anything is possible.

Three of my favorites:

If one offers Me with love and devotion a leaf, a flower, a fruit or water, I will accept it 

Whatever you do, whatever you eat, whatever you offer or give away, and whatever austerities you perform -- do that, O son of Kunti, as an offering to Me.

In this way you will be freed from bondage to work and its auspicious and inauspicious results. With your mind fixed on Me in this principle of renunciation, you will be liberated and come to Me.

It's nice to spend time with new people sometimes.

With the right consciousness (reality) we can transform our lives (dreams, they take shape and fade into the night with the dawning of death and a new life). It's just a little consciousness that needs a polishing. The lens of the heart needs some dusting. Prabhupada said that the heart is like a camera, it takes so many pictures, snapshots of memories; hurt, love, joy, pain, celebration, mourning; and they compress into the unconscious mind. These layers become so heavy, our wings fold down our backs and we forget how to fly on, float on the miracle of here, now, all together as soul. We need to clean that lens, the mirror of the heart to see clearly again. To see the true picture. Sound vibration. The most powerful energy there is to aid in this cleansing. Mantra. From man - Sanskrit for mind and tra- to cross over. Seed sounds which originate in another platform, the transcendental platform, of life and reality. When we utter them, from the heart, sincerely, listening with all of our ears, inner and outer, we begin to become transformed. Something softens. The layers caked onto the heart begin to dissolve from the powerful acid-like potency of nectar in sound. Every time, I shit you not, every time I'm mad or my mind is running a story, a cheap and ugly one, maybe, a junk-food thought, I chant and immediately it's pacified. The sensation increases hundred fold when in a group of people doing the same. We all might have different reasons or experiences, on different rungs of understanding and acceptance, of devotion and insight, but the brilliant thing is -- that heart is getting clean.

_____________

There was a period of time when I was annoyed by "Waiting on the World to Change". I thought it was so defeatist. So weak and lame. I understood the general gist, but it felt impotent. It made me feel jipped. I didn't want to get messages telling me, subliminally, to give up, or worse, not even try. But then I realized tonight, it's really just the wheel of time turning, and when it's our turn, how are we going to handle reality, and temper the dream?

I really do believe it's our turn. So, are we going to act selfishly, or are we going to share resources, share our toys, playing with each other through the consciousness of the divine as our lens, inviting God to the party, working together with hostility a faded shell, buried in an ocean of grounded bliss.

A little kick in the arse never hurt, did it?

by trulymadlydeeply On Wednesday, July 23, 2014 0 comments

DISCLAIMER: I wrote this to myself (now, to whom ever can relate to these words & find inspiration) a few months ago… I'm kind of a natural teacher, an impulsive sharer. If it isn't shared, I think, what's the point? Just like ol'boy in 'Into The Wild'… I just won't need to starve myself and forage alone in the wilderness to figure it out… Here goes nothing:

HEY – DON’T YOU EVER GET FUCKING LAZY, you’ve got too much good stuff in ya to squander it on passive consumption and commentary. Anything you touch you can allow Him to manifest and master.  You picked up a guitar and can carry a tune and throw a few chords together. Cake. No you’re not a Jeff Buckley or B.B. King or no Ella Fitzgerald, Etta James, ‘At Last’ geniusness. But damn it, you know your way around a melody. You can kick ass at any sport. Great. You can debate and massage and heal and intuit and read birth charts and tarot cards and be a Gypsy and talk to business people and offer obeisances and get kids to listen and get up on stage and improv some decently funny shit and cook a fucking vegan roast. You’re a competitive motherfucker who wants to be good, maybe not the best because you don’t want to see it as trying for the best, and anyway, you’re smart enough to know there’s no such thing, truly, plus then that would require 100% focus and commitment and you’re a bit chicken-shit-amateurish to commit to anything that hardcore at this point. Except for maybe words. Better turn that maybe into a life-sentence ya dig? The muse shows up, just like it just did. You see how that double entendre just spilled out? It’s not you, it’s the muse. It’s the flow and the truth combining to manifest because for some God-knowing reason you have a little way with words and can take yourself around a page, and you’re detail oriented as a Nazi looking for his next hit. Fuck that wasn’t right. Too soon. It will always be too soon with the Holocaust.  

AND DON’T BE THINKING IT’S YOU WHO IS SO DAMN AMAZING. YA HEARD? It’s not. It’s not fucking you who has all these talents and opulences and skills. Don’t forget that and don’t let shit get to your head. Don’t get too fucking proud, not about anything, never so fucking proud that you look like a damn fool. But don’t let that be your motivation – not looking like a damn fool. You should beg to look like a fool, maybe not that far, but you are just the vehicle. Ok I’ll back off, this is getting to be a little abrasive. Don’t take it badly, I’m just a ball buster, the inner voice in you, you internalized your crazy dad (love him, God bless him), after all. We went over this, hello superego. The moderns call it the superego and it’s in your mind. The ancients call it the Supersoul and it’s in your heart. One is your material father the other is your eternal father. One chides, the other guides. You are a spirit-soul contaminated and covered up by a lot of millions of lives of mistakes and karmas and habits and patterns and conditionings. You’ve been honestly trying on this path, you have. You chose some other-level shit and not everyone cares. But hey, sometimes you don’t try worth a damn. There’s always someone else doubling down. Someone else with a clearer vision than you, and crisper intentions, and more decisive actions when they jump out of bed in the morning. Maybe their sights are not as lofty, but in-hand, someone who has a plan and is stepping down that road, someone who spends nights in while you kick around with pals, putting shit off.  Someone who’s making a plan and has the friends and partners to make shit happen. So don’t compare yourself but don’t forget to buckle down and just do it, but do it without the laziness. Try damn it. Cut out that Twitter nonsense, that Instagram hokie, that Facebook time-crook crap.  I know you know this. Sometimes you give only as much as it takes to get over the hump so you can sit your lumps back down and kick back and fuck around. I know you do this. And know this. But what about taking it higher? No, not just with your words and thoughts, but with your deeds, too. Not just to ‘show it’ to people. No, do it for real, for quiet, for keeps – slink around minding your business and keeping your head in the right place and your heart pouring out goodness and just doing the damn thing. Eyes on the practice. Leave the prize for the Gods. I wanted to write dogs and it came out Gods. YES. THE PRIZE IS FOR THE GODS. Let them pick it up. You don’t even have to call it in. They KNOW. Like that. Don’t ever get so puffed up that you forget it’s all His. Offer it up to your teachers. They’re offering it up to their own. So it’s just due diligence, keep passing it back up the line, and eventually you know you’ll get to the source. Here, you can get there now. Remember that—everything you have came from the source. And you know thissssss. 

And next time you’re stuck, because there WILL be a next time, you don’t have to come back and read this pump-up piece because you will be stuck in a new way, but the same, but a new way. And that will require another rant to yourself about what the fuck you need to remember and what it takes, what you must give up and what you absolutely, life-or-death must pick up and soar with.

NOW SOAR ON THE WINGS HE GAVE YA.

__
PS -- This writing-out-your-motivation stuff works ;) try it for your self
xo

trust

by trulymadlydeeply On Friday, July 18, 2014 0 comments

Free wishes cost something

by trulymadlydeeply On Thursday, July 10, 2014 0 comments


MY SACRED HOUR

by trulymadlydeeply On Thursday, July 03, 2014 0 comments

7.3.14, midnight hour
by Alexandra Moga
Everything's on the line for you
Oh all the flubs and magic too
You made the choice 
You walked the wire 
Committed to the power of fire
High above the rest
Warrior making the most of the mess
Simply born different
Oh you were trained up all right
Spent your shakti on the wise needle hidden in the hay of night
Bypassed the stomping grounds
Quietly marking up the books to tip the scales
In your favor the heavens unveiled

Protect Your Magic

by trulymadlydeeply On Friday, May 23, 2014 0 comments
Great bit from The Shift Has Hit The Fan blog:

“Having a taste for things is so much more important than owning them – This is why, for those who lack nothing, it is better if money remains of secondary concern. You can see what life is like for so many business people – all that time they spend in the office and at meetings.  When they leave, it is so they can race around from one end of the globe to the other without seeing anything of the regions they pass through or of the people who live there. And that is how their sensitivity to what is beautiful and poetic in life eventually becomes dulled. So, what was the point of amassing a fortune? They cannot even enjoy the advantages it gives them, as they have destroyed that something in them that gives the most exquisite flavour to things, events and people. And that is what is sad: to have the possibility of acquiring anything you want but to feel no joy from it, except the vanity of owning it.  So if you have to choose between these two situations – owning a lot but no longer being able to appreciate it, or owning very little and keeping your taste for it – choose the latter, and the smallest thing will give you joy.”

- Omraam Mikhael Aivanhov

* ROBERT LESLIE *

by trulymadlydeeply On Sunday, April 06, 2014 0 comments

Ohhh I'm so excited to tell you about this gem of a troubadour!! His name is Robert Leslie. I found him on the subway platform at the 2nd avenue station of the uptown F. Which is a terribly smart place to be on a Tuesday night as a blossoming musician. I had just gone to see another great act, Zane Carney (actually, two great acts because his brother was playing with him that night and hot damn they were good) and myself and a flood of other show-goers were treated to Mr. Leslie's stylings while waiting for the train. What good luck. I even skipped getting on the first one so I could hear some more of his tunes.


Such a cutie! Though he can't be older than 25, he's got a from-another-age-like quality, just a hint of something special that's not too modern and not affected either; the way he speaks in stanzas and impossible imagination, with the confidence of a young person too dependent on intuition and too wary to accept authority. He's a writer, a poet. A singer and musician almost only as if by necessity, to make his musings come alive in another way off the page. Ok, so maybe I'm projecting and whipping up stories a little bit. But if you're a sensitive and interested person, ya can't help absorbing more than what is told and shown when consuming another's intimate arts. And album explanations. The back-story along with his latest album, Sense of Distance, stirs the vagabond in me to wake in a palpable dream. I fell in love more. When I met him, he was wearing the obligatory hat with a big old poppy-like plastic flower and a knit scarf. He told me he's from England but also American. Ah, tis a certain blessing to hold multiple passports.

Anyway -- I just got to listening to his CD and am I excited for what I hope will be his inevitable success. Good stuff like this, souls that strike your inner chord clearly, you just want 'em to succeed.

Great to listen to on a run, by the way. Especially if, like me, you haven't gone for a run in AGES and are panting and ready to collapse after one minute and find yourself walking every other block; nice and soothing in such states of mild physical distress.


LYRICS
.....Piece of mind or piece of ass / gotta live and make it last / and gotta get it down somehow / pocket all the cents and dimes / And if another lecture hall / locks me in or tries to teach / more flawed ideas or battle calls / tell them that I can't be reached / tell them they've already leeched my happiness, my wherewithal / they must be sick of all my sighing / oh come on now everybody stop / I'm leaving soon I've had enough / I've jumped the cliff, I've made the drop / don't think twice now call the bluff / yes it's painful, yes it's rough / but I'll be gone before ida flop / so long guys I'll be alright

APRIL 3, 2014

by trulymadlydeeply On Thursday, April 03, 2014 0 comments
Do you hear the earth telling us, talking to us, showing us, talking back? Earthquakes. Land slides. 

Reality is multi dimensional. There are other states of living, breathing, being. 
Why are we stuck in the grind that grinds down all life?

How to lift it up? Lighten your load. 

There are other dimensions of time. 

Here—wanna blow your mind? Simple. 
It takes an ant 5 minutes to cross the same distance that you cover in 5 steps. 
To the ant, you stand in the future. Your sense of time is greater, you can do more, and faster. 

What makes us believe that there aren’t beings whose one step covers 500 years? It’s a bit too much to believe, to accept, so the ‘adults’ will label it myth. Fun story but no fact. 

Then they’ll turn their OWN stories into fact. Aghhh how annoying is that? #egotrip

You wanna know what blew my mind today? Nearly every single person in Union Square this afternoon either had a device iphone something or other in their hands or was plugged in through their ears. Holy shit. This is that future. We’ve all got a badge here in the developed world. 

But the tool is innocent. What is the user? A tool himself? Used by the mouthpieces of distortion? Or emboldened by the power of realization, austerity, and curiosity? 

My prayer is for the awakening to quake and break through all the souls covered, trapped, ignorant to their own ignorance. 

Pray it with me now: 

Rise up, fellow men and women!

Awaken, sleeping souls

Break the lies and find the love

Don’t lose your mind’s control.

Time is tiny

Or vast and ever-grand
So 
take long strides and deep breaths

Extend your draining sands
Connect to eyes

Connect to subtle replies

Turn off the lies

The lies that close us all off from the pulse of what is wise

And ritualize your life to channel the divine

Morally Talented

by trulymadlydeeply On Thursday, March 20, 2014 0 comments
One of my favorite little-known blogs for getting highly salacious knowledge/information and the in on issues mass media, your silly friends, and the general populace doesn't even know about or, if they do, wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole for fear of being ostracized or 'unrelatable'. Frankly, I find that the status quo is, at its core, usually far more more disenfranchising and alienating than the truth. It's just too bad the majority are on the wrong boat with little idea of what else is out there, with lesser taste for the truth and not much interest (or support or patience) in applying that truth. Though Matt Taibbi is off to start his own independent publication so maybe there is still hope.

But I digress...

The Shift Has Hit The Fan connects the dots in crucial ways for eye-opening revelations. She checks the barometer for integrity-based evolution, a theme underpinning all her pieces, across various happenings around the world. They usually come up short but there's always something there (in her blogs) to remind us of the other side, the higher road.

The latest piece, 'In Praise of Common Decency' (which I HIGHLY recommend you read and click through the links she shares. Like, HIGHLY.) starts with this gem of a quote I felt compelled to share, the sentiments of which run right up along a little piece I composed, 'Swapping Centers'. A service mood is really the mood of the future (eternity). And not some fake service, funnel your biz expenses through your 501(c)(3) shiz neither.....

“It is natural to appreciate men and women for the gifts they possess. Whether they are writers, artists, scientists or even athletes, one cannot but marvel at their talents and sometimes even their genius. But is this any reason to neglect their moral qualities? Are they good, fair, honest, and generous? Often this consideration is secondary, and it is only talent that people notice. It is talent that everyone tries to cultivate, since; it is for this that people are so highly esteemed. This is why the earth is now populated with capable, talented people. It is incredible, there are swarms of them, but why are all these abilities, all these talents, all these geniuses unable to save the world? On the contrary, it could even be said that they are contributing to its destruction! We often hear people say: ‘Ah! He is so gifted; he has so many abilities that he can be forgiven everything!’ Well, this is very bad reasoning. Someone who is particularly favoured by nature must, on the contrary, make great efforts to uphold, to crown his gifts and talents with moral qualities. Otherwise, instead of becoming what he should be, a benefactor of humanity, he behaves like a thief! Many people tend to believe that the fame and fortune they have achieved are a justification for their way of doing things. Since up until now they have been successful, it must mean that they were in the right, and they can continue to impose their own views and their own decisions on everyone else. What an illusion! Material success is no proof of their good judgement. On the contrary, wisdom should make them more prudent – and also those who admire them, those who stand by and exclaim: ‘It is extraordinary! What activity; what energy!’ They say that such people are afraid of nothing. But to be afraid of nothing does not demonstrate the virtue we call faith, but rather that which we know as presumption. And not only do the presumptuous eventually take a fall, but – as history has shown us time and again – they drag others down with them!”
-Omraam Mikhael Aivanhov

MBBC! Delving into J.C.

by trulymadlydeeply On Monday, March 10, 2014 1 comments
Mah Bootlegged Book Club is finally getting tits-deep into the mythos master, Joseph Campbell.

Reading from "The Hero With A Thousand Faces"

THIS...

"It has always been the prime function of mythology and rite to supply the symbols that carry the human spirit forward, in counteraction to those constant human fantasies that tend to tie it back. In fact, it may well be that the very high incidence of neuroticism among ourselves follows from the decline among us of such effective spiritual aid. We remain fixed to the unexercised images of our infancy, and hence disinclined to the necessary passages of our adulthood. In the United States there is even a pathos of inverted emphasis: the goal is not to grow old, but to remain young; not to mature away from Mother, but to cleave to her. And so, while husbands are worshipping at their boyhood shrines, being the lawyers, merchants, or masterminds their parents wanted them to be, their wives, even after fourteen years of marriage and two fine children produced and raised, are still on the search for love -- which can come to them only from the centaurs, sileni, satyrs, and other concupiscent incubi of the rout of Pan, either as in the second of the above-recited dreams, or as in our popular, vanilla-frosted temples of the venereal goddess, under the make-up of the latest heroes of the screen."

And it gets better... Join us won't you?

Funny how things show up right when you need them most

by trulymadlydeeply On Monday, March 03, 2014 0 comments
I Have News for You
by Tony Hoagland

There are people who do not see a broken playground swing
as a symbol of ruined childhood

and there are people who don't interpret the behavior
of a fly in a motel room as a mocking representation of their thought process.

There are people who don't walk past an empty swimming pool
and think about past pleasures unrecoverable

and then stand there blocking the sidewalk for other pedestrians.
I have read about a town somewhere in California where human beings

do not send their sinuous feeder roots
deep into the potting soil of others' emotional lives

as if they were greedy six-year-olds
sucking the last half-inch of milkshake up through a noisy straw;

and other persons in the Midwest who can kiss without
debating the imperialist baggage of heterosexuality.

Do you see that creamy, lemon-yellow moon?
There are some people, unlike me and you,

who do not yearn after fame or love or quantities of money as
unattainable as that moon;
thus, they do not later
have to waste more time
defaming the object of their former ardor.

Or consequently run and crucify themselves
in some solitary midnight Starbucks Golgotha.

I have news for you—
there are people who get up in the morning and cross a room

and open a window to let the sweet breeze in
and let it touch them all over their faces and bodies.

The Ultimate Conspiracy Theory

by trulymadlydeeply On Wednesday, February 26, 2014 1 comments
Disclaimer: not for the faint of heart or easily offended. This is sci-fi meets reptilian government meets illuminati thriller all rolled into one. And it's bedtime as I write this. 

So here's what. A radio news program on in the car tonight spurred a conversation (well, I was calmly speaking and the passenger to my right was having a coronary) on gay marriage. They were all like it's unnatural for people of the same sex to get married because they can't reproduce and I was all like, is that why people even get married?! That makes no sense, they should have the same legal rights since that's all that "marriage" really is anyway because love don't need a paper. Anywho. 

Here's the conspiracy: there's a species, let's say an alien, reptilian species known as the Masonic, Atlantean elite which has been plotting to reduce the birthrate by entrapping people into vain pursuits which only end in self-satisfaction and conspicuous consumption. No one wants to have kids anymore because then how will they be fabulous and go out to dinner and shop and work and fuck like crazy and play and jet off to Turks and Caicos on a whim if they have to tuck the tots in? Too much hassle. 

They got you in their web of carnal delights. Muahahahaha. No more babies. Ok. Big deal. 

But wait -- there's more. 

'They' full-well know that there are souls in holding, waiting for a physical container to keep playing out their karma, their samsara. These souls NEED to go somewhere. They're clogging the soul sphere, in limbo. The universal balance is in peril!!! But we ain't makin babies on Earth. Where ever shall those souls take birth???

Dun dun dun... There's an alternate universe. Another life-sustaining planet which they are cultivating for that New New World. Order. 

Clever right?! I tell ya, where my mind goes when I'm washing dishes.........

*copyright Alexandra Moga 2014 don't be stealin my movie idea y'all* (lolz I know you can't copyright ideazzzz shush)

XOXO

I Love Yogis

by trulymadlydeeply On Friday, February 07, 2014 0 comments
So, as if I needed one more project to occupy my time and mind and energy...

I've decided to run with and develop an idea which implanted itself at the end of last year (oh man, 2013 is last year, isn't it?).

The idea came out of the ether, where, of course, all ideas float and stalk, awaiting a perfectly idle yet engaged mind upon which to descend. I connected with this idea mostly because I love to interview people (read: get into their heads and feel out what makes em tick) and then share those findings, usually in totally disparate ways and places, like as an anecdote in a yoga class, or a totally vague and obtuse metaphor in a poem. Usually, I'm just having a conversation (secretly interviewing) and that conversation informs me about much more than that person; myself, society, life, that vibe/lexicon/tendency that no one consciously gets yet but is still happening right now. Natural born sociologist.
 
Any whooooo. I make you, dear reader, wait so long to find out what the F*Ck I'm ever actually talking about in these posts of mine. HAHA. HAHAHAHA.

It's this:


*shoutout to my sista-sista who used those photoshop skillz to help make this logo*


I'm on a quest to extract and expose the makings of a 'yoga teacher'. Whatever that 'is'. Whoever they are.

Inspired by the Proust Questionnaire. Tailored to the yogis out there, to inspire an understanding of yoga, in all its colors, shapes, and makings. Because, as you may or may not know, it's more than moving around on a plastic mat. And, I'd venture to say, yoga is our natural state, regardless of profession, occupation or beliefs.

Musicians losing themselves in their instruments, the sound. Yoga.
Improv performers responding so intensely that they can't even hear if the audience is laughing. Yoga.
Writers pouring out words to paint a story to move you and you and you and silently cheering and laughing and fist pumping to themselves because they're in the flow. Yoga.
Investment bankers manipulating stocks, wholeheartedly consumed. Iw. That's a kind of yoga, tainted, of course. 

You get me.

I Love Yogis. World-wide. The panoply of styles and schools of thought.

Dig it here (tumblr). And here (facebook). 

Maybe one day it will be a purty little book. With portraits of some of those teachers. Because I also love faces. And zooming in on them and painting them. But that's a whole other level of commitment/art. So for now, it's another blog in the sphere.

Hope you find something in there to connect to, to converse with, to inform your life.

Love,
A

Steve Powers

by trulymadlydeeply On Thursday, February 06, 2014 0 comments

The most glorious place on Earth

by trulymadlydeeply On Sunday, January 05, 2014 1 comments

This video fills me with such insane amounts of longing, admiration, love and gratitude, you'd think I was falling in love for the first time ever.

A friend and I were recently talking about falling in love and she shared an analogy with me that I found to be quite powerful and sticky. Here it is:

Our ability to fall in love with another totally and give of ourselves and our hearts in a deep relationship is like a band aid. The first time you put it on, it's really sticky and stays on well. If it gets ripped off, the second time it doesn't stick as well, the third time even less, and so on and so on. My friend shared how she wished she'd been more selective about who she gave her love and heart to in the past because she realized that being torn up had an effect on the love when she was ready to give it to the one she decided to spend the rest of her life with. It just wasn't as vital as the first time. Can anyone else relate to that?

That was a bit of a digression to make this point:

Although my love's been ripped off in the past, and my love band-aid might not stick with the fervor it had the first and second times, this video and the love it elicits in my heart transcends all notions of limit-bearing mortal love and drives into a core part of me so deep that I can but marvel at the utter windfall of grace I was lucky enough to receive to take me there. That I was even able to perform an iota of devotional service is nothing short of miraculous, a mystical gift. My experience of living in Mayapur (the place depicted in this film) for 4 months is emblematic of waking in another realm of reality, another dimension of the material universal manifestation. There is no place on this earth quite as magical, as real, as important to discovering the essence of one's humanity as Mayapur.

On one level, my wish is for everyone to receive the kind of mercy and grace it takes to arrive to such a place. On another level, I know that not everyone is ready or consciously seeking this kind of love and life experience. You can't just buy a ticket to a place like Mayapur. You have to be led there, invited by the pure sincerity in your heart manifest outward. If you ain't got it, you ain't goin'. And for that, a part of me is glad. Because when you love and appreciate something or someone so much, the last thing you want is for them to get ripped off.



As the rising moon dispels darkness, spreading its soothing rays in all directions, so too did the Golden Avatar Sri Caitanya Mahaprabhu appear in this world to bestow infinite light, hope, and love. Day by day, the worldwide bhakti revolution He ignited accelerates, as the background noise of doubt and fear is drowned by the vibration of sacred mantra. Entrance Into Eternity is a multi-part film series tracing this sankirtan movement back to its divine source, the epicenter of devotional ecstasy, the kirtan capital of the universe, Sridham Mayapur.

In Mayapur, the sweet melody of kirtan is never far, and hearts are awakened to the sacred flow of mercy. Men and women, boys and girls, from all corners of the world, pierce through divides of caste and color to harmonize their voices and deeds in service to the Supreme.

Some say Sri Caitanya was crazy. Some say he's gone. Others who know better still dance in His earthshaking kirtan, bathing in His limitless love and grace.

Dedicated to His Divine Grace A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada.

--------------------------------------------
Music: Anthem by Emancipator

http://facebook.com/kriy8

like you know what you're doing

by trulymadlydeeply On Thursday, January 02, 2014 0 comments
writing is based first and foremost on an idea. and ideas are nothing without the seeds of emotion. emotion like pollen transplanted from person to person by the dancing feet of a bee of happenstance. a miraculous element one part independent and utterly necessary. of impulse forcing outer circumstance and inner conditionings to collide on some platform of decrepit or evolved. emotion, that is. tempered perhaps by studied logic, or scriptural injunction. no, not blind and sentimental religion. but intelligent and divine law. i can hear the thinking man scoff. or the emotional woman nod in rapt agreement. both are, for lack of a better word, wrong. man is a thing of reason. of potential to calculate and rise above by sheer will. but alas, not for long. for along came woman. woman is a thing of feeling. of intuitive curves interrupted by skeptical seeking. or of darkness expressed beside the point, expressed to bring to light what we all sense is there, but who's got balls big enough to say it? so what if the timing is wrong. there are emotional men and rational women. and there are times when we'll all fall into line with a camp, regardless of gender. be it to keep the peace, to strategize, to declare, silently, a kind of psychological warfare. to win. to let others think they win. to learn. to teach. where man and woman collide, be that softly, ferociously, unexpectedly, psychically; there emotion and idea come together. there we have writing in motion. drama alive.

writing is nothing without an idea. and any shmo can have an idea. so writing is certainly more than an idea. it's the ability to toe the fine line of pretending you know what you're doing as you walk down the highway into the unknown. with only a name on a piece of paper. or a page out of the phone book. or a terrifyingly inspiring dream. be it generated by the day or night. assuming, of course, that said highway is on a strech of desertland and the payphone you took shelter in at the truck stop housed a phone book. there are still places in america that use phone books. there must be.

the details. the unexpected. the juxtaposition. the allowing for someone else to show it for you. the use of a middle man in the pursuit of direct experience. the subtle worship of contradiction in order to maintain wholeness. the inconceivable oneness and difference. the painting of pictures within pictures as you paint a picture of a picture you're painting. the pretending you know what you're doing off of feeling while groping blindly just like everyone else. the confidence of well-placed lies. the weakness of self-sustaining truth. the expert who has compromised the unknown to serve those who have compromised structure for the unknown. the complementary and the questioning. the fragmented adapting to serve some ideal of whole. holiness.

the breakdown. the build up. the background track. the improv.

the next generation of repetition. in new! colors.

generated by a vision seen in sound, in listening. writing is listening to the same thing, and hearing something new. maybe even like you know what it means.








Un.Cer.+ain 17-12/8-3 ---- Uni.re.versal

by trulymadlydeeply On Tuesday, December 17, 2013 0 comments
When the pebbles dig into
that fragile state
You know,
The one which seemed so
Solid last week

and today, you want to run the other way
No one can ever really tell you
that thing you have to find out
on your own;

You gotta stay.

When you grow weary of
what always was so sure
Anymore and evermore or just some more
What you want
What you think you need
What is there
What is still a dream
converging
and swirling
like the virgin snow dancing on a blacktop road;

Nothing sticking
yet;

You gotta play.

When you're so carefree
easy as you'd imagined
like a Disney movie
coming true

You gotta say;

Thank you
and

There's more to do
And nothing to claim

You gotta pray.

When you took too much
Never gave back
Turned your back
Funds in hand
Had the chance
So, with it, ran

Eventually;

You gotta pay.

Dues sent in,
Pieces missing accepted
A sock turned up
In with your destiny's laundry
Wrapped in their towel
Across town
Static cling
When on the street corner
You two met
Finally.
Then;

You gotta lay.

ALELA DIANE

by trulymadlydeeply On Monday, December 09, 2013 0 comments
Girl is GOOD.

You heard her yet?

Well, hear her...

I first caught her from the mouth of one in Bali. I had to double-check the name. "Allez-la?" "Yea, Alela Diane". Funny because it's a French word (that's not actually a word but two words melded together) that my friend (whose name just so happens to be Diana...waaaaow) made up which we always use as a kind of "yeah I'm hyped" "come on!" "for reals!?" expression. Anywho. Alleeeeezla

This girl is good. These lyrics just hit me for the first listen and I gotta share them. Poetry. Set to a good twangin'. Loves. Cause she's a-singin', oooooh she's singin' meeee.

The whole album is solid....

'Black Sheep'

Sometimes I'm riding high in the rusted sky
Sometimes I sit right here miles off from anywhere
Some days I'm a black sheep, baby
Suddenly I'm elegant as evening
Most of the time, I'm on the line

I remember waiting by the phone pining away the nights alone
A tarnished coin into the slot, my number lost in your coat pocket
Some days I'm a black sheep, baby
Suddenly I'm elegant as evening
Most of the time, I'm on the line

Ooh a black sheep, black sheep dark as thunder
Ooh evening, evening is harder still
And I am on the line and the line is rusted blue
I am on the line and the line is rusted blue
Rusted blue, rusted blue, rusted blue

Choosing a crazy hand

by trulymadlydeeply On Saturday, December 07, 2013 0 comments


I just finished watching Shane Salerno's documentary, Salinger. It has left me at once troubled, motivated and hopeful; hopeful that with the right blend of intention, immersion into his work, consistent, heart-sourced writing and those mystic siddhis that years of yoga practice have offered me, I might be able to communicate with him telepathically over time and space; much like he claims to have communicated with his first, ex-Nazi wife. That detail, the Nazi one, may not be so important – except that it highlights the marked, man-making trait of flat-out unwavering allegiance to not giving a F what people, what a misshapen and misguided society might believe to be right or wrong; an allegiance, moreover, to a transcendent code that, given some of his actions to the contrary, could only be truly understood and appreciated by a minority.

Indeed, his seeming contradictions are enough to set page-loads of questions after him, though departed he may be from this mortal coil. That's the part that troubled me: that the media, fans, writers, reporters, all felt the need to question him, to hound him with questions, nay – with insignificant questions. When faced with such a mind, a spirit, a being; if you're going to take the effort to go after him, wouldn't there at least be a "How's your heart?", "How's your life going?" rapport? Perhaps there had been, but as the documentary painted it, his enigma drew out the crazed and demanding vs. kindred seeking-souls. Though the truth is, the world we face (or would it be the world which faces us?) really is our mirror.

His contradictions were just indicators, signs pointing to some deeper truth, a bigger question begging to be asked, one I don't believe he pretended to have the answer to, but was at least astute and interested enough to uncover and present to the world for the unpacking. That is, "Don't you see what a waste this all is?" And then, “So, what’s golden?” What frustrated me some is that, instead of asking him about the root cause for and therefore, solution to, The Catcher in the Rye (which in truth, could only be Salinger’s own inner state), his hounds wanted to know what to do about their own lives, their own writing careers, how to manage their own frail and suspicious conceptions of self. This newly revealed conception of self and society, by the grace of Salinger’s cutting observation and commentary, caused many to lose their grip on life as they thought they’d known it, leaving newly disillusioned (some might even say awakened) souls foundering amidst and fighting against the foggy motives of a superficial, lie-filled world, just like Holden Caufield. But I do understand that to stand face-to-face with a writer, an artist, a being of incalculable depth and intelligence, one who has so suddenly invested you (and so many of your generation) with the utmost meaning, is debilitating on a critical, frontal-lobe-level.

This artistic process of projecting one’s psychology onto a character (or a work), sending it into the world to come head-to-head with similar experiences and perceptions contained in receivers, who in a moment of utter mercy and open-armed acceptance, look into that long-sought for mirror, reveals the essence of the primum, the primal, the original exchange. Therein, his occupation with Vedantic teachings doesn't surprise me in the least. Indeed, it reassures me that his talent wasn't a clever fluke, but instead a studied and soulful stream stemming from the artery of eternal knowledge, of timeless truth, of ecstatic bliss. And like many connected voices who, almost besides themselves, cannot but tap into the thoughtsphere to hungrily (even manically) draw out the marrow for the times, he had this higher understanding before he even knew what it was. Via his commitment to his craft, his dharma, he was led back to the spring, the fountainhead.

Which brings me to Roark. Howard Roark, Ayn Rand’s protagonist who refused to sell out. I couldn't help but marvel at and find joy in their parallels: the indefatigable commitment to the creative act as the path, the goal and the reward; the rigorous dedication, self-control, and determination to remain 100% integral, or at least the attempt to. Perhaps the figure falls somewhere at 98.6%. But could you ever measure integrity? Even those bold enough to strive for perfection, for total integrity in purpose and execution must realize the sheer madness, vanity and self-indulgence it requires, thereby nullifying any possible arrival at such an unwieldy apex. Yet most men (and women) of significance are fiercely uncompromising. And the best of them, a rare breed if there ever was, never have their own interests at the center of their integrity, have instead built a wall of growing greens around higher principles meant to serve a core of love, beneficial to all who come in contact with them, keepers of the most precious commodity. The warrior surely can be understood to be he who, despite his raging gift, chooses to remain unexploited, protected from the selfishly motivated (no doubt existing within himself as well) by a buffer of nature as they buy-in to what may appear to the uninitiated as strange ways.

Which is where Salinger’s contradiction came in. After sharing the most intimate parts of himself through his story telling, he turned around and held fast to his privacy; to his right to unequivocally own his life and mind and time. He insisted on being published in the most celebrated and widely respected journals. And when he got his praise, dancing with a world ready to throw their arms around him and toss him to the heights, he glimpsed a bigger picture, and backed out; recommitted himself to a deeper dedication, one detached from the rabid recognition that comes with great talent. Nevertheless, he allowed a select few to penetrate those walls. He exchanged countless letters with young women (girls, really). They kept him soft-hearted. I would imagine, connected to some sense of innocence and purity that only a war-torn soldier (aren't we all?) could seek with such fantasy-tinged desperation and consistent need as he.

Which leads me to his overriding need for absolute control. He was in love with a striking and intelligent girl. At the same time, he was let off the hook from military service, considered unfit. If that’s not some sense of fate, then I don’t know what is. I'm sure he saw the acceptance of this rejection as utterly fatalistic. Perhaps the real fate was, in all actuality, his self-created destiny, his obstinate, hard-working character (he was a Capricorn, after all). He insisted on going to war. He eventually got his wish, and lost his lover. What could compel such a hard-nosed insistence on calling the shots, on demanding another, what some may consider lesser, hand of cards? Was it inspiration he was seeking; knowing that through war and the head-on confrontation of death one is assuredly on the path to emerge on the other side? It’s a truly beautiful, if not awe-inspiring understanding of duality: to know that if you go so far in one direction, you will come out on the other end, moreover, having culled some hefty fodder (certainly the most precious of resources for artists) along the way.

A divine play, is it not?  And oh, to live on that level of consciousness!

The thrilling thing about biographies for me, for most of us I'd imagine, is the opportunity to view a life in its entirety, to glean the bigger picture without being mired in a myopic scene or temporary drama as we may often find ourselves in our own daily lives. There's a free-handed ease in approaching the drawing out of another's life from start to finish. And with that comes a sense that I too, that we all, can take our lives into consideration on this scale and play out the stages with full-faith and commitment to a cause – should we be so lucky to grasp one as all-important, as transformative as JD Salinger had.

Rebalance, Refoucs, Renew

by trulymadlydeeply On Sunday, December 01, 2013 0 comments
I'm pleased to announce a very special yoga retreat this January. We'll be heading to an oasis of calm and nature on Shelter Island, just 2-hours outside of New York City.

I've developed this three-day retreat with the intention of Rebalancing your body, Refocusing your mind, and Renewing your spirit.

We'll be practicing detox flow yoga classes to stir up stuck energy and activate the body's innate healing and detoxification system, yin yoga classes to stimulate deep relaxation and release, and a special SynchroFlow class I've developed which blends postures, charged breath-work, archetype and mantra meditations to get to the core of your personal, unique inner truth and to synchronize it with the innate pulse of cosmic energy -- your bestest friend, wisest guide and biggest helper.

Light, clean vegetarian food, herbal teas and juices will round out the cleansing, restorative and inspiring weekend.

I'll also be meeting with participants one-on-one, for SynchroGuidance sessions.

I'm SO excited to bring this work I've been putting together over this past year out to play!! I hope you can join me and take the time to take care of yourself, to pay attention to the divine spark of life within, and examine the ways you can bring it out to shine in your life.

Unfolded

by trulymadlydeeply On Friday, November 22, 2013 0 comments
One of my favorite friends in writing: across time and space his words have padded my inner safe place at moments in this decade of soon-to-be-done 20 where all that was certain was the uncertainty. Yes, I usually tried to love it and through that somehow it became so: loved and somewhat bearable and known and alright.

In that snare of paradox I found my own rhythm of loving, trusting and letting go; of knowing what to pick up and when. It's a dance with the world that delivers and the self that desires. An ongoing lesson in bridging the work expressed without and the sacrifice unseen within, the quiet messages received and the waiting for your will to come through and commit. All a certain kind of effort in parsing the light from the sin, the tiny crimes against the heart we all sometimes commit.

That writer is Rainer Marie Rilke. His name even soothes me somehow. Like a tender-sighted sage, a good grandpa or woolen-clad neighbor, bearded, who knows that all will be well, and can dispense of compassion and bolstering wisdom. Maybe standing on the porch within earshot of your sighs, offering a helping ear from his rocking chair in the early darkness of a crisp, cool night.

The bits and pieces of his sweetness strewn across the halls of the web can maybe sum the feel of what he stands for as a being. Might not match quite what I feel, but that wouldn't need be the clue for you to know that his contribution paved a humble road made of some kind of real noble truth.

And here, in this simple stanza, is captured something in the way of why... Why I dedicate my time and my life to spiritual practice. The farther I go down my road the more I sense the very precarious edge, the sword that sets me apart from the ways of the big bad world and sets me into the bush of a journey towards the soul. The soul of man, of God if I dare can, of my own intimately brewed blend of breath in the skin.

To unfold all the creases and lies pressed into me, by me, with or without my consent over time, over eons perhaps: this is the nature of the cutting through, of the making, of the walking the path; the nature of blazing fires I set time and time again, like a ranger who knows that to clear a new season, some damage must be done to what's simply overgrown. May it bring us closer...

I want to unfold,

I don't want to stay folded anywhere

Because where I am folded,

There I am a lie...

- Rainer Marie Rilke

More of him here

The moon, my friend

by trulymadlydeeply On Monday, November 11, 2013 0 comments
A humble place based in simple comforts
A world of magic at my doorstep, lush
And true
I step into the shower
To cool my toes
No curtains or tiles
Just stones and water
And the moon
Bright and lighting my riffs, even half-way
The sky, the ceiling in this pitch perfect place ((made of love vibration))
Casts my glance in its evening play
And I smile upwards
As is only natural to do
When someone wonderful smiles at you

When 'art' is truly Art

by trulymadlydeeply On Tuesday, October 22, 2013 0 comments
Quoted from the brilliant mind and right sight of Andrey Tarkovsky...

"Modern art has taken a wrong turn in abandoning the search for the meaning of existence in order to affirm the value of the individual for its own sake. What purports to be art begins to look like an eccentric occupation for suspect characters who maintain that any personalized action is of intrinsic value simply as a display of self-will. But in artistic creation the personality does not assert itself, it serves another, higher and communal idea. The artist is always a servant, and is perpetually trying to pay for the gift that had been given to him as if by a miracle. Modern man, however, does not want to make any sacrifice, even though true affirmation of self can only be expressed in sacrifice. We are gradually forgetting about this, and at the same time, inevitabley, losing all sense of our human calling...

The absolute is only attainable through faith and the creative act

In science, at the moment of discovery, logic is replaced by intuition. In art, as in religion, intuition is tantamount to conviction, to faith. It is a state of mind, not a way of thinking.

The artist reveals his world to us, and forces us either to believe in it or to reject it as something irrelevant and unconvincing. In creating an image he subordinates his own thought, which becomes insignificant in the face of that emotionally perceived image of the world that had appeared to him like a revelation. For thought is brief, whereas the image is absolute. Art acts above all on the soul, shaping its spiritual structure. 

The artist has a duty to be calm. He has no right to show his emotion, his involvement, to go pouring it all out at the audience. Any excitement over a subject must be sublimated into an Olympian calm of form. That is the only way in which an artist can tell of the things that excite him. 

The beautiful is hidden from the eyes of those who are not searching for the truth, for whom it is contra-indicated. 

Modern mass culture, aimed at the 'consumer', the civilization of prosthetics, is crippling people's souls, setting up barriers between man and the crucial questions of his existence, his consciousness of himself as a spiritual being. 
The allotted function of art is not, as is often assumed, to put across ideas, to propagate thoughts, to serve as example. The aim of art is to prepare a person for death, to plough and harrow his soul, rendering it capable of turning to good."

Matt Corby

by trulymadlydeeply On Thursday, October 17, 2013 0 comments
Got the chance to catch this super soulful Aussie singer songwriter in Brisbane on Tuesday and was pretty blown away.
He's still working on getting cozy on stage and seemingly, within a style he can call his own, but there's no doubt he has the chops to soar on.
Here, hear 'Letters'


...and 'Souls A'fire'



with 'Lay You Down' rounding out the trifecta


retro.active

by trulymadlydeeply On Wednesday, October 09, 2013 0 comments
The Fadeaway punchline edited by a stroke of luck
Get to writing the voice inside me crept
I've got words for you yet
Don't hold in the sick, sad world of Kodak colors
Don't shy away from the fury and madness and the druthers
It's beautiful you know?
You learned the worst first for a reason
Seemed like once a season 
You wept against the wall waiting for a ride 
From the man who left you slumped there as he collected his rage, stuffed it back inside, smoothed the page
Crawled into the backseat like an ocean of leather
Squeezed yourself into the corner as far away as you could from the driver 
Left without giving goodbye affection
Thinking it to be your revenge
Innocent
Late to school again
Thank God at least you made it 
Could they see your blurry eyes, could they sense your weakness
A slight tremor down your spine 
With the next deep breath in
Lungs shaking up some space for life again
So now you've made it to your page
Many moons down the line of that frightful stage
Thank his tumbled child inside
That fought against the one you were
Both raucous against some kind of stronghold
Both working out some terrible karma from a past untold
Biology awarded him the bigger hand back then
But all things wither and here you stand
A stronger, smarter kind of woman
Ready to take on the world inside your head
Screen the play in the tempo of memory edited
Screen the memories past the veil you've lifted
Now you wondered
Could they sense your pride
In a flash it's subdued
Can't forget it's what almost kept you from dieing
Thank God at least you did, just a little bit
Afterall
Karma that strong takes a ship in the night to wreck 

landslide

by trulymadlydeeply On Wednesday, September 25, 2013 0 comments
The breeze of autumn picks up and lifts the little pieces of my life I've yet to nail down. I'm revealed to myself. The shifting sights of folks move from fun in the sun to new horizons, new projects, new jackets, new crushes and classes; it ripples through the atmosphere in step. In step with the 9-5'ers at the crosswalk. In step with the commuters on the mini air jets. Going the distance to stay within a structure they struggled to get, to keep them from struggling against themselves again and again.

My life spills out of bags, all around me a chaotic mess of stuff. Stuff, stuff, stuff - sometimes it's just, ahhhh it's too much! Each item pin-points a moment in time, a certain state of mind. What do I carry over and what will I leave behind? Oh if I weren't such a pack-rat attached to this and this and ooh no, can't let go of that. Thinking, always wondering, what if I want to embody that again? What would it go with that I haven't seen yet? So many pieces I never even filled. So many stories waiting to be lived. Shirts and skirts and jackets, maybe lived their tales one night here, one night there across the pond. Another, I'm dreaming for an event to put you on...

My life spills out of bags waiting to be packed again. And again. And another climate, what to bring? My life fills up closets in more than one place. Isn't that the nature of a life such as this? I'm one but my identities look to be many, flung and flung and strung around, left like mile markers to come back around. A bread-crumb of a heel. A chalk-marking of a hat and scarf. Well, the life I'm heading to won't require that. It's all about the lifestyle isn't it? So what will this outfit say to me? What will it bring me to see? Learning lately sometimes you come too far to look back.

When you're trying to figure it out on the run, pieces are more likely to get lost, aren't they? Like thoughts when you spot a memory in a smile, or a realization in a quote, a talk, a teacher, a heart beat, a moment behind closed eyes when your disk gets realigned. You make a note to make a note, too deep in the moment to break out and jot. And inevitable, you forget, but it's still in there somewhere yet. And then you come home and you find your cat is dying.

Down on my knees at her little calico body I've been sitting, crying. Oh but I know, I know, she's not that body. Oh and though I can remember I've been told not to lament for the changing of bodies, I lament that she won't jump on the kitchen counter anymore, who will be there to help us cook? Like the changing of clothes, we put one on to take it off for another, there she slowly goes. Guess I still have some practical lessons to live out. Guess I'm still clinging to worn out outfits. Theory feels good in my backpack where I can carry it safely. But out on the streets, things play out a little more dangerously.

My love of the last two decades is dying. It's my birthday soon too and I wonder if she'll go when I get renewed. And I'm crying, I'm crying, I can't help it, she's hurting, she's lying; broken and bones, barely breathing, so slowly, fluids every now and then seeping. Every hour or so check back to hold the water bowl to her nose. Tsp tsp tsp tsp. Feeble lapping, and I forget about my life spilling out of bags, strewn about the rooms of my house of a life. And I'm taken with this sight of death in progress, with the soul inside her quiet body so close to being free. I check back every hour just to see. Is her little breath still moving what's left?

I half hope it is. I half know she's so close to being free. So I do what I can with a heart full of faith and praying her next life she finds home where the changing seasons won't blow the pieces around so easily. So I do what I can and lean in close to her cold little ear, soft as the day she came home wrapped up in my sister's hands. I whisper the secret prayers, praying the sound makes its way to the spark in her heart and takes this spilling life into a container that won't break anymore.
by trulymadlydeeply On Wednesday, September 18, 2013 0 comments
When you can endure

Life clicks into place and the signs race with a fervor
Or is it my mind trying to align what's already been assigned
A reflection of god's grace seen in the eyes of every man as I walk by him
He recognizes me and startled
Jumps back to make room for the space between us suddenly filled with light and meaning
As if to ready himself for the purpose which has been revealed
Seemingly out of nowhere
Now we're here
Words like fate and free will
Reflections and devotion; still my beating heart to catch a glimpse of
What is this?
Fire rises as you hear yourself sing in another
Sing the knowing electric
The co-creating
Thoughts of one becomes love for others
The moon beams on this night full of
What can I call it but-
Life
Synchronicity
I's connect to find that line, that nectar of the soul tempered as it pours back and forth
Between two
Between levity and hope

Lost together

by trulymadlydeeply On Saturday, September 14, 2013 0 comments
What is this life but one fleeting ache into another
Cut with sweetness like the bitter morning coffee
Fragrant and enticing
A haunting search for ground
An ecstatic blow to rebuild again 
Memories like past lovers
Hide and seek you 
When you sometimes least expect it
When at other times, you invite it
If not in waking then under the lode of rest,
A reluctant friend for those on the run,
those self-sufficient lovers hungering for more than certainty 
And they break others 
Not because they mean to
But because they don't know how to live
Unless a question hangs in the space between
Promises and stolen glances
Between time given and your effects
Ever flipping the mattress
Because you can't forget what you never had and yet-
Tasted
Felt
Dug deep, drew blood
Left the well
Untouched
Told yourself, just for now, just for now
I must detach and find the sky again
The better to see you with 
Cause this beautiful sight takes such a distance to maintain
We both fly off
Alone again
And if you make it out alive
Alive like I knew you to be,
And on the other side
Break out the boots to call a ride
I'll find you, lost
I'll pick you up, my number's still carved inside

Sculpting in Time

by trulymadlydeeply On Thursday, September 05, 2013 0 comments
'Words, words, words'--in real life these are mostly so much water, and only a rarely and for a brief while can you observe perfect accord between word and gesture, word and deed, word and meaning. For usually a person's words, inner state and physical action develop on different planes. They may complement, or sometimes, up to a point, echo one another; more often they are in contradiction; occasionally, in sharp conflict, they unmask one another. And only by knowing exactly what is going on and why, simultaneously, on each of these planes, can we achieve that unique, truthful force of fact of which I have spoken.

- Andrey Tarkovsky

oceania road

by trulymadlydeeply On Wednesday, September 04, 2013 0 comments
the pedal won't relent and yet
the sky changes every second, every other time
i cast a glance way up
stream past the underpass
another person walking,
maybe stopped and staring,
suburban depression overhead
another day
another shadow cast
what destiny must they contain
too late -- they're in the rear view
one more shadow cast
enough dark lines across this evening
make it just right
cuz without them
colorful masses can't explain themselves to our eyes
like the dark knight man-made starlight shimmering against the sky light
new york city in my sights
yellow backdrop like the brick road flipped up
inception --
what happens when you surrender
the third I never forgets to fill you n me in,
took the brush with him
and painted my mind in
however
the commercials --
god they're so depressin
hashtag
mass appeal
global citizens under
hashtag
mass hypnosis
bjork, wail for me
flute, play that tune and make me snake for thee
jinx my night, make it monsoon for me
there's more to come
you know i'm a sucker for
random places, b
another city, another hour
just a gypsy pulling along the wind
just a gypsy floating to another meeting
another crossing of unfolding trappings
catching my attending art to transform,
transmute with me
pull me away from the materiality
geode wig breaking underground,
my footing slipping
so shiny, sparkling stars
zenned out on
a humanistic level
appearances be damned
nervous for the planet?
don't bother
be nervous for your spiritual progress,
be nervous for your loving action
form an opinion on something other than
...your hair, your shoes, your status, the schmooze

don't worry it's easy
just love and be honest


 


For Lucas

by trulymadlydeeply On Sunday, September 01, 2013 0 comments
Of the terrible doubt of appearances


Taking requests for poetry vids here

deus ex machina

by trulymadlydeeply On Friday, August 16, 2013 0 comments
words intending love swirl around my head
and as I recognize with the faculty of feeling
the world still struggles to sweep a clearing
for that pure desire
untainted by what brought it on
in the first place
your skin
your hands
your smiles
your eyes
"do not fight the tides
let it pull you in"
the wise citations claim, urge
Fleetwood Mac hums in my car
"You can go your own way"
I don't like it
don't tell me to do what I want
I've had enough
don't you know?
what I want
what we've always secretly wanted
is the right person
in the right tone
to gently pull us
tightly squeeze us, keep us
free us
as they make their words
our own

An Encounter

by trulymadlydeeply On Tuesday, August 13, 2013 0 comments
Reading Robert Frost

Accessory from the Pays Dogon



a poem a day keeps the spirit engaged

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Je suis une fille qui sais que
d'aimer trop sauve la vie. Je suis, je serai toujours, entraine d'etre sauvé pendant cette vie. Pourtant, la balance se cherche en tous que je touche. Mais pour l'amour, y aura jamais moins que tous. C'est ça, blank blank fullness

MogaYoga

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