"Death is no enemy, but the foundation of gratitude, sympathy, and art. Of all life's pleasures, only love owes no debt to death."
these great dis-united states have poisoned the well of the world
not to place blame
but
oh wave that flag of capitalism, Mr. Smith
o'er a land shifting faster than we can stand
that's just the dawning of the age of
information
dis-information too
but these cameras don't lie and you can try to hide the truth
but once one heart wakes up
there's no turning back,
no turning back
that wave will eat others up
and waking up
hung over
after too many bright lights,
pretty little lies packaged like lifelines
the soul begins to shake
and we flush it out
beat it out
the sugar rush has left the kids down and
the mommas on wine
and the daddies can't control their minds
both heads spinning with the sads
pop them pills,
hear em ca-ching for your partner in crime
holding a knife, waiting for you to die,
but not too fast let him get another stack
and the itch traveled faster than we could plan
to the great not-so-distant wisdom lands
ancient cultures awash with our left over glam
scraps of cloth, metal, and fads
can you blame them?
we hid the fall out so well
now we're slaves to the ones we bound
the Japs and Paks, the land of Mao and Tao
veins of culture we can't break down,
but here comes the new wave now
they bought what we sold and
wouldn't you know
made it better, faster, stronger
cause we poisoned the well, the well, the well of the world
well, what are we to do
no land to return to
as long as we keep running on false fuel
mo' material solutions
mo' problems
wake up sleeping souls
and turn on those dreaming parts of your brains
activate the only truth worth riding on
harmony my brother
harmony my sister
from every cell
every job and station
harmony with the sky
harmony with the earth
harmony between every nation
harmony with the only ONE
worth, worthy, the corrupted word
the big G
in your heart,
a personality,
a wave of energy
yes, all three,
the holy trinity
it's all any of this is worth
you can't feed a family on violence in the name of greed
you can't sustain a life on chasing lies
the tides are turning
swim to a holy shore
or drown in the poison
forever more
[I wrote this in November of 2015. It feels like a draft I wouldn't mind sharing. The last sentence is as true now as it was then; as it might always be for me...]
Lately I've been having flashbacks to a time in my life when I couldn't help myself. I couldn't say no to the offers, to the wants disguised as needs. Part of me wanted to and part of me didn't. Part of me tried to hold back and part of me let go, held on tighter to the comfort of darkness; the night hours, the sex, the partying, drinking, and substances that could've killed me, clinging to the one who I swore was the one who might save me. I had moments then when I'd step outside long enough to know that I wasn't doing right. But I just couldn't help it. It was as if there was a hand on my back guiding me, pushing me further and further along. There was seemingly no way to step out of reach of that hand.
I've been remembering one night in particular. I chose to stay home. I knew he would be there and that it would be another chance to lose myself in the haze, to throw off the shroud of solitude and wrap myself in my friends and maybe some love. It would be an easy way to pass the night, an opportunity to edge in closer to him, uncover who he kept hidden during the day. I stayed home instead.
There was no internet in my apartment. I was tucked in a cul de sac of Paris, gardens around my bedroom and a gate on my kitchen window where I'd stand as the tea kettle heated, winking past the bars at the crescent in the sky, night dreaming. I paced my place, desk to bed to kitchen to closet to bathroom. I must have done a face mask, organized my closet, left a mess, gone to the kitchen to get a snack, then to my laptop to organize my iTunes, which, in many ways, was his iTunes. I labeled his playlists, black sharpie on CD ROMs transferred to some digital order. 'Breathe, Stretch, Shake'. Flopped down on my bed and flipped through that giant book on Buddhism I borrowed from the school library. I distinctly remember reading about the sole items monks own: a begging bowl, a few saffron cloths, a razor... I was impressed, but bored.
Something burned in me that night, especially before I'd received the "where you at?" text. It burned less after that. My mind kept nudging me to imagine what they were all doing. Was there a new girl that showed up? A friend of a friend perhaps... she'd probably be hitting on him. Burn. Whatever, you've got to do you. Burn. It's only 10:45?? Burn.
I realize now that it wasn't really me. It wasn't true, although it felt and seemed and was so real.
The shitty part was waking up with anxiety, a feeling of dread in my belly and an unending rolling-in of questions, thoughts, possibilities, and the unknown.
Being so far away from it now, I realize that it was the weed hangover. The serotonin depletion from too much all-night Parisian partying. But this morning I woke up with a similar feeling of distance and dread and I haven't touched that stuff in a decade. And so I'm wondering; is it a lunar thing, a planetary cycle, a life cycle? Or perhaps my soul hinting to me that I'm off the path and I've gone too far. The aching and pain is the sign to get back. I'm invested in a worthwhile project. I'm giving my life and mind and time, all of it. But something's yanking at my hem. Something's being ignored in exchange for what's worthy and needing my all.
There's something in me that is begging to be excavated and put to work.
I've been remembering one night in particular. I chose to stay home. I knew he would be there and that it would be another chance to lose myself in the haze, to throw off the shroud of solitude and wrap myself in my friends and maybe some love. It would be an easy way to pass the night, an opportunity to edge in closer to him, uncover who he kept hidden during the day. I stayed home instead.
There was no internet in my apartment. I was tucked in a cul de sac of Paris, gardens around my bedroom and a gate on my kitchen window where I'd stand as the tea kettle heated, winking past the bars at the crescent in the sky, night dreaming. I paced my place, desk to bed to kitchen to closet to bathroom. I must have done a face mask, organized my closet, left a mess, gone to the kitchen to get a snack, then to my laptop to organize my iTunes, which, in many ways, was his iTunes. I labeled his playlists, black sharpie on CD ROMs transferred to some digital order. 'Breathe, Stretch, Shake'. Flopped down on my bed and flipped through that giant book on Buddhism I borrowed from the school library. I distinctly remember reading about the sole items monks own: a begging bowl, a few saffron cloths, a razor... I was impressed, but bored.
Something burned in me that night, especially before I'd received the "where you at?" text. It burned less after that. My mind kept nudging me to imagine what they were all doing. Was there a new girl that showed up? A friend of a friend perhaps... she'd probably be hitting on him. Burn. Whatever, you've got to do you. Burn. It's only 10:45?? Burn.
I realize now that it wasn't really me. It wasn't true, although it felt and seemed and was so real.
The shitty part was waking up with anxiety, a feeling of dread in my belly and an unending rolling-in of questions, thoughts, possibilities, and the unknown.
Being so far away from it now, I realize that it was the weed hangover. The serotonin depletion from too much all-night Parisian partying. But this morning I woke up with a similar feeling of distance and dread and I haven't touched that stuff in a decade. And so I'm wondering; is it a lunar thing, a planetary cycle, a life cycle? Or perhaps my soul hinting to me that I'm off the path and I've gone too far. The aching and pain is the sign to get back. I'm invested in a worthwhile project. I'm giving my life and mind and time, all of it. But something's yanking at my hem. Something's being ignored in exchange for what's worthy and needing my all.
There's something in me that is begging to be excavated and put to work.
|
Walking around this beautiful place, on my own, statuesque as I catch a glimpse of myself with a sidelong glance, the mirrored glass in the storefronts I pass. Flowered dress, tailored and prim. Dressed down with flats and a canvas sling. Saturday and I emerged at noon, the sun burning into already darkened skin. All these things whirling in my head. I feel so strong, and my body is too, so much so, is it too much for my own good? Bracing myself, lonely yet free. The flowers soften it all, or perhaps heighten the air, that I'm so hard to get, living somewhere up there. An island, an island, sometimes it feels like I'm an island. But less than before, now I don't long for a shipwreck to land on my shores. Nothing to fix, no one to be, except for whatever it is I need to be for me (and He, I guess, I try, I leave room for that piece of the pie). I say it's a phase, and take advantage of this time, the flight, the ease, the space that's all mine. But that night as I lay, alone on my journey, an old friend calls with news and what seems like an answer to the wondering. As he speaks I catch sight of nature, doing it's thing, in the corner of the ceiling, a bug gets caught and it's dinner for the hungry. It's ironic, he muses about love and men, me and my strength, "Don't take this badly, because it's not, but I can't see you with anyone, you're too strong for the lot. Heterosexual men are not deep and smart enough." And I sigh. But there must be! At least one... There's the answer, the intuition with it's calling, nature, doing it's thing. We can try to interrupt it, but darling, what good would that bring?
sticking around when the one you love turns their back on you.
I just watched Stephen Colbert tell the story about how he knew his wife was the one. And he tested her by letting her go, turned his back and gave her the chance to get away. When he turned back around, she was still there. Smiling.
Love is sticking around when they turn their back on you; not in a disempowered, weak way, but when you know in your gut that sticking to it is worth it.
I just watched Stephen Colbert tell the story about how he knew his wife was the one. And he tested her by letting her go, turned his back and gave her the chance to get away. When he turned back around, she was still there. Smiling.
Love is sticking around when they turn their back on you; not in a disempowered, weak way, but when you know in your gut that sticking to it is worth it.
there's a fountain at the end of my breath
which I can only swim in on the exhale
so I breath in, a necessary sacrifice,
to immerse my being in the amniotic fluid
the hum
of holding out at the top
waiting
feeling
diving deep
and then finally,
letting go
only to rise again
which I can only swim in on the exhale
so I breath in, a necessary sacrifice,
to immerse my being in the amniotic fluid
the hum
of holding out at the top
waiting
feeling
diving deep
and then finally,
letting go
only to rise again
That feeling when you wake up happy
It seems to descend
No, it doesn't come from within, necessarily
But sure, that's where you feel it
A perfect storm
Of sunlight streaming in
Skin
Remnants of a dream, inconsequential
A blank slate,
Regardless of to-dos and to-sees
It's fleeting, as most things are
But it has time
Takes its own
And whether or not you are
Alone
You don't feel
Alone
Somewhat all together
This sweet morning happiness
Fills
Sweet soul, you might be angry or sad. Please have compassion for me. I break things. I don't trust sometimes and I'm still learning how to trust myself. As solid as I am, I'm also so soft. So sensitive. Needing things impetuously and warily. Grateful yet wondering. Waiting for the shoe to drop. Well I tossed the old bugger didn't I? Ripped it from the roots. A lonely insole floating in the same space lost socks do.
Pity me if you will, whatever might get through to that part of you that you're still mending, might always be mending. It's hard.
It keeps things interesting, at least. I try to spin it.
We mend on the go, in the dark nights after long, exhausting weeks. Amidst crowds, circles, crickets. S p a c e. We have more in common than maybe either of us let on (words say less than knowing, feeling does).
And the to-do lists and the ambition and the hunger to run won't ever let up, I reckon. Blinded by this life.
I misrepresented myself. Or maybe it was just that I was perfectly honest, entirely too vulnerable, showing you the little parts that are otherwise displayed after some time. I tend to do that, work in reverse. Sew it back up. And really, I don't show much at all, shy somehow. Cut me open.
Like a gordian knot in pandora's box.
The irony is that while I don't entirely trust men, I'm all-too gullible. I take people at face value in one moment (and turn around and declare the whole racket a conspiracy). It's not an issue, it's who I am.
You threw these contradictions in my face and as subtle as the toss, it landed; as if anyone is perfectly clear on the inside. As if anyone can stand there with feelings swirling and turn their cheek in denial of a little brokenness. Maybe you do, or maybe you just didn't want to catch it.
Oh, I weave. Imagination for days. It's my bread and butter. The vege meat and potatoes of that landscape that, with the passing of time, gets broader and broader, harder and harder to pin down, share in reasonable stretches of time. It's probably why people used to settle down so soon. Less to drag into the whole shebang. Doesn't matter does it, you still keep painting; hills, forests, mountains, valleys, oceans.
And me, I can unpack for the rest of my life. But I also have so much on my plate. So maybe no, I can't unpack (oh but that's where IT is). I have to keep going. And life -- that getting to know, learn, understand; it's really just holding all the bits of yourself together as little trinkets, memories, inside jokes; each one valuable whether beautiful or ugly. Finding hope in the possibility that at the end of the day, you are the one you've been waiting for. Forgetfulness and scrapbooks and all.
It seems so easy for other people. It's never really easy for me. Or if it is, I drop it and run as fast as I can. Me and everyone else....
This was different. Clear yet foggy. Tense yet clear. I had to shake it up. Take control somehow. Take back my gift. It was too good. Too soon. I'm impatient. Hasty. Full of grace yet graceless in the moment passion knocks on my heart, or simply knocks my head off my shoulders. Perhaps this lesson learned can be returned, rewound. For real this time.
Perhaps its good exists only in the future. At some far-off destination where it belongs. With the right one.
So I guess we'll stand with loneliness in our hands, for a bit, for a while. For however long it takes to take back the reigns and with a little more ease, relinquish control in just the right way.
Pity me if you will, whatever might get through to that part of you that you're still mending, might always be mending. It's hard.
It keeps things interesting, at least. I try to spin it.
We mend on the go, in the dark nights after long, exhausting weeks. Amidst crowds, circles, crickets. S p a c e. We have more in common than maybe either of us let on (words say less than knowing, feeling does).
And the to-do lists and the ambition and the hunger to run won't ever let up, I reckon. Blinded by this life.
I misrepresented myself. Or maybe it was just that I was perfectly honest, entirely too vulnerable, showing you the little parts that are otherwise displayed after some time. I tend to do that, work in reverse. Sew it back up. And really, I don't show much at all, shy somehow. Cut me open.
Like a gordian knot in pandora's box.
The irony is that while I don't entirely trust men, I'm all-too gullible. I take people at face value in one moment (and turn around and declare the whole racket a conspiracy). It's not an issue, it's who I am.
You threw these contradictions in my face and as subtle as the toss, it landed; as if anyone is perfectly clear on the inside. As if anyone can stand there with feelings swirling and turn their cheek in denial of a little brokenness. Maybe you do, or maybe you just didn't want to catch it.
Oh, I weave. Imagination for days. It's my bread and butter. The vege meat and potatoes of that landscape that, with the passing of time, gets broader and broader, harder and harder to pin down, share in reasonable stretches of time. It's probably why people used to settle down so soon. Less to drag into the whole shebang. Doesn't matter does it, you still keep painting; hills, forests, mountains, valleys, oceans.
And me, I can unpack for the rest of my life. But I also have so much on my plate. So maybe no, I can't unpack (oh but that's where IT is). I have to keep going. And life -- that getting to know, learn, understand; it's really just holding all the bits of yourself together as little trinkets, memories, inside jokes; each one valuable whether beautiful or ugly. Finding hope in the possibility that at the end of the day, you are the one you've been waiting for. Forgetfulness and scrapbooks and all.
It seems so easy for other people. It's never really easy for me. Or if it is, I drop it and run as fast as I can. Me and everyone else....
This was different. Clear yet foggy. Tense yet clear. I had to shake it up. Take control somehow. Take back my gift. It was too good. Too soon. I'm impatient. Hasty. Full of grace yet graceless in the moment passion knocks on my heart, or simply knocks my head off my shoulders. Perhaps this lesson learned can be returned, rewound. For real this time.
Perhaps its good exists only in the future. At some far-off destination where it belongs. With the right one.
So I guess we'll stand with loneliness in our hands, for a bit, for a while. For however long it takes to take back the reigns and with a little more ease, relinquish control in just the right way.
|
I woke up with my insecurities and mind-stories lingering as dream. Bits and pieces from the past few weeks of reality mingled with fever programming. Night sweats in an indigo caftan, with intermittent jolting awake in a coughing fit, sleep's become a tangle of sheets, tissues, phlegm and vague hallucination. The X's and O's, 1's and 0's, colored my transition to awake with a hazy blush. A blush of desire or anger?, it's too close to call...
How could it have gotten this far, in just the tiny few inches of my headspace? It does stretch further than the eye can fathom doesn't it? The mind... How was I going to get the answers I needed?
I woke at 6:24am to the alarm. And then to a snoozed alarm. And then to my friend leaving. And finally to the irritating dream that was him kissing me goodbye to go on a date with some unknown other (was there one, was he seeing others? It's unknown) and forgetting my name. But his face was that of a comedian. He makes me laugh. I did enjoy turning on my heel and walking away, throwing up a middle finger without looking back. Redemption through alienation, how bittersweet indeed. The ego is fucking sticky. Especially in dreams.
How am I going to tell him all this? No -- you can't fucking tell him any of this! Be cool. Ugh I'm tired of being cool! And the ping pong goes on...
I finally woke up. Called my sister in Berlin. No response. Text my friend in the Middle East for advice, the check marks still grey by her name. Tick tock. The blanket like a weight I gave into, not yet ready to make anything of this day; I turned over again. A vague resolution to make it to the coffee shop, out of this apartment, eventually, at least, hung over my obstinance.
I didn't write back to A or J or give into K's advances for this guy. I deleted Tinder. Fuck. I like him. He's probably got some other chick. Or maybe a few. Oh God. Am I alone in this?!
But I can't fucking tell him. Yet. How the hell. This is torture. (Sweet and definitely maddening). Another giant indicator that massive shifts are afoot. And my rib cage rattles thunder in cough. It's all breaking down.
I just want to get in an RV with him and drive away. But first, who's gonna text and break the silence?
And questions of negligence to my own cause shoot up like arrows from my own back. I shot them, like boomerangs they followed me as I ran from the answers. Ran to some blank page in my journal where figuring it out might take place. But I pace from the stove to my typewriter to bang out halting refrains. We could make good music together I bet... And the phone rings.
"You never call me betch. Ew.", I drawl. My sister. She commiserates while at the same time sighing in relief that she doesn't have to date in this crazy climate of flaky whatever the fuck.
I end up breaking the ice. It all seems fine, of course, with his sweet replies. And that inner gnawing is softened some... Until next time the pressure in my head becomes too much.
Oh God do I love this shit? Only as much as it lets me know I care... Isn't there a better way?
I took sugar in my coffee. I need some sweetness. I kind-of rejected it from him. Or at least teasingly chided him for sending me a funny video after I announced in a panicked, emoji-laced text that OMG Prince. I don't do this well do I?
I said I wasn't going to drink coffee anymore. I managed to throw on some clothes and rise out from under this upper respiratory flu shiz to walk to the coffee shop.
Goddamn the weather's fucking beautiful.
I think I get it now why some people just stay checked-out in life. It keeps them from realizing too much, from the fall that eventually comes with the head trip. I wrote some depressing shiz in my journal -- "Adulthood is realizing whatever choice you make, you're trapped." Who the hell do I--? I get it now. Why being too smart for my own good is shite. So I vacillate between a rote daily grind of actions I know I can tackle and handle and ace and casting aside that basic-ness in exchange for the desperate creation of what I'm not sure I can own (it's not mine to own) but must at least try to tame, hone in on, extract, play with. Fuck. Sometimes you just need to fuck the truth out of yourself.
Or fuck yourself back onto the path.
Keep walking.
|
Light in the world—
World in the mind—
Mind in the heart—
Heart in the night.
Pain in the day—
Strength in the pain—
Light in the strength—
World in the light.
- Owen Barfield
If you want to change the world… love a woman, just one woman.
Love and protect her as if she is the last holy vessel.
Love her through her fear of abandonment
which she has been holding for all of humanity.
No, the wound is not hers to heal alone.
If you want to change the world… love a woman
all the way through
until she believes you,
until her instincts, her visions, her voice, her art, her passion,
her wildness have returned to her-
until she is a force of love more powerful
than all the political media demons who seek to devalue and destroy her.
If you want to change the world,
lay down your causes, your guns and protest signs.
Lay down your inner war, your righteous anger
and love a woman…
beyond all of your striving for greatness,
beyond your tenacious quest for enlightenment.
The holy grail stands before you
if you would only take her in your arms
and let go of searching for something beyond this intimacy.
If you want to change the world…love a woman
to the depths of your shadow,
to the highest reaches of your Being,
back to the Garden where you first met her,
to the gateway of the rainbow realm
where you walk through together as Light as One,
to the point of no return,
to the ends and the beginning of a new Earth.
-Lisa Citore
Love and protect her as if she is the last holy vessel.
Love her through her fear of abandonment
which she has been holding for all of humanity.
No, the wound is not hers to heal alone.
If you want to change the world… love a woman
all the way through
until she believes you,
until her instincts, her visions, her voice, her art, her passion,
her wildness have returned to her-
until she is a force of love more powerful
than all the political media demons who seek to devalue and destroy her.
If you want to change the world,
lay down your causes, your guns and protest signs.
Lay down your inner war, your righteous anger
and love a woman…
beyond all of your striving for greatness,
beyond your tenacious quest for enlightenment.
The holy grail stands before you
if you would only take her in your arms
and let go of searching for something beyond this intimacy.
If you want to change the world…love a woman
to the depths of your shadow,
to the highest reaches of your Being,
back to the Garden where you first met her,
to the gateway of the rainbow realm
where you walk through together as Light as One,
to the point of no return,
to the ends and the beginning of a new Earth.
-Lisa Citore
Get Out Of The Materialism Trap NOWDo you own things or do things own you?Channel: http://youtube.com/erinjanusMailing List: http://www.erinjanus.infoTwitter: http://twitter.com/erinjanus
Posted by Erin Janus on Sunday, April 3, 2016
|
It's funny when you come across random writing you quickly composed months ago, thinking not much of it, and are like "huh, that ain't too bad"
Maybe I'm a silly idealist, but in my heart, I know that this is the realest.
For Tomorrow from Kriyate on Vimeo.
|
I planted the creeper of love
And silently watered it with my tears
Now it has grown and overspread my dwelling
You offered me a cup of poison
Which I drank with joy.
- Mirabai
And silently watered it with my tears
Now it has grown and overspread my dwelling
You offered me a cup of poison
Which I drank with joy.
- Mirabai
Saul Williams... have loved his poetry-in-sound since I first got a taste in 2004. Classy and classic - a pure mix of goodness - rhymes, beats, instruments, feeling. Consummate artistE. There's a message, an emotion, a connection in his work that satisfies because it's not about self-aggrandizement or pandering. Nor is it simply a new twist on the least common denominator. He's an ORIGINAL. Elevates the game!
Anyway, I hadn't heard much from him lately and came across this most recent interview. It's so refreshing to watch and hear someone speak who is clearly thinking and thinking clearly before words come out of his mouth. Articulate, intelligent, cuts to the heart. Plus his voice is fresh!
Be inspired:
EDITED TO ADD SO GOOD:
For writers/thinkers/artists ;)
Anyway, I hadn't heard much from him lately and came across this most recent interview. It's so refreshing to watch and hear someone speak who is clearly thinking and thinking clearly before words come out of his mouth. Articulate, intelligent, cuts to the heart. Plus his voice is fresh!
Be inspired:
EDITED TO ADD SO GOOD:
For writers/thinkers/artists ;)
In this world of reversed order, where contradiction, quarrel, and hypocrisy abound, we must each take it upon ourselves to go deeper. We must each step forward with strength sourced in faith that there is something, there must be something better -- for ourselves, for each other. We must each hold the magnifying glass up to our personal habits and face the music, asking: is my way of life sustainable, truthful, inspired, joy-inducing? And we must do this every. Single. Day.
Go deeper.
This process must not be avoided for fear of difficulty, boredom or failure. Indeed, once engaged with, this process can only liberate the chains of unconscious habits and relationships, dis-ease. It can but lift us higher and higher, while rooting us deeper and deeper. It may require the abandonment of toxic people, places and practices but there’s no shortage of health and true happiness to replace those things.
Go deeper.
This process of examination and honest aspiration is the natural way of life, and as we are faced with so many unnatural manipulations of mind, body, Earth, community — it is the only way to evolve, even as entropy beats down the door of life.
With each day, reclaim the vow to examine and apply change with an eye towards purification, harmony, tolerance, and love — the kind of love that seeks to serve and appreciate.
Purify. Appreciate. Serve.
Repeat.
Go deeper.
Examine your eating habits; not with a vain eye, seeking to obtain (to then flaunt) a so-called perfect body, but with a holistic mind, seeking to address the source, sanctity and sustainability of our body-fuel.
Go deeper in your self-care. Have you been going on unconsciously? Swept up in the day-to-day survival and frenzy of providing, sheltering, caring for others? Or worse, selfishly indulging in temporary pleasures that are undoubtedly wreaking havoc on your organs, vitality, wherewithal and happiness?
Go deeper.
Insist on time for personal reflection, prayer, meditation and education. Our minds should be serving us. The mind is a terrible master. We should hesitate to fall prey to the wandering, speculation, back-talk of the mind, following it into trap after trap, dead end after dead end.
Go deeper.
When you do meditate, pray, reflect, intend; seek the cause of all causes and communicate there. Insist on an honest inspection, a consistent conversation. When the mind wants to take you to easy, hurtful, untruthful BS: stick to your guns and come back to the mantra, breath, heart. GO DEEPER.
Go deeper.
Tolerate the intolerable; the external situations that seem to have been imposed upon you, the why me? Say thank you, look for the lane to get up and get out and go deeper. Give respect to all others, and, here’s the clincher: EXPECT NONE FOR YOURSELF.
These are age-old, time-tested directives. Grab em and go deeper.
Stare fear in the face and be generous. Generous with kind thoughts, generous with kind words, generous with kind actions. Seek to compliment on something other than surface. While a “cute shoes” is kind, a “I really appreciate you in my life” helps the system in a deeper way. Try it.
This is not one and done. This is day in and day out. There is no limit to the bank of kindness.
Go deeper.
We can see the alternatives around us everywhere. It’s no longer acceptable to go on unconsciously, accepting darkness as light and light as darkness. We can’t ignore the need to go deeper, live smarter, be better; not in some vain way to impress or attract followers but in the fullest way, to clean up the pollution of so much wasted life lived in selfishness and fear.
Go deeper.
Money. How do you earn it?
Time. How do you spend it?
Sex. How do you give it?
Be selective.
Educate yourself in the macro and micro. Get to know yourself inside and get to know the truth outside. The subjective and the Absolute — harmonize them. Let them also stand side by side, simultaneously one and different. Accept you cannot understand it All. Accept that there is something greater than you. Then serve it.
Go deeper.
Abandon false prophets, false idols, false traditions; be wary of flash (as shiny, cool or nonchalant as it may dress itself up to be) and be impeccable in your search for knowledge and truth — when you seek it, the real deal will make its way to you, and you to it. Then — yep, you guessed it:
Go deeper.
Revolutionize your experience of fun. Reject the artificial. You probably know it, as it’s the status quo, and it takes so much tiresome effort and ego. Instead, embrace a permaculture solution i.e.; something that feeds the system it comes from.
Align yourself with an eternal identity.
You are not your body, gender, race, nationality, political party. The only way to true equality is to recognize and identify with the unifying force underneath all the masks. We are, each one of us, spirit soul: sparks of consciousness, bliss, eternality and truth. Let’s drop the labels and see the soul in each being; each human, each animal, each precious plant. If it’s born, grows, decays and dies -- behind it lies a spirit soul.
To see with this vision is truly revolutionary. Adopt it, share it and… go deeper.
Please join me in this pledge. I need you. The world needs you. The Real YOU needs you.
Let's go deeper.
In the midst of an immersive time
here and now, I feel the call to come and spill, a little something I've picked up along the way, this way that's been stretching on for years,
what's so special about this day?
Well, nothing
And yet,
Everything...
I miss writing
I miss it
And yet I won't do it.
Well here I am
stealing a little time from the stolen
to just do it.
A simple call...
Mostly, I miss that emotion
pouring through finger tips that makes you want to go go go and say it with words
like a swift river current, electrifying my body
setting fire to my mind and all the little shells and stones its collected to string together when some decorating is due
I wish I could share everything I've been taking in with you
Like a magnifying glass, the expression back illuminates when the taste is shared
and when it lands.
We're all in a band, old familiar friends
just looking for the bass to your drum to my guitar
to your cymbals to His keys
the key to harmony
is taking stock,
look how much we've hoarded and consumed
how clear is your palette?
there's no undo
on that computer of your mind
so be a little selective
of what goes inside
and whatever it may be,
may it match the tune of your heart
so your whole life
is a symphony in step,
a wonderful outstretched hand
offering gifts no man can't understand
here and now, I feel the call to come and spill, a little something I've picked up along the way, this way that's been stretching on for years,
what's so special about this day?
Well, nothing
And yet,
Everything...
I miss writing
I miss it
And yet I won't do it.
Well here I am
stealing a little time from the stolen
to just do it.
A simple call...
Mostly, I miss that emotion
pouring through finger tips that makes you want to go go go and say it with words
like a swift river current, electrifying my body
setting fire to my mind and all the little shells and stones its collected to string together when some decorating is due
I wish I could share everything I've been taking in with you
Like a magnifying glass, the expression back illuminates when the taste is shared
and when it lands.
We're all in a band, old familiar friends
just looking for the bass to your drum to my guitar
to your cymbals to His keys
the key to harmony
is taking stock,
look how much we've hoarded and consumed
how clear is your palette?
there's no undo
on that computer of your mind
so be a little selective
of what goes inside
and whatever it may be,
may it match the tune of your heart
so your whole life
is a symphony in step,
a wonderful outstretched hand
offering gifts no man can't understand
