breathing

I know that I am being tested. More like I asked to be tested. My deepest prejudices are being uncovered. I feel cut open and left bare. But I'm reveling in it! I don't really know how to explain it all. So why try. It's incredibly enough to feel it. There's something happening here. Inside of me. And some of it outside :) And I'm filled with this feeling of being ALIVE. Breathing and breathe-ing.

There cannot be questions born, without the answers in waiting, somewhere, to be discovered. A treasure of answers are to be delivered to me in the next few hours. I can almost taste them. I have been following the maze and picking up the clues; diligently collecting and collating them. Studiously making my observations. It all makes sense. I'm standing under the waterfall now. Refreshed. Thrilled by the eureka moments that life is throwing my way. Aha! I say. A-Ha! Indeed. Thou art Most Beneficent.

spin cycle

There's a gain and a loss in every one of our encounters in life. Whether it is that I am talking about the people we might meet or the events that transpire; also the opportunities that come our way.

I have an eternal cycle of reflection going on in my head - kind of like a washing machine - and in meaning to rinse and cleanse, this process almost always ends up putting me in a spin.. (pun intended, of course!) Hence the often (seemingly) disorderly thoughts.

I am asking for Your Mercy,

somedays I wonder if you hear it...

this plea..

this hope.

this effort.

Or is this Wisdom

beyond me;

tests-of-strength?

Unless it's in a queue,

in-waiting,

then it's okay.

It's enough.

Because You are enough;

for me.

bits of broken glass

bits of broken glass
lie in bitter crystals,
reflecting
odds of life
that were never had
accept in the flowing
lines of milk
that look like
a snorters envy
if u don't look carefully...

bits of glass
scattered on
the porcelain floor
were once a part of
something grand;
the pride of the
glass-blower,
the finery of the
lady of the house.

now fluted crystal
lies abandoned;
lacking arrogance,
reeling along
a shiny surface,
looking innocent
but lurking;
waiting for
bare footed carelessness
to trample over glittery specks-
now vengeful,
waiting
to reclaim
the blood and sweat
of it's maker.

bit's of glass
once fit for the mantle
are now turning to dust;
bit's of glass
once found joy in
grandiose delusion
are returning, home
to You.

Shhhhhh... Don't speak!

There are different kinds of silences. Sometimes, silence is like that clear pond that makes you want to look into its forever and ever kind of depths. It is still and deep and whole. It reminds you that you're linked in that still moment, to the beginning of time. It has that eternal feel about it. Sometimes, silence is a slap on the face. A gross act of retaliation. Nothing short of violence.

Mumbai's aftermath is a grating silence. The calm after the storm, so to speak. A symbol of shocking numb. The city is at a standstill. The problem with each of these varying kinds and degrees of silence is not in their base intentions or the reactive nature with which it may have begun. It is when silence is taken as a reason to point fingers and when it is seen as a weakness by those who will manipulate the space thus cultivated by it. It happens in the most petty instances. Politicians move in where there is panic, hoping to garner support for the next election. Other's with selfish intent use the space for silence as a tool to nurture their grab-all mentality.

In most cases thats what it comes down to; this warring for space and the right to impose ideals and ideologies on the world at large comes from a twisted kind of scarcity-consciousness. The mines-mines-mines mentality of the voyeuristic me-me-me.

Like I said, it happens in grave situations, and it happens in the most petty instances. Sometimes hundreds of lives are affected; other times only one or two. But it happens. And it hurts. It really does.

I don't know much about crisis management. And I have yet to fully embrace constructive grieving processes and networks of support. But I know this much: People who have that scarcity consciousness, who imagine that they should feel threatened by a particular status quo and who feel righted to upturn it in grossly violating ways, need to be weeded out from the thriving gardens of spirit and humanity that the rest of the conscious world wishes to cultivate.

And a momentary silence doesn't mean defeat; or admonishment. It is a moment to reflect. A time to grieve, and a reason to stand together and create those shifts in consciousness and infrastructure that will secure the future.

Silence isn't 'doing nothing'. It is healing. The calm before a revolutionary storm. At some point, all hypocrisy must die. Enough is enough. Eventually, only whats real will preside. The winds of change will make certain of it.

evolutionary, my dear

Minds are important things. I just had an evening visit with friends. And we got into this long winded discussion about minds. And survival. Of the fittest, that is. Fittest mind? Fittest soul? Not fittest ego, mind you.

Well it started out because we decided that we should measure some amount of emotional growth or change in ourselves. How, we asked, should we attempt to measure such a thing? Memories gave us a starting point. Then, as we moved along the years bringing us to a kind of resting point in the present day, all we needed to do was look back down the mountain we had climbed and to reflect. Sounds pretty easy hey. There were tons of moments for a laugh or a nice smiley memory. And since life never really lets us forget the stuff we'd rather not remember, yea there was room made for even that.

So many good memories. So many coincidences. So many mistakes. Thank heaven for mistakes! (They say some people marry others mistakes:P) Okay bygones. I can only think of one a relatively long time ago, and even then its only me making fun of things. Life is too short for regrets and what ifs. It is. Or it isn't. Thats as plain as day.

But one thing stands out for me in all of this. People need emotional compatibility. And intellect does not equate to emotional evolution. I have always been intrigued by a sharpened mind and a caustic wit. It takes some doing to be quick on your feet regards life, etc. And adding to that, a deep consciousness of self and humanity. Not ranting raving shows of purgatory. Just real humane respect for self and others. And a conscious disregard for naivete that makes one open to all forms of gross manipulation when you least expect it. Is that too much to ask for? I guess in some cases it is.

And in some cases... My mind, muse and fingers at keyboard are enticed to play a festive music to the stimuli of words and to tap-dance in tandum to the wit and mastery of The Mind. Green Geisha, I need your platform for further posts :P

...and love is the tool of healing...

Self-doubt is probably one of the most disasterous of man-made devices ever built. I imagine that it was first designed on some malfunctioning unit of human being, ready only to self-destruct or render itself to smithereens due to not liking the game being played. And so, the psyche beleagured, wrought the addition of a grand mutation in this form. Human beings were designed for love and Love. In no particular order. Love Creator and love creation. Simple as that. So then why oh why do we complicate matters so? Self-doubt questions worth. Diminished self-worth questions being. And purpose. We fail to see the divinity inherent in being part of that great thread of soul energy. Because thats all that we are. Energy. We are refueled by compassion, appreciation, and love. We are drained by self-doubt. Fear, pain, resentment, anger. All are children of self-doubt. Why do I keep harping on about this one icky little word? Its because by implication, doubting self causes a pain that is self-inflicted. And pain translates into anger. Self-processed. So theres no room for victimhood here. We're able to make the conscious choice. A proactiveness is required in being able to undo the self-flaggelation tactics. To get a grip, and see the harm that we wreak on self and surrounds. Crimson Shimmer's new poem says it well... Fear is the weapon of self-destruction... and it follows then, that Love is the tool of Healing...

I write these posts in reflection. And they are free-written with little thought of grammatical error or structure. I write as I feel. Or maybe these words are messages that my subconscious wants to reveal to me as lessons to self. I am not free of qualms and quirkinesses. I am, a work in progress. I just hope that I am learning from my own mistakes, that I am forgiven my many mistakes by those who I may have wronged... and I hope that I am able to discard the regrets and not hold resentment in the tiny space of my heart. If it must expand, then let that be with compassion. I have so much yet to learn. And there's so little time.

Thoughts are Real Forces

thoughts are real forces -
how do i know this?
because pain is the colour red
that flows to nothingness
only once the imagination has transformed it
by letting it
glide along the planes of the rainbow to a serene lilac;

thoughts are real forces to be reckoned with,
because they are empowered
by emotions,
become magnets of likeness
attracting
the good and the bad
of your psyche
and mirroring the dreams
and of fears of your soul.

and thoughts are real forces because
you can feel them,
taste them,
want to throw up last nights dinner
because of them
and be deeply seduced by them
all at once.

Indeed, thoughts are real forces
because
they
are your beginning
and your end.
Unless you master them.
Then you are the beginning and the end.
And they are the thread that you use
to weave your wishes and your dreams;

they are the thread
pulled through the needle of desire,
inspired by the vision of
a tapestry rich enough to
entice you,

and just enough to embrace
the hopes of all of humanity.

*******************************************************************************
Inspired by the words of John Kehoe and Robin Banks: (First Law of the Mind)