Things are not what they seem to be:
pierce the veil and you'll see,
behind the worst defeat a victory,
a blessing that would remain a mystery,
had you not opened your third eye,
and raised your vibration high,
had you not seen
that things are not what they seem to be
and it takes blind-hearted people an eternity
until you've had enough of the BS
and built in your soul a fortress
to be found in the heart of the blossom,
rejoice and feel wholesome
just with a caress.
The storylines are jumbled,
tied in a knot
I try to untangle.
My mind is a jungle
where mythical beasts and fairies and witches
blow fire and tremble.
Who is the protagonist?
Am I the witch, the fairie or the dragon?
Because to me they all resemble.
roam the rooms upstairs,
I mean my mind,
I mean my brains.
But I can also feel them
at the center of the Self,
where the heart resides,
- they have a special shelf.
Which I dust with a feather
my Guardian Angel
plucked from his wing
for this unique endeavor.
A touch of divine
to clear the cobwebs
that reside in the mind
and don't let me sleep.
Past lives I've traveled,
paths have unraveled
I've looked down upon myself
- tired, disheveled,
to come up to this juncture:
am I up or down leveled?
Is it so crucial to determine
who's the winner of this battle
when I feel like I carry permanent scars
as tattos that set me apart,
and in itself it's a victory
to make of your lifetime...a work of art!
I want to finish later,
writing slated until
these feelings become dated.
I can't rely on pouring my heart out,
letting you in,
a now-estranged flower.
can take you far,
it takes cleansing these feelings
to fill in these lines.
It takes the presence of the Divine
for one to truly know themselves.
Before that presence,
before seeing myself
reflected in the eyes of God,
all I see is my shadow on the wall
of Plato's Cave.
The more time you spend in flow
the more of it becomes available to you.
So if you find yourself stuck,
let all the s**t that keeps you stuck go!
It's a simple philosophy
holding that nothing is more precious
than one's mental sanity
which indeed one cannot profit
without a good dose of its opposite:
I am breaking a Black Magic spell
that was cast upon me
with invisible, furtive tentacles
that were the most venomous.
What I feared, has already happened,
the Darkness poisoned my breath
but I learn to see through it breathless,
and manipulate its ill intent.
I learn to pull its threads,
before I am pulled by them
I weave, I cut and I tear
to see this viciousness to its end.
Like the weave of a Black Widow
it's fine, and subtly woven
in the fibers of my Self,
will I have to cut my own fabric
for the Black Magic to end?
We are connected by invisible threads
forming a quilt,
a global neural network.
We communicate through the shape
of our smiles,
or that of the wrinkles on our eyes
when we squint them,
but also through the sprint or heaviness in our step.
We talk through the exhaustion weighing down
or the vitality in our posture.
All of our being
expressing where we stand,
the position we hold,
on any question raised by the Universe.
We are punctuation marks,
and literary devices.
we are tools
in God's toolshed.
"I am burried under 1 million layers
of intergenerational dysfunction"
"No one can hear me
deep down into this grave".
And it was my scream
that made the layers of soil
and I saw myself lying
in a field of white tulips.
The sky above me,
I was free!
I only learned to see,
going through a Dark Night of the Soul.
I was blind
in the Light.
It's in the Shadow
that I found
my knowledge fount.
I bring it to the Light
and the rest is yet to see,
hoping to make history.
See how your life is a dream come true,
and let anything else
fall into the background.
You'll see how the pieces will fit together
of their own accord,
you got nothing to worry about.
The mystery solved,
the puzzle built
only for those who have eyes to love.
There is no happier ending
than a mission fulfilled.
Like a Saturday
after a critical work-week.
Or peace after a long drawn out war,
you'll never be the same,
but neither will the world.
Isn't that why we fight
our life's battles?
To rebirth the whole world
in the heart of a rose's petals?
To rebirth creation
wiith each birth on this planet,
It's the ultimate artistic expression
of the Almighty's palet.
It's being seen through the eyes of God,
in all Her Mercy,
it's being washed in sunlight,
that allows a flower to bloom.
Keep it in the shadow,
forgotten in a corner of your closet,
and it will turn into a graceless daughter
sorry little thing.
You are forgiven.
The chains that dragged you
to repeat a cycle of pain,
like a gladiator in a bloody arena,
have been removed by Divine Grace!
Go forth renewed:
Enjoy your freedom,
make new friends!
You have nothing to worry about:
I've cleansed the spiderwebs on the windowsill
of the big dining room windows,
where they created a horrid contrast
of something so dark,
in such a light-infused space.
Like weaklings of darkness,
they fled scared
from the faintest touch
of my duster made of light.
They were never a match
for the light-filled space
you have around you anyways.
They merely lingered
like remnants of a nightmare
that you've almost entirely forgotten,
lightly suspended in midair.
In the wake of my healing,
you are healed too,
like undoing a magic spell
that kept us bound,
on opposite ends
of the same black magic.
As I heal,
as I set myself free
from the black incantation,
we both open our eyes
to the true magic of creation.
And so it is...
I've experienced from the Universe a love so great,
that the only way I could give back
was by loving myself,
and loving the one
who would be of medicines the best,
for my soul lacking rest.
It feels my eyes with tears
to think of a love so immense
and the burden I've carried
becomes all of the sudden weightless
for all along it had been planned
that I would go through the trials
on which my salvation would depend,
and I would come out renewed,
and the deception would end.
It seems written in the stars,
but could it be,
that I'm the writer
and the written is also me?
I go without a map,
for the one I had been given
took me in no place I wanted to be.
Like a bat,
I travel by echo-location,
closeness to particular life-forms
determines if I stay or I leave.
The destination marked
on the map I tore up
emerges like a volcano
about to erupt.
I travel away from it,
but no Promised Land was promissed to me
except from the one I carry within.
I travel between frequencies
and my Soul is contained by their molds,
but in itself is not molded,
ready to expand and shift shape
as soon as the container is switched.
As capable of being molded,
as air can be.
I've done away with fear.
It still lies there in my existential toolbox,
but it's idle,
it's not being used,
and the more I leave it lying there,
every time I choose a different agent
to build my bubble of a life,
it shrinks and shrivels a little more.
The big monster, becoming a discrete moth of the night.
Please make this moment last forever,
please stretch it to cover the edges of eternity,
I prayed to my Inner Divinity.
The answer was:
Speak it into Reality!
for the subtle and significant waves
your heart-beat creates
in this quantum world,
that with or without your knowing,
have led me to live this moment
exactly where I Am,
exactly as I Am.
This, my fellow energy bearing entity,
this...is what a miracle feels like!
For that, you have my love!
Light like high, wispy clouds
in a bright blue sky,
is my heart
on this winter night.
I've found my freedom from strain.
I searched for it in the dark,
enchained by a thousand twists and turns of the free mind,
that were there to make it captive.
But I set myself free
and I glide upon
what before I had to carry.
for moving the gears inside my soul
the way you do.
For moving them so
it all unfolds
according to Divine Plan,
so the oyster opens up,
to reveal the pearl hidden within.
For if it wasn't for these shifts
you create in me,
I would never see
the immense universe latent
in a grain of sand.
I would never see,
that I hold the Universe in my hand.
The walls in which I am/was contained,
the laws of karma that defined my existence,
are thinning out.
They falter the moment I set
my third eye on them,
like in quantum mechanics:
a phenomenon varies
based on the presence or absence of an observer.
is both alive and dead,
until someone sets their eyes on her.
Physics and spirituality meet,
in a major feat
of Universal Beingness.
Learning lessons out of suffering
is the pay-back
like a cancer
until your consciousness is blotted out,
until you can't breathe.
So the cure to pain
is to find patterns in it,
and respond by modifying them into new ones
until what you have here
is a life worthy of that name,
which you transformed from pain.
the inner flame to keep alive,
like a severely wounded warrior
who doesn't let himself be craddled
in the arms of slumber,
because she wants to stay alive!
To be able to caress these treasures
with bare hands,
taking in their full splendor,
without the many barricades of Ego deceit
is the reward I get
for following the voice within,
or following the crumbs of bread
that like Hansel & Grettel
in the forest of virtual "reality"
to help me find my way back Home
to the Promised Land
of those who spend
a lifetime seeking,
only to discover
that what they were after
was always within.
Stuck in slow-mo,
I try to make a move
but air is thicker than Jello.
I pull on the threads
--the strings the puppeteer dropped--
nothing like a puppet putting up a show...
"What makes me dance?"
The walls my inner cry echo,
but the puppeteer left long ago.
I want to animate this cloth I'm made off,
the burning desire is strong,
Where did I go wrong?
The puppet blames herself
for being left on the shelf,
by a man's big Ego.