To be truly, fully present
Of consciousness and
answering why we are here,
These studies are a promising field of research
Yet by powerful backlash
research has halted
For severe depression and PTSD
Universities use micro-doses of psylocibin
Derived from mushrooms
It lowers stress and doesn’t
cause hallucinations
Follow up studies show dramatic improvement
of conditions not previously responsive
to conventional medications and therapies
This chemical is still widely banned
Except for a few controlled studies
Underway at accredited, renowned medical
and psychiatric departments
at major universities
When popular conventional
therapies prove ineffective
the 60’s and 70’s proved a fertile ground
for those seeking help
New age treatment called Primal Therapy,
When religious cults such as love Guru’s
Hare`Krishna mantras, Buddhist chants
of Nam-Myoho-renge-kio or being shakabukued
or Hollywood fix its— for anxiety’s
mental illness failed,
Came the psychotherapists
and the latest Primal Scream Therapy
new and experimental, so-called Hollywood therapists
took it to levels unimaginable and a bit too far
and should have never been licensed!
Waiting for unreal visuals to finally begin,
As I am also waiting for the real visuals to end,
Little do they all know this type of trance is not a new trend.
Isn't it just crazy
how we-
Yes, me and you
are going to walk through
Death's door one day?
We all will trip,
stumble, and slip
into an eternal void.
And we all try to avoid
so we bow and kneel, and pray.
And then we-
Yes, you and me,
Slide into a black
Unmoved because we lack the proper light.
Does that give you a proper fright?
As I move through each moment,
It feels as if time is taking me
and is scraping my being over the surface of existence.
Like chalk upon a chalkboard,
My substance is torn away.
I thin, shorten, and fade into nothing but a dusty mark left on the past.
I'm powerless to stop it. Too helpless to slow down.
Do I surrender or despair?
The only thing I can do is hope that there's enough of me to stretch,
to reach that thing I know I need.
It's growing closer now
and is still so far ahead.
I pray that there is enough of me
to reach to eternity.
Flip through the pages.
See the words, without meaning.
God is hidden there.
Rocking sun drips away like butter
Sunlight bleeds through curtains
in rose hung despair
Berry stained lips
taste sweet but
bloom as rare as
the seeds of packaged measure
she blended into poems
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