Line of inquiry:
The dream seems real since we don a form,
borrowed from elements of that domain,
but if we simply chose not to conform,
we wake up when desires to rest are lain. - Unseeking Seeker
This ungainly body of flesh and bone
disintegrating slowly year by year . . .
it’s not my physique that I wish to own
once I let go and see new life appear
This shell I wear composed of elements
covers organs, and it must be fed.
It’s not the bearer of my sentiments,
and surely I’ll not miss it when I’m dead.
Unencumbered by this outer shell,
I could be the free translucent me.
I’d float; I’d soar; I’d go where angels dwell.
Embraced by light and love I long to be.
Line of inquiry:
The dream seems real since we don a form,
borrowed from elements of that domain,
but if we simply chose not to conform,
we wake up when desires to rest are lain.
________________________________________________
Life, seen sweet and scented is just a dream
Schemes planned prior, cruel Fate may rearrange.
The ground we stay on is not solid as it may seem
Everything is fickle and fleeting, subject to change.
We build concrete structures in stone and steel
Thinking their strength will never give way
But they may totter under Time’s spinning wheel
And collapse into rubble, ruin and ultimate decay.
Conform to the dictates of one’s Conscience.
Stoke the embers of light glimmering inside.
In everything seek, God’s benign guidance,
Not to drift like hollow husk over the tide.
What seems solid and stable are things of fragility
So, never get duped by the illusion of solidity.
He refused to conform~ that rebel
Stayed in trouble which was terrible
Now in old age pays the wage
Lives in regret, inside now his stage
God paid the price he won't land pell-mell.
Physical reality feels heavy, permanent and real,
but is actually a temporary form, like a dream;
the dreams feels real because our mind made it,
from the physical world- it is a trick in believing.
But if we chose to not conform we wake up,
the moment we stop clinging and striving;
and let go of attachments and ego desires,
the illusion fades- wake up from the dream.
Wake up to a deeper, more spiritual reality,
a reality where wants and needs are quiet;
we realize this temporary existence is a phase,
desires and attachments are powerful anchors.
Only in awakening and letting go of ego,
can we let go of the material junk in life;
life is an illusion, a misleading image,
it deceives like a magician's sleight of hand.
Flowing river, pooling puddles, sloppy drip.
Hold me warm
until I’m nothing but water.
Caress me, and I will give life to your earth.
Seeping blood into your veins
and rejuvenating your soul.
Then leave.
Because one day I will wake
without you beside me,
and the world will be so cold.
My rains will hail,
my lakes will freeze.
I will be ice
just to survive.
My winter will kill the life sowed.
I am only hard for so long,
until Spring springs,
as she does.
Her sweet charm
breaks me, soothing me back.
I will be a flowing river again.
It began as tone—
no origin,
no end—
a chord mistaken for a world made whole.
A held vibration gathered into shape;
harmonics thickened into edges felt,
and silence filled with structures made of sound.
A pattern looping through a field of noise,
hoping repetition made it true.
Desire tuned the body into pitch,
insisted on a key, a fixed resolve,
refusing dissonance its right to pass.
But slowly, the will releases intervals;
resolutions drift without a home, and rhythm slips its measure into air.
Overtones collapse to quieter threads;
no struck glass shivering into light,
no instrument remains to house the sound.
No echo left to gather into form
only the unheard,
unstruck,
unheld
a silence
prior to all music,
where nothing ever
needed
to be shaped.
A painted smile,
A hollow laugh that rings too true,
Bright, blinding eyes,
That weave a gorgeous lie for you.
A borrowed hug,
That feigns a warmth it cannot hold,
And sugar words,
To trap you in a web of gold.
Sweet, fleeting hours,
That hide the rage they try to drown,
A heavy truth,
That wears a lovely, lying crown.
Contest Name: Illusion of solidity
Line of inquiry:
The dream seems real since we don a form,
borrowed from elements of that domain,
but if we simply chose not to conform,
we wake up when desires to rest are lain.
Illusion of solidity
Once I saw you waiting, seated there for me,
And every day our silent love grew quietly.
Your scent stayed with my soul in every part,
You circled me like moon around earth’s heart.
Spring bloomed inside my autumn garden’s air,
And grief’s deep wound turned soft to healing care.
You were my healer and my love combined,
Joy fell like honey, sweet and undefined.
Then sorrow cut like glass with edges thin,
And showed the cracks I tried to hide within.
The dream seems real since we don a form,
borrowed from elements of that domain,
but if we simply chose not to conform,
we wake up when desires to rest are lain.
Now time has turned, the dream has slipped away,
You live in photographs and faded day.
I’m left alone, with smoke where fire used to be,
Chasing solid love that was never meant for me.
"You're so pretty."
Those words seem to define me.
A seemingly stable presentation of everything I could be.
My appearance must mean I am strong and stable in my own mind.
I must never believe every creeping and deceiving lie.
"She must be mean."
I must be the cause of all other girls' insecurities.
Not through my looks, but through my assumed personality.
I can't be hurt by anybody.
Words don't sting as much when they graze seemingly stable skin.
But they don't know that I am as weak as I have always been.
"Physical approval must be enough."
No one notices the skipped lunch.
No one cares about the me worth knowing.
All they see is the me worth showing.
The illusion is not me.
It's your seemingly stable certainty of who I must be.
Wisdom and knowledge are not found
in the hearts of tarnished souls
who dwell in the shadows of their fears
frightened by the status of their existence
as they gather like locusts beating their wings
in a loud cacophony of false beliefs
reaching a point of illusion
seeing hallucinations with blind eyes
trying to see their way through the mists
that cover the road that lay before them
as they seek the lost dignity of their souls
when they spiraled into the pit of depravity
for 30 pieces of silver
What is the greater illusion?
The treachery bought and sold as strength
from a cracked vessel or the silence of those
who saw the cracks and said nothing?
Each realm a template, by God created,
which appears solid, though made of dream-stuff,
wherein if we enter, we are baited,
by shape shifting forms, touch both smooth and rough.
Viewing each domain as an illusion,
yet real if we don a form therein,
holding awareness thus ends delusion,
in the void of silence of heart within.
To materialise and vaporise
our form at will by power of intent,
is then the control we may realise,
with vibrance of our heart granting consent.
The truth of what is, may be debated ~
Each realm a template, by God created
Impurity
Where is the solidity of purity?
Where is the moral of solidity?
And the conservatism of life?
What do I see on the train at night?
Almost naked very young women.
The world has turned upside down.
Spirituality has disappeared from life.
The flesh pursues the soul, and light.
Women are more magnetic in long skirts.
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