Against those throes of untimely demises that Hormel chili should usher in surprises, or so the weapon goes to the kiln where kilts affray melt ire still, but beside the moon, that heavenly crest shan't ring new tones, the silent rest, whereupon one green stamp made this here, reap and commala like times past my dear, where one thing never finds Ms. Garland and another may leave her, is it simply constructed or beaten and beleaguered? I beat the metal hot and strong, but saintly serpents proved them wrong, the energies aglow like fires unkempt, the hearth and mantel heavens lent them and showered the earthly with cures galore a poor poet's boy, Aurora's demure.
carried in the arms of Divine Mother
we hop from one realm into another
until all desires birthed are satisfied
whereupon we are from ego untied
to which end always positioned at source
we attain clear sight without use of force
Spirit settles at our physical eyes,
having so chosen to make them its home,
whereupon each life breath feels like sunrise,
whence from deep within resounds God’s gong Om.
Our spine stands erect as a band of steel,
connected to crown and to our third eye,
wherein we simply feel bliss beat’s appeal,
full like the ocean, empty like the sky.
With all nodes entwined, boundaries then blur,
in as presence is centred everywhere,
as cauldron of joy continues to stir
the vibrance of consciousness self-aware.
Stillness is not silent; it is a hum ~
Reverberation Om, the cosmic drum
Who' s to say what he wanted?
I opened the front door, and less that 20
Feet away, he was already there, just
Starring directly at the door.
Who's to say what he wanted?
We stared at each other for a few seconds
Until I made a sound, whereupon, he ran.
Who's to say what he wanted?
Was he on some kind of mission?
He seemed in a state of inquiry.
That rabbit never said a thing.
He was the maker of lillies, poppies, and tulips
And a host of other eye-catching beauties.
When I met him, I sat at his feet, so facinated
With his amazing feat. And then he said to me,
"I am a rose maker".
Without another word, he reached toward
The sky, and fixation engulfed my eyes.
The elements smiled when he spoke to them
Whereupon they flowed toward him like the
River Nile.
He then gathered the soft and fertile soil, so
Filled with life giving substances. The rain
Agreed to provide water when needed in
Every season.
Air, sun, wind, and the quiet morning dew.
Heat, not cold, like a warm blanket for the soul.
Thriving buds and feeding bees. Thork, Limbs, and green leaves. Color and shapely forms for beauty so soothing to observe.
Thorns and flowers with contrasting purposes.
These all, willing servants of the rose maker,
Created harmony and melody like a well directed
Choir. Then, the rose maker smiled at me as he
Lifted me from my feet.
Fridays, I look forward to.
I pick up my grandson to
spend the weekend with me.
He makes my heart beam
every moment with him.
This Friday did not go well.
The car's air conditioner fell.
I should have seen the warning.
Being irresponsible that morning.
After we finish, we pick up a meal.
Moving to leave, whereupon
the temperature light came on.
With a meltdown,
I could not calm down;
it made me frustrated.
Pulling over and stopping was not fun.
Immediately calling my two sons.
Some days I win.
Some days I lose.
I moved on to be more cautious.
“One should successively take recourse to the objects of concentration, as mentioned by the yogis, in accordance with their subtlety, invisibility, and attributelessness. When through constant practice one's concentration becomes objectless, then, being divested of merits and demerits, one attains the state of complete dissolution in the Absolute through the dissolution of the object of concentration, but not before then.”
All that’s manifest, is but a projection
of thought, borne by our heart’s befuddled desire
and as such the world deserves our rejection,
vaporising ego in the cosmic fire,
whence poised in the void, our presence unalloyed,
is no more by animal cravings decoyed,
paving way for space and time to disappear,
whereupon truth of existence becomes clear.
“That which has been described as being like ether is indeed like ether. That is Consciousness, blameless, omniscient, and perfect. It does not move about on the earth or dwell in fire. It is not blown by the wind or covered by water. Space is pervaded by It, but It is not pervaded by anything. It is existing within and without. It is undivided and continuous.”
With these verses we enter waters deep,
since the reference is to boundless space,
piercing which we take a consciousness leap,
for through its pores shines God’s magical grace,
our home, towards which our steps we retrace.
All that is manifest springs from God’s will,
Who may be known when we choose to be still,
whereupon we see we are one with Him,
love, light and bliss perched on soul’s window sill,
as we sing to God a prayerful hymn.
He abides within the seeping creaks
Of this my cold, dust-ridden chamber –
Upon whom profligacy wears itself
In garments silken unto ruggedness,
Palpable against my holy essence.
He speaks unto me dreams of romance,
Whereupon my rotting soul decays
Amidst the fruitless trees of my youth,
Whose twisted branches melt the wax
Of the fading sun.
He shrieks in melancholic pleasure,
And the shriveled leaves of autumn
Crumble beneath his whims, no longer
Breathing upon my soiled demesne.
Life after life, ego shape shifts its form,
flitting about from desire to desire,
for endless are objects heart does aspire,
like a rebel, choosing not to conform,
to pulsations of grace, loving and warm,
till a day comes when ego too does tire,
when lust consigned to the funeral fire,
we find ourself centred in a bliss storm.
By itself, ego has no existence,
drawing its power from the light of Self,
so it falls like a dead leaf from a tree,
whereupon we reclaim our quintessence,
being living light that glows by itself,
free from bondage, ambling through life carefree.
Our world is all that to which we are attached
but be this as it may, we can still be free,
by beholding God from that form slowly hatched,
whereupon this way, unshackled from mind’s tree,
we see light of Self shining, pure and unmatched,
whence liberated thus, we roam earth carefree.
The trick oh monk, is to see God everywhere
and of this deep truth to be always aware.
We dwell in form and that’s where we must transform,
by silencing thought and invoking God’s grace,
conjuring thus within, a benign bliss storm,
signalling we’re held by God in close embrace,
whereupon soma nectar begins to flow,
opening blocked pathways in staid stillness slow,
that as breath by breath, heightens our heart’s delight,
in slow motion we transmute as living light.
Made in God’s image, we are living light,
vibrant in a singularity field,
dwelling in peace, drenched in bliss beat’s delight,
arising from power that God does wield,
with all sins erased and heart fully healed.
To know God is to become as is He,
beyond space-time, when with soul’s eye we see.
As one without a second, we exist
bereft of attributes, feeling complete,
as the flame of consciousness, a bliss mist,
integrated with God’s form, love replete,
felt on this earth realm as magnetic heat.
To merge with God, ego must vaporise,
whereupon each life breath feels like sunrise.
Bondage is the belief that we are this form,
manifesting ego that then takes control,
so we are then blown like a leaf in life’s storm
but if we are still, thoughts no longer patrol,
whence we begin to sense blissful currents warm,
reclaiming light of Self, the scriptures extol,
whereupon we no longer remain the same,
our claim to fame being becoming the flame.
subject-object relationship
dissolves in prayerful worship
whereupon we see all are one
and then love is our soul’s flagship
in truth there’s nothing to be done
save breath by breath coming undone
that as ego’s cravings recede
our aura shines like yonder sun
simply allowing love to lead
bliss pheromones within us breed
and seeing God in every form
we gentle each thought, word and deed
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