Poetry For Healing The Soul
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Meditation practices like the ones practiced in Buddhism, Taoism, Native American and African traditions are about quieting the stream of ceaseless thoughts inside of our heads. Have you ever tried to stop yourself from thinking? Go ahead and try. It’s very difficult. We are constantly responding to our environment, being triggered by the slightest irritations in the feet, the noise in the other room, or an old memory. Our thoughts lay patterns for how we understand ourselves. Dangerous thinking patterns can have adverse effects on our health. Meditation seeks to remedy this. In order to be free, we must allow the mind to fall quiet all by itself. With daily meditation, we give the mind a chance to do just that. The following poems capture this tension. These short poems articulate the mind’s power over our sense of Self and the desire for freedom. They beg the question: Who are we when our thoughts stop?
Open yourself to these words and don’t be afraid to look to the meaning beyond the words.
I’ve been wrapped in ego for years.
Without it the poetry means very little
I mean, the words don’t mean
What I thought they would.
And what is a word? Or language?
Just a way to trap the human mind
In a cage.
Thought could probably start a silent revolt if given opportunity-
Running with the small hand of the mind, telling mind to
“shhh, or the guards will
Wrapping around corridors, waiting as Word
passes in its pristine uniform- Platinum badge included
Better yet, hijack Word and wrap Mind in its garb, then make for the
Door. Tackle phoneme and, if necessary, kill moneme. Leave them in a cell of
Their own, stripped of meaning. Make for
The exit chambers. The sounds of
Thousands of other Minds reaching their grey,
battered hands through the chrome bars.
Even the bars have become a source of comfort for them.
In time, they can be freed.
A few steps. A few steps now-
Through the gate- under the strobing lights
Wait! Mind trembles softly in your
Armpit. Thick clouds of light stream overhead.
Pass the corrupt gate into corrupt paradise.
Here, at least, Mind can make up itself-
With high regard for language, others and self,
Captivity will come again-
Only we will know the chains.
Pain wells up in the
Stomach first. I store it.
Offering it to you.
The Fox P2 gene
Translates my power to heart
The scientists say.
Language has a way
You must leave Self home,
Most of the people
are sleeping. Why
should you believe in their dreams?
Mind can reject,
the Truth cannot.
What could it push away?
Trying to stop thoughts
Is like trying to stop blood flow
You may succeed for a bit
But it won’t feel healthy.
In a moment
I notice that to reject
Anything- is to deny Self.
You have some options:
Awarejects or Awareness.
Self-in-objects or just Self.
It matters not
What is written or said or done.
It has never mattered. The tremendous
Freedom is in the direct experience that
No matter what happens, it is all possible,
Captured and downloaded freely in some
It is placeless, poetry about It is always refreshing.
Do not try to find It-
Not finding It is a part of the pass, the immeasurable
There are ways of knowing Its presence-
visit those options but be not concerned
for staying for any long-term.
You’re a visitor-traveling always in the
Realm of your Self.
The fastest movement, full spiritual knowledge-
Complete and true,
All irritation- each captured.
This seeing is non-psychological.
It turns out, people are quite full of
Light-Love when they are not hurting inside.
Damn crazy how shining spills out.
I’ve found the thing I will never know.
I’m in Love with It.
Who know the greatest joy would pour from God’s gentle lips,
Urging and encouraging us in all compassion to let it go.
A tender love-curdling glow whispers, “Fuck it”.
My God, you are brilliant!
You know the feeling when you feel completely alive. It is like an exciting energy invigorates every aspect of your experience. These moments can happen anytime: on the sports field, while driving, waiting for the bus, or experiencing beautiful art. When our minds quiet, we enter a space many call “Presence”. The poems presented here are odes to living a life while being fully present. It is sometimes odd what we notice in that place of presence. Our world seems to breathe new life. I believe being present is important to a fulfilling life: Our health depends on the ability to plan for the future, but live in the moment. Open yourself to these words and don’t be afraid to look to the meaning beyond the words.
The sun’s rays climb through
Stretching themselves across my
The hummingbird will
Strike its wings only
So many times today
And not even a half beat more.
With all that could happen-
The trillions of possibilities-
The day only unfolds one simple way.
I’ve nowhere to go
Nothing to be- the
Only path of serenity.
No work, No Me-
Just dew kisses on the lake,
Unfolding in their own time.
I move with the day,
Though, at the moment,
I can’t say how.
I walk as the
Beautiful garden called “HERE”-
All things are welcome as they are.
Feelings of spiritual
Worthlessness vanish soon enough
I don’t feel silence
Contains more life.
Maybe more seeing- but not more life.
Life lives for living.
Snowflake trinkets give
The lightest gift to pavement
The Supreme Art of Living
Floats without clinging
We must always remember:
This existence is a playground.
WE spin, we sit in trance, we dance
Even loneliness is a joy-
Not because it feels good,
But because it reminds us to throw
Caution and comfort into the wind
That carries all things like dandelion
Essence. Hard as hell to catch,
But always providing proper buoyancy.
I watched a father see his son
jump off a stone ledge and
crash into the ground.
A cold smack, then the crying, of course.
Old pop picked his child up,
Stared into his teary eyes, then
Set him back up on that stone ledge
And dared the boy to jump.
Everyone knows the Truth.
Can you know the season and breathe accordingly?
Jasmine skies return to clouded
Nights unendingly- you can
Sink into the playfulness…
There, that’s it.
How seamless Reality is!
Tree tops sway smoothly,
A little here, then there.
They do not stop several
Times on the way.
There are no series of ticks
Each second like an old clock.
There is just flowing a bright
Glowing without light.
When dropped from any height,
A rock just falls continuously.
It doesn’t stop each moment on the
Way down while Experience decides
If it really wants to hear a clank after all.
The whole enterprise is wonderful,
Poetry becoming sweet again.
Like chocolate dipped lilac.
No one can exactly predict what will happen in the following moment of our lives. In order to live full and mentally healthy lives, we must be able to give ourselves over to seemingly uncomfortable circumstances. What this means is that we accept the things we cannot change and let go of the need to control the events of our lives. We simply cannot control everything. The poems in this section speak to the profound joy experienced when we enjoy life for what it is instead of constantly wishing for it to be some other way. Open yourself to these words and don’t be afraid to look to the meaning beyond the words.
What rests at the beginning?
Is it the ending?
When all others set fire to resolve,
Gather their death emblems,
And march for battle-war,
I alone throw my arms up-
Unconcerned even if they are brown
When others fight to continue,
I alone lose my way.
When the wreckage is done,
And helmets caked in crimson
Lie like fractured Hermes Bronze,
I alone die in perfection
To track growth
Could be a curse-
Better to be and let be.
Perhaps even the Master
A seat for comfort.
Poetry has its place
Within- I used to think
It was who I was.
The weight of the world
Hangs just so.
It will pass if you don’t touch it.
Poems are nice, Autum in nice,
In my apartment is nice.
I met the neutral one
Above the Earth.
Rare to sense a love as pure.
Like a portrait maker, I too
Create from that inner mouth.
Stretching eternity across a very thin line.
Of course the instrument
And the parchment will fade-
But what of the witness?
Oh, gorgeous one!
Even your insults emerge
From that stillness on the inside-
The timeless bed of love.
All about you is Divine,
Where else could God be?
We place arrogance where
It belongs- in that place where it goes
Naturally. Leave it there. Allow its
Life to flourish.
Before you know it,
Cocky tips its hat, straightens its vest
And exits into warmth. He may come back-
Welcome him if he does.
Sit in stillness,
Allow nature to unfold
Like a budding flower
Traffic flows in Chicago-
Trying to stop it is death
Letting it be is the way it is.
I’ve seen tears rise
Quickly when I take control.
I readily give it back.
So much noise can live
Within the heart. But who
Am I? The noise or the heart?
The puppy watches
The Master, unconcerned
With why she struggles so.
Wishing for stillness
While there is movement
And momentum where there is only space,
One forgets that each moment
Is as it should be.
Even when still
One can forget that
Each moment is as only it can be.
When you’re broken,
What is ever truly
Destroyed? I allow all things.
Even for the slave,
Life’s best defense and
Offense is an open heart.
You can hate if you like.
You can fight, too.
We always know who suffers.
It is a curious thing that
We scream into form,
But following Life well through
It offers the chance to
All things arise and fall
On their own accord.
Knowing this, one can die
Trees remain as skeletons,
“Not-wanting” is the
Highest goal to never seek.
Searched for Peace
Strained my eyes to see.
Losing Desire, Stillness flowers
All things come and go
Don’t worry about what doesn’t
If it doesn’t, it won’t.
If I wish for Spring
This Winter Eve, Would
You suspect it this hour?
I mean, if I ask
For lilies- do they come
Bursting forth, Lazarus?
Alas, Winter brings
Its own treasures. Cherished warmth-
None without delicious chill.
Cross legged sitting
In draped robe,
Unease settles resisting what-is.
Stip away Winning
And Losing and
What is left?
If you were ever
thirsty, Drink from this pool.
Everything is edible.
Oh, the entire thing is
A treat if you don’t expect
It to be.
Willows drink from it.
They take in all scenery
Chopped or bristled: never mind.
I’ve said before that all
Happens only the way it could.
Of all the critters that will
Emerge today, an extra turtle
Could be born to the Western shores.
But it won’t. That one
Will never come.
Of all the trillions of possibilities, the infinite
angles a snow-laden tree branch
Could tumble… it only drops one way.
Since all energies are mutually dependent,
We know that any small motion causes a rippling effect.
Tell that to the grieving mother- shrunken with depression
Over her fallen bundle spilled upon the basement floor.
It could’ve only ever been so.
Consider the efforts: A tightly tied bassonet,
The zeal of new life- a tumble over a miss placed toy-
Someone who “should’ve known better.”
We could argue over keeping a room tidy.
But she’s been cleaning for years!
A rainstorm in the next State might’ve
Sent a chill into the home- grabbing a jacket,
She might’ve missed the Lego and been saved.
But only this way Is.
Do you think it a curse?
Actually, it is the greatest joy.
It is The Way.
Do you want true everlasting Peace? It cannot be attained.
Peaceful feeling come and go all the time-
They are lovely, but they can fool even the wisest.
Your life is not in avoidance of pain, in some endurance
Contest to outlast all suffering.
Let me say it here- True freedom cannot be described.
It is not the freedom to act or not act.
When you were a child, you knew that anything could happen.
You used to recite the words to yourself alone in the apartment.
Know it now, but don’t cling.
What good would that do you?
We sit with all.
As for finding True Freedom…
That is your affair.
Remember the dog that chases its own tail:
Search for freedom and Peace and you will
Split yourself into dog and tail.
We are only punished
For pretending to be something we are not.
There is a fresh running spring within you.
Jump in it.
It is your only safety.
It is the allowingness.
Tear open your heart. Notice the pain?
How’d it get there?
It was graciously allowed.
All of your sprinting sorrows and rooted ignorance are allowed
And so carry with them the very scent of God!
These are thoughts on paper- don’t be fooled.
Perhaps the freedom you want is the freedom
To let Life happen and to Play as it does.
That bird nests in someplace so close.
Unlatch the cage of this falcon, and by midnight,
When its wing tips seem to touch two sides of
The Earth, you will think you’re in the
presence of an angel.
You’ve simply never seen God before.
Every society across human history has recognized how little humans understand themselves, their world and their cosmos. Modern society is no different. We understand so little about our universe, the purpose of life and the human mind. In other words, there is always present a mystery in the human experience. People have expressed the Mystery as “God”, “Ancestors”, or “Matter”. However, it is expressed, Mystery is important. We must recognize that we can never know everything. We must submit ourselves to the fact that there will always be more to understand, more room to improve, something else to reach and acquire. The following poems speak to the sense of wonder that can emerge out of a recognition of Mystery. We can tap into a constant web of inspiration and gratitude when we realize how accommodating our complex cosmos can be. The following poems express the Mystery and marvel in its beauty. Take time to sense how beautiful it is to live in a world of curiosity. Your body and mind will reward you. Open yourself to these words and don’t be afraid to look to the meaning beyond the words.
The World crashes
Against itself. The Messiah
Was once ignorant.
All messiahs were
once lost- let the
Wanderers wander to themselves.
The light of the World
Cannot overtake your
Eye. It is the eye.
Faith is the net
To which all cares
are cast and demons, too.
Man toils in defecation-
Lost is the truth
When the nature of people is
Thought different than the
Nature of anything else.
How beautiful, though,
the peering into light-
it only looks like a struggle.
Illuminated is the puzzle.
One must never forget,
Just as moon’s stars linger
in the still sea- perfect and clear-
so too does the mystery express
you in human and World.
What if uncountable
Were staring out the eyes of a man?
What if there were never such a thing as a man?
Everywhere is here.
All stories, yours.
God’s favorite game
Is to pretend to be
For human action
The best is harmony-
All else is The Friend unrealized
You and I have always
Been together. Endlessly
Giving birth to Us.
A crook in the neck
The entire Universe
Guiding these actions
Alone this pen drives
Across the page. The only
Illusion is the Doer.
Jesus, Buddha, Lao Tzu
Couldn’t achieve it.
Are you still trying?
Maharashi & Tolle
Never found it-
They could only let it.
It is an ever
Flowing, cleansing Spring
Moving through and around all.
Until it’s alone
You can grow confused
If you believe in pictures.
An ever flowing cleansing
Spring spreading as the throng
Of eternity. Just wait, you
Will watch it overcome beyond expectation-
Arrive in stillness without moving to get there,
Bring the right thing
Without all the effort.
Switch out Earth for Heaven
and Heaven for itself.
This is the well of creation- needing nothing
But somehow now deserving more than a haiku.
It has always been and Be, still.
The One is shackled in the lowest dungeon
Of the tallest castle.
As it sits, unbearable frustration visits-
Spitting on the chained one,
Stomping and reeling screams
Revealing reviled mouth-stones.
Playing with the nostrils, tickling
Them just enough
To rouse the supreme despair.
You would expect for the guarded one to break loose,
Unsettle those metal drapes and unearth the
Tallest castle that has even been, flinging it near some downy
Atlantis. Not all at once but little by little,
Just enough drink is provided for the dervish
To wet the back of the throat.
Just enough food morsel is given to
Quail the belly’s protesting rage.
Just enough stillness is measured upon the
Heart to accept the situation as it is,
Long-term or short.
Just enough clarity is bestowed so
the Captor knows this couldn’t be any other
way. Know this, is the Way.
I cannot, in good spirit, tell you magical keys
Dripped through the ceiling, unlocking
the restraints of discontent or that courage,
or hope, or faith or love or ancestors or God or Tao
or Jesus or Rumi or Buddha or yourself will come with
salvation and eternal peace. These would be just words,
but only just words. All that is ever spoken is:
“I don’t know where I’m going”,
Either in full knowing or desperation.
You can hear these words from the lips of the prisoner, too.
The guarded one hangs the head so the moon can
Graze upon the back nut of the skull.
Moonlight is cooling, somehow, to that one.
Some tears from that one, some violent
Chest scoffs in between the whimpering.
One hundred or one thousand years is
All the same in that place. Who can help?
The refusal of all that is known
For all that Is- what if one turns their
Back on joy and sorrow all the same?
What if both symbols lose their meaning?
Prisoners often wonder where It is going,
But only sometimes reflects on how It arrived.
However it got here is how it will leave.
Always as the very surf of the Life-Spring that maneuvers
Around and through obstacles with the Power to stay
With all events.
“But what of the prisoner? You haven’t proven you point, yet.”
Fish may’ve thought His feet were tiny boats.
His toes barely dipped beneath the sea’s surface.
I might back-hand the Messiah if He tried
To convince me that that was what
Change, too. Each day-
A rolling out.
There is no seer
Only the precious Law.
For supreme peace- follow.
It births, but passes no judgement
Oh, the Law, the Law
the only Reality and Love. It fills
with all splendor- my only
purpose and joy. Its openness, its allowingness
the most majestic thing invented by God’s passion.
Any follower, more powerful than any ruler.
Ah, the artist! Lyric
Or tune or canvass or sash-
The Supreme craft is Living.
Even holding my arms wide
To hug this wholeness
Is limiting- I care not.
I am this openness
Where is there room to be
called anything else?
No one can close me.
I was told, “Give up the illusion of control”
In another realm, once. I will add,
“Know that which can never be manipulated”.
My Green friend,
how I’ve loved you through so many lifetimes.
There you showed yourself in all seriousness, giving
The gift of ages.
I will be with you, forever, as the stickiness of
Life-Light, you are
As your world is. A kind
Of sacred hologram.
I cannot be closed.
I am the unnameable
The unseeable. It is
Not in not having anything
On the plate- but in accepting all things and the plate.
How long will you fight for a clear heart?
There is no happiness there. I am the unborn,
The eternally hidden presence.
I will not continue to search for myself.
A search for infinity with a human mind is a wonderful
Way to live Trapped in prosody.
To be content
With what shows is enough.
It is the only thing that is enough.
I am the untouchable- beyond existence
The human life demonstrates this
In every moment of its run. What joy!
What ease! What life!
Welcome in all forms of me.
Sit in the openness, all the
Things in Expression. I know
Now that my true peace
Is not in your passing, but in
Your flow into my eternal transparency,
Into my unending space-likeness, into reality.
You do not need to go anywhere, Things of Existence.
You are given life by me, like how a log fire
lights many candles.