Spiritual awakening is an experience of the heart not the mind; once we drop into our heart and feel the natural longing for the divine, can our hearts begin to open, revealing the divine with us all along.
Let us not stop asking ourselves why we are here, Let us not pretend to be content without conquering our fears, Let us not give up our chances, Let us not foolishly act helpless blaming circumstances.
Okay let me pretend, let me begin, Let me again separate without and within, In an attempt to speak the truth let me become a liar,
Lets once again try to define the flavor of forever.
The black crow lay broken. The body open. The insides of a once warm breast, spilled now, upon tarred street, and exposed to city dust.
The truth he transcended, And with it worldliness he ended, The garden of virtue he well tended, And became so alive that we seemed dead. He saw of what he was made, Or rather in truth “unmade”
Dearest Ones, We have so many personas, We live in the private world, Of Dharma, The expression of Wisdom, We share, The offering of those that, Know how to share the wisdom
Grace be you, Peace deceived you, Love enveloped you, Time consumed you, Hate destroyed you, Anger burnt you, Age wore you, Pain tamed you, Happiness faked you, Freedom invited you, Illusions showed you, Life lived you.
Suddenly embraced, By softness of knowing, Grateful, but confused, I reach for my ground
So simple, yet I resist, This softness of knowing, Come fruitless habits, Drown this heart
Night closes in with its breath taking grip, Night that walks in the guise of day. Light footed across the rubble, morning comes as if rising from the dead. That which came and came again leveled a world. In that sudden tolling, what great works were interrupted?
The beating of a heart. A heart! Nine thousand hearts!
MY INVISIBLE THOUGHTSView Post
A poem about Gods by the artist and writer Michael Tweed.
The Veil, a short poem by the philosopher and writer Jacek Dziubinski. A poem that gives a lot of room for reflection and afterthoughts.
Beauty just is, She was not, nor will be, Beauty is bliss, Lost in freedom for she is naturally free. Beauty is a kiss, Where you and me disappear into we.
Nepal, the fragile beauty of this moment, celebration and mourning dance of what is and what is not, and what is yet to be.