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To Life: The Extraordinary Journey

To Life: The Extraordinary  Journey






To Life:

The Extraordinary








Table of Contents

The Nexus of Origins – Pg. 3

I am the Man with Many Hats – Pg. 7

Mental Illness: It’s not My Mind – Pg. 18

You Are What You Eat – Pg. 29

A Blast from the Past – Pg. 34

There’s No Time like the Present – Pg. 44

It’s Just Politics; Nothing Personal – Pg. 55

The God Machine keeps us Squeaky Clean - Pg. 57

The Communal Subconscious – Pg. 66

Time – Pg. 70

Sacred Earth Mother: The Tapestry of Life – Pg. 74

My Heart Speaks Plainly: Love is a Rose – Pg. 79

God is Good – Pg. 85

Little Bits of Wisdom – Pg. 89

It is the Spirit of Things:

The Undercurrents and Umbrellas – Pg. 103

Afterward – Pg. 117

Definitive Definitions – Pg. 123












The Nexus of












In The Beginning…

In the beginning, there was only a feeling,

That took form as Vision, and became what is,

From the point of impact to the ends of the universe,

This creation is good, and all is in harmony,

The expanding and turning existence of it unified,

All is one, one is all,

And at the beginning of the first day,

The brilliant light was the rising of a trillion suns.



















The Primordial Stew

Volcanic eruptions, massive storms,

The surface hardening and cooling,

And in a pool by lightning warmed,

The first life’s cells are fueling,

A jolt of electricity,

A sudden rising flash,

Amino acids drastically,

Make cells unto the last,

The DNA chains newly formed,

Spiraling, twisting, turning,

May the Earth be then forewarned,

In time man’s fate is burning,

Five billions years ago it was,

An era lost to our minds,

We see the past not far because,

We live in our short times,

So single cells would duplicate,

And over a billion years,

Would evolve to subjugate,

Their weaker foes and peers,

And all of this activity,

Upon this Earth so blue,

Would become humanity,

From the primordial stew.



The Cradle of Humanity

A long ago dawn in the deeps of time,

The dew forming on leaves,

A child awoke; the sun divine,

Was shining through the trees,

The animal calls and speaking tongues,

Of creatures living there,

Were innocent in a world so young,

And not even aware,

The jungle people living strong,

Upon their Earthly home,

Would someday feel they don’t belong,

And wander off to roam,

But in this hour, an hour before,

All others had been measured,

These places were not sick with war,

And full of hidden treasures,

In timelessness of life’s lost bliss,

These things have been forgotten,

They’d only exist in a place like this,

Where humanity was begotten.












I am the Man

With Many Hats












The Man with Many Hats

The traveler is different wherever he goes,

His truest selves only he so well knows,

A speaker and listener to words, a whisperer,

A son and a brother are two pairs of clothes,

A friend and a counterpart, the soul is life’s art,

And a shy guy afraid of where to start,

A student and learner, a teacher of hard lessons,

A truth-teller gone further, a mind full of questions,

A praiseworthy pleaser, wanting a blessing,

A seeker and seer that leaves others guessing,

A wandering wonderer, full of curiosity,

A soul locked too long and then chaos for me,

A person who’s hiding, a secret keeper,

A person self-deciding and a very good sleeper,

A lover of women, a passionate heart,

A best friend to the end until friends must depart,

A runner, a climber, a boy that is swimming,

A visionary wary, even when winning,

There’s a wise man in there, awake somewhere,

 A person who’s often painfully aware,

A man in deep thought, for naught else is true,

There’s a player of games and a dreamer there too,

A loner, a stoner, a boner, an owner,

A generous heart and an energy loaner,

There’s a comedian bringing out laughs and I know it,

A philosopher, a doctor, a politician, a poet,

A musician, a painter, a writer, a genius,

Bred for success, never less and it seems thus,

A gentleman, a gentle man, a person of humility,

A humanitarian and utilitarian in personal philosophy,

A philanthropist and anthropologist, a studier of people,

A healer and a psychologist, helping others sleep well,

A prince and a prophet, a lord and a beggar,

An archivist and tally keeper, a man with a ledger,

A cool, level head and a reasonable person,

A madman, a bad man, whose condition may worsen,

A wisher of things and a whimsical mind,

A person who’s one step ahead of time,

A person who thinks of their mortality,

An old soul made whole seeking infinity,

To the ends of my life and beyond endlessly,

My truest selves love, this is my destiny.













There's a voice for every occasion,

Whether upbeat, casual, or regal,

American, European, or Asian,

There are southerners who thrive as well,

And some Brits from distant islands,

People far off with whom I will stand,

High time finders, tooth grinders,

People to unwind with and understand,

In my mind these voices are hid,

And often I’m glad of who I am with,

There're people in me who run from hill to dell,

They speak and I listen, and answer as well,

I find out about what it all may mean,

I may laugh or shout in the places I’ve been,

Sometimes the voices will crowd round so angry,

The mob will want blood and of this they demand me,

Other times kindness will shine through the veils,

I hearken and witness what my mind entails,

So many voices, so much to take in,

Because of my choices and all of my sin.







Growing Pains

I was a Seer a long time ago,

I was apart then, everything and my self were separate,

I had no one really,

I felt true loneliness for the first time in my life,

This is hard for a six year old,

But my life is blessed, and forgetfulness took me,

I passed on from my dark secret into pain,

Finally ending the barrage with simple, clear laughter,

A laugh in the face of the gods,

A laugh at fate,

A laugh for love,

A laugh at death,

And the storm passed, and I was free,

But not the same,

Eleven years later, this memory came to me,

Now poignant,

My mother remembers,

She called it, "growing pains".









A Gargantuan Tarantula

There it crawled upon the woodchip hill,’

There it stopped and there it lay still,

Its furry legs protruding eight ways,

Eight eyes to see in all its days,

It barked at me; I wondered what it said,

So strange a sound, it got right in my head,

Then instead I let it crawl up my arm,

It was not defanged, yet I was not harmed,

It tickled its way closer to my shoulder,

My mind in its sway as the tarantula got bolder,

Not scared of people, a little tame pet,

Living in its terrarium where its needs were met,

In a science laboratory, where the professor did work,

Of all the strange pets! This man had his quirks,

He was my dad you see, this poem is about me,

And the gargantuan tarantula from which I didn’t flee.













The Aborigine Arcade

All the time the things that I see,

First in my mind then in reality,

Physicality comes to me,

And pours my attention with energy,

Feelings nice and groovy,

It often seems to me,

That I often seem to be,

Like an aberrant aborigine.

If life was a pinball machine,

Where would we bounce around?

How many hits would we get?

How many points would we rack up?

Would our extra balls save the day,

And make us winners?

Our extra chances, second guesses,

Extra tests, how many saves of swift reflex?

How many bested opponents?

In the race against time,

How many circuits do we wind?

How many contests can we find?

When the game is over,

Will we have it at last?

Peace of mind, when the test is passed?




What Possesses Me At Times?

I’m a singular bipolar tripod quadruped,

A fifth of Bacardi and I’m in bed,

A quick look and I’m shot to the head,

And in my books I’ll go home instead,

A dork of magnanimous proportions of course,

A geek who can speak like Ed the horse,

Ogres and Donkeys, the strong and the weak,

For the right cause, all these things I endorse,

A Wielder of the Force, a present mind,

Even the cracks in the walls will pass time,

A sudden push, a rush of energy,

And an end to doubt and conscious enmity,

A singularity bipedal trifecta quad protector,

A thought conceiving train redirector,

An inflector with an affliction, an infliction and infestation,

A disease set free, a self-infector of concentration,

A final destination, away from the pain,

When my head blows open and I do it over again.








I May be an Oxymoron, From Time to Time

If one must be generally specific,

Down to earth but uplifted,

They must be an original copy, paradoxically,

And the cost for me is my rationality,

Sifted through the Sands of Time,

They say the best mind is no mind,

One of these are my kind,

Medicinal therapeutic toxicity,

Humbling boss bombastic hits for me,

A clarifying mystery, modern history,

Costly gifts for free, heavy lights for me,                        

My past failures taken and passed to the future tense,

Diffuse yet dense, mildly intense,

Distantly close at hand, a lot of solid gas,

An emancipating jailor, a quiet wail in a long slow fast,

A cup of clear light in a cloudy glass,

And hindsight in the aftermaths,

I'm a grown up child, controlled but wild,

A tired laugh and a sad smile,

Normally crazy, busy but lazy,

A wayward steer in skies clearly hazy,

Instinctually programmed, defensively offensive,

Laying down to make a stand, a taking hand that will give,

A pacifist activist, an internally extroverted sensationalist,

A temperance temptation, a manifestation selfishly selfless,

A sublimely mundane participation in exclusion,

A constrictive expansive welcome intrusion,

A real illusion, a concentrated dilution,

A freeing restrictive symmetrical contusion,

Logical intuition, a submission of retraction,

A desired imposition, empty satisfaction,

A lax industriousness, more never amounts to much less,

Regressive progress, a life burdened but blessed,

An uneasy calm, a roaring hush,

A stinging balm, a gentle push,

Such and such is this and that, I am a man with many hats,

Take it all as actual fact, like hard science and practical math,

Everything’s in Pandora’s box, close the lid and turn the locks,

Of contradictions, there are lots, life is like a paradox.







As to the question of How…

How do I know?

I reap what I sow,

That is only one way that I know,

I know by my feelings,

I know by my thoughts,

I know by the spending, of what's won and bought,

I know because I have to, because my body tells me so,

I know because I strove to fight ignorance, so long ago,

I know because I bleed,

I know what I need,

Life happens fast,

Be swift with speed,

I know because my heart tells me so,

These are only a few ways that I know.
























Mental Illness:

It’s not My Mind











A Hospitable Hospital

I need to find a hospitable hospital,

Though not a hospice if at all possible,

A place to lie up, and lay in wait,

To stop drinking my cups and avoid self-hate,

A place to find friends, they’re fast, it’s true,

A place to meet ends when I’m black and blue,

Nurses and doctors, social work offers,

And a place to go to start things new,

Broken people healed, a place safe to feel,

And get us away from the hardness we deal,

A real kind of stay, a place to atone,

And to pass each day trying to bury my bone,

Not really a home, but was it worth the time,

To go to a ward when I’d lost my mind?

My fate I abhorred, in paranoia I dwelt,

And anger and fear were the things that I felt,

Drinking the dredges, lost to the world,

Promises and pledges away I’d hurled,

Standing on ledges, will I jump? So it seems,

And hedging my bets to complete my dreams,

Or better yet to begin new themes,

For life to be set I must always stay clean,

A hospitable hospital was a good place to stay,

When I woke up broken on one bad day,

And I went there with reason, this place that I’d been,

To end all the drinking, in truth it’s a sin.

A Happy Medium

Being a happy medium means having good balance,

An understanding of feelings, an even trance,

A way of thinking and speaking, a dance,

Knowing looks, a quick hook, a meaningful glance,

The spirit whisperer, the feelings of presence,

Holds me in sway in the delicate present,

A present, a gift, once here, now away went,

I held it too dear, not knowing it was lent,

Titillation sensational, presentation presentable,

Destinations detectable, explanations respectable,

Concentration on spectacles, fascination impractical,

Expectations fantastical, demonstrations masterful,

Rearrange the mutation, like super hero skills,

Though my brain is a station with trains to fill,

Free association, skipping stones on lakes still,

My thoughts are now racing, it’s an effort of will,

Until I can sleep with my pills in me deep,

A part of me weeps but my hopes I will keep,

And I may just leap off a cliff standing steep,

Or in bed I’ll creep, rest my head, fall asleep.




I Can’t Put a Dent in my Dementia

I can't put a dent in my dementia,
I seem to be bent on bent appeal,
I have me no mind to run and get a,
'Nother type of mind to keep it real,
I feel a part of me is searching,
Looking here and there for anything,
Sometimes it is my stomach lurching,
From my minds own hurts and cuts and stings,
When I'm in I hear the most disturbing voices,
When I'm out I see the most disturbed sights,
I feel detached from lack of choices,
I sleep during days and wake up nights.
I hear a cacophony of noises,
Telling me where I've gone and went,
I take perspective as mind poises,
But In dementia I can't even make a dent.





Unhinging Pandora’s Box

Crack the lid, just a little bit,

Take a peak and see,

The glam inside is glowing lit,

A beautiful thing to be,

Suddenly its flung wide open,

On a wish or whim,

The tattered lid with hinges broken,

Hangs like original sin,

Seeking truth, mysteries lie in wait,

Exploring, travelling, seeing,

Feeling youth, one’s history is fate,

Finding ways of being,

And under it all, demons lay,

Ready to spring out raving,

In such a time my heart won’t stay,

My soul’s hell is enslaving,

Exposing the world to the magic,

But the pain created,

The suffering it made was truly tragic,

While the people, issues debated,

And after all was said and done,

What was it I did find?

The totality of the sum,

Was a broken, unhinged mind,

But underneath it all there lies,

In sanctuaries still,

A solid piece of good survives,

I need to climb the hill,

The hope I feel what’s deep in me,

Is absolutely pure,

I’ll someday set my own heart free,

And guide it swift and sure,

There’s light beneath the darkness deep,

In places safe and strong,

The heights of joy and love will keep,

My soul where it belongs,

So put the demons back inside,

And snap tight all the locks,

The mind I had was open wide,

Unhinging Pandora’s Box.








The Eye of the Hurricane

Thoughts and energies flying in any direction,

The center of gravity low,

Keep your head up, look for any correction,

Remember what you must know,

Abstract shapes and forms, personalities looming,

Out of the ether like phantoms,

God-heads and demons my mind are dooming,

And inside I will always demand them,

Voices out of the mist, a man or woman who speaks,

Telling me of what I’m doing,

I can’t resist, in their grip my mind peaks,

My soul their intent is wooing,

In the center of my head, there is an eye,

That sees through the obvious illusions,

Within myself I can still descry,

That infliction of such delusions,

The reality of this is subtle, but there,

Like a whisper in the subconscious,

People around me seem somehow aware,

The human condition will ensconce this,

So I keep my peace, my piece of the pie,

As the storm passes over again,

It’s better never to ask them why,

I’m the eye of the hurricane.



The Cost of Accosting

If I ever leave my house,

Go out to run an errand,

I’m quiet like a mouse,

Until I’m home again,

I sometimes feel like saying,

Just about anything,

To anyone I see,

To see what it will bring,

I’d interrogate a stranger,

With wild rhetorical questions,

I’d feel up all the women,

Don’t ask, don’t tell, don’t mention,

I’d talk my head off madly,

I’d have no pride or shame,

And if I behaved badly,

I’d just do it again,

I’d create a spectacle,

In random public places,

I’d not be so respectable,

And get into cop chases,

I’d run down all the aisles,

And shatter on the ground,

All the goods in piles,

Just to hear that sound,

I’d buy a megaphone,

And make a public statement,

I’d stand out all alone,

In my own testament,

I’d do so many things,

Just to make a fuss,

And see what it would bring,

As I know it must,

The true cost of accosting,

Is taken to one’s head,

But I’d be the one bossing,

Until I’m home instead.









Rationality and Rationalization

To condone an action takes some effort,

While the fruits of this game are not of worth,

To clarify an issue is to gain insight,

Whether in waking day or dreaming night,

The reasons we do things are myriad,

But if we always knew what we really had,

And the truth behind that’s always simple,

Then our actions would never be sinful,

“Take a drink, it will help,”

The voice of reason, logic’s wealth?

This little voice that whispers low?

I truly don’t really think so,

Rationalization takes many forms,

And to those addicted be forewarned,

Cool heads must prevail, but alas!

To say no to things is a test well passed,

Find reasons enough to be good to you,

And those who care whether many or few,

Rationality is being of sober mind,

And when losing control, devastation you’ll find,

So remember again, “cool heads must prevail,”

Be your own friend and you’ll never fail.






Desperation Breeds Good Poetry

Like the frayed edge of a tattered old tapestry,

The interwoven threads unwinding,

Like a hellish march to unknown destiny,

Or a sin bad conscience keeps reminding,

Like bleak despair in a long, cold winter,

Heartrending sore and aching,

Like a bold dare to one scared of being hurt,

Or a worn out spirit breaking,

Like a beaten dog, licking its master’s boot-heels,

Or a gorilla in a zoo, caged and pacing,

Like a schizophrenic mind that wishes to be healed,

Thoughts all mad and racing,

Like a thief running mad in a wild police chase,

Heart pounding and blood pumping,

Like a need for relief while you keep your work pace,

Head hurting up for something,

Like a mother’s fear for her feverish child,

Their little head hot and throbbing,

Like a jealous lover, envy running wild,

Or a woman at home always sobbing,

Like my shame when I’m wrong and I’m guilt tripping,

Scared that they know it’s me,

Like pain when I’m not strong and my will is slipping,

Desperation breeds good poetry.









You Are what You Eat











Just Desserts

Chocolate chips and jimmies, whipped cream caramel sundae,

Silly me fun day, my maraschino cherries are very ruddy red,

Oatmeal raisin so amazing,

Muffins blushing away in my head,

Cookies and candy, isn’t it dandy?

Handy in a pinch, it’s a cinch,

Sweet treats and sour apples,

Laughs and party hats and babbles,

The rabble rousers may go their way,

We’ll have just desserts on my birthday.


















Between Apples and Oranges, I’ll Always Chase The Juice

Citrus sour sweet devour,

Orange treats, a lemon-lime freak,

The Vitamin C has all the power,

Can’t even speak, my knees feel weak,

Add some zest to my face in this place,

Give a goose some juice for food to chase,

A jolt like liquid gold, lemons great to taste,

And grapefruits too, the juicer makes,

Big juicy balls, I’m off the wall,

Refreshment alone, or with alcohol,

A run for a hit, a sweet way to sit,

A zang zowey bit, and I’ll never quit,

A citrus fix, the tangy tart taste,

Take a tip and a sip and down with it!










I Love to Relax and Vegetate

A lot of ruffage, greenery,

Foliage and shrubberies,

Run like rabbits, what’s up doc?

Eat your veggies, walk the walk,

A lot of parsley, lemon zing,

A bag of lettuce, fit for a king,

Some spinach and broccoli,

All twiggy and stalky,

My veggies I finish,

Although they mock me,

Cauliflower I will always devour,

And eat the healthy nutritional power,

Some asparagus for all of us,

And hold your nose to pee with no fuss,

Steamed artichokes with dips for blokes,

Get to the heart of the dinner jokes,

A garden in the yard, all the way back,

With carrots and potatoes we put in sacks,

And onions for some in their earthy home,

Pull them out in the sun when they are grown,

Like all these plants I appreciate,

I love to relax and vegetate.

Herbs and Spice are the Variety of Life

Mint, lemon-grass, pepper and sassafras,

Basil and oregano, simmer sauce of tomato,

Black pepper shaker, salt to keep taste-buds awake,

To powder a steak, dinner’s ready to go!

Garlic and onion, let the fun begin,

Rosemary and thyme, tastes so good it’s a sin,

A hit of all-spice is really nice,

And bring the nutmeg, dash me twice,

Get the cinnamon and we’ll really win,

In egg-nog with friends, spiked with a vice,

Cloves and coriander, sugar and sumac,

Cumin and dill all the way in the back,

The spices are nice when they’re placed on a rack,

And I don’t think twice with my meals and snacks.

















A Blast from the Past











The Primal Neolithic Man

The Oracle assuages the common man's worry,

Tells a story of the morning glory,

Man's dawn upon the Earth,

Drawn images on cave walls,

An early yawn, the day's rebirth,

Prehistoric animal calls,

Slaves and thralls, cold days of sore hurts,

Mammoths and mastodons and beasts of worth,

Cavernous minds cast upon,

Gamuts and vast plans drawn, an unquenchable thirst,

Break bread, nuts and fruit,

Listen to the weird woman's truth,

Born again into blood,

The hunter’s child is full of love,

Rending flesh, tearing limb from limb,

In the beginning, before the advent of sin,

Animal virtue, only God's plan,

He who makes himself a beast,

Rids himself of the pain,

Of being a man.





The Nobles and the Peasants

The errant hasty cavalcade of cavalry in splendid taste,

Parading shades of chivalry, a macho parody of waste,

The damsels chaste, with legs set free,

So easily they dance and show,

Such slender waists and supple skin,

Their bosoms heave in passion’s throes,

The knights so fine will pass the time,

With horses’ bridles, ladies fine,

Indulgent lives of drinking wine,

And giving naught to those divine,

They ride on wealth disparity,

Verily they come and go,

Ingratiate to those above and throw distaste to those below,

The peasantry is oft debased, but do the high like you and I,

Always reap just what they sow?  Or is it us that always die?

Barbaric base brutality, the hordes destroy reality,

Pillaging the villagers, manhandling women callously,

The peace will come when people know,

That heaven lights the daytime sky,

A better place to them bestowed,

And answers to the ever-question why,

That even though they live and toil,

And bend and break with rocks and soil,

A higher way to lend to woes,

A final gate, the ends of throes,

While tyrants debate and come to blows,

Let go of hate! The pious ghost,

Initiates the mass' host,

The late night passes, masters boast,

And last for laughter after most,

The World’s disaster is thrown aside,

And in their castles they hide in pride,

But the Holy Ghost is Freedom’s Cry,

And the people know they never die.












Let Them Eat Cake

Madmen in mayhem, tyrants on tirades,

High rants and raves, power devours in waves,

Peasants and slaves stand amazed at the blood spent,

The mammoth monarch parade passes under the arch in the colonnade,

Away they went eating grapes on silver trays lent,

By higher authority the servants get paid,

Spiral escapades, war games and betrayal,

Plans on death bent, the destruction lays waste,

Treachery escaped, doom delayed,

Battle plans laid, armies stayed,

West they went for trailblazing exploration,

Derailment of civilization, social exploitation,

Dictatorship foundation, much money spent,

Traitors whipped as a punitive demonstration,

Incarceration of political prisoners,

Punishment and torment of seekers and wizards,

The masses adore them, but the masters abhor them,

The church will deplore them, in nature they store them,

The masses rise in wrath, revolution passes in disaster,

The aftermath of their bastardization of social paths,

Left the royalty setting people free as the world turns faster,

And thus shall it be, until what follows after…



Did Anyone See it Coming?

Volcanic ash, raining down from the sky,

Molten lava, magma, boiling rocks rolling by,

The haze and the dust is a crazy musk,

And under the mud slide the people die,

The top blows open,

The heavens reign down,

Fire and brimstone,

Devouring the old town,

A sad day in Pompeii,

Under the mountain’s sound,

Where the people still stay,

Held in position found.













The Forgetful Path of Progress

With the advent of science,

And the history of corruption,

Both of the government,

And the church,

The progress of the people,

Pursued the people’s ends,

An end to superstition,

And an end to dark overlords,

But in our path,

We lost the Truth,

The essence of which,

Is hidden within us,

It is the human soul,

The Spirit, the sensation,

It is the belief, that miracles are possible,

We need this old fire,

If it goes out,

Then all the warmth in the world,

Will go out with it.






The Turn of the Century

High castles on hilltops,

Willful children running for lollypops,

Victorian adornments, common sense born into uncommon wealth,

Heaven dealt a hand, but do they understand?

The people beneath them are well in demand,

Corsets hold chests together, strings binding like supple leather,

Women hilarious and hysterical, men tyrannical,

No big fears about the weather, people dramatic,

Telephones ringing, The Christian Right singing,

Hymns of warning, from themselves they’re fleeing,

Zealots fanatical, progress ecstatic and radical,

Electric lights for dark nights,

Spasms and fits over being practical,

Indoor plumbing and box set TV,

Radio playing to fill entropy,

Dogfights in the sky, and Ford Model T,

And all of this coming from Man’s destiny,

What a world, what a world!

How will we get by,

When we drive across countries,

And fly in the sky?


The Roaring Twenties

Flappers in flophouses, sleep easy at the speakeasy,

Seek sleazy back alleyway treats,

Forget all your past defeats,

The Beast needs to be free,

Later go home to your wife,

Sit down for dinner and eat,

Grips and gripes, it takes all types,

At night, the children will weep.
















The Red Scare and Humans Aware

Ho Chi Min and Sochi,

Communism exploding,

Bay of Pigs exposing,

M.A.D. season approaching,

World War III encroaching,

Propaganda posting,

Muscle cars and BBQ's

Chicken and steaks are roasting,

Beatnik poets boasting,

Fascist leaders toasting,

The New World Order,

Social disorder,

Revolutions of change we're hosting,

Stages of plays, toys will be made,

People laid and taxes paid,

All the while the free ones smile,

The path of progress won’t be delayed.











There’s no Time

Like the Present











Sochi 2014

Olympic trips, acid rain,

Reigning champions, gold medal companions deigned worthy,

Absurdly pleasing for games to be so amazing,

Relax and remain, don’t be in a hurry,

Terror abroad,

A broad spectrum of underlying entertainment of ideas and ideology,

Strong mentality for the twenty first century,

The progress of man reaching heights of ecstasy,

The entropy of our times forgotten temporarily,

Not necessarily free of the disease,

Be free and at peace!

The time has come to release the needs of the people,

What they see is pleasing, thus it needs to be,

To cure our ills and break enmity.












All the Amenities

Tai Chi and Chai Tea, check out my Feng Shui,

You see the finality of my Ikea destiny,

Couch cushions and buttons to push,

I’ve got a thousand channels on my TV,

Big screen, and a laptop to pop open,

I get a ton of stuff for free,

A Whirlpool is a useful tool, in my home I know I rule,

And a Frigidaire to make cold air for food that’s kept cool,

A nice Jacuzzi, get drunk and woozy,

Lose yourself in being choosy,

Take someone to bed, on your Tempurpedic,

And later instead spend some time ecstatic,

An oven to bake and a coffee maker,

Salt and pepper in their shakers,

Electric and water, gas or oil?

A stereo so your mood won’t spoil,

All the utensils, pens and pencils,

And air conditioning to keep it chill,

We fill our houses with accessories,

They’re there to help and aim to please,

In your home there’s plenty you need,

I’ll have all the amenities.





Eclectic Electric

My media files are organized,

In folders and subfolders,

And after a while, I’ve surmised,

I’ll have more when I am older,

From Dubstep to some classical,

And classic rock as well,

These artists are so masterful,

Within their songs I dwell,

My TV’s DVR is full,

Of movies, some obscene,

And others Disney, meaningful,

Just like Alice’s dream,

I have some action and adventure,

A horror flic or two,

And into porno I do venture,

I must admit I do,

I have a game to play online,

Seems like a good idea,

Seems like a way to pass my time,

And make me feel much freer,

So all these electronic toys,

Music, movies, and games,

Always give me daily joys,

And never are the same,

I love my media, you see,

In this life so hectic,

I always seek variety,

I am eclectic electric.

A Judicious Adjudicator

Open the doors, the trial begins,

A test to decide the fate for sins,

Committed unwise, for reasons wrong,

The convicted heeded the Siren’s song,

The allure of money or personal gain?

All these cases are just the same,

Vengeance, perhaps, an angry soul,

Choosing badly to make one whole,

And going over details many,

Of evidence, they have found plenty,

And witnesses to testify,

To answer “what’s” and “how’s” and “why’s”,

Give the facts, we need to know,

What went bad, where did it go?

Considering all this information,

Jail may be the destination,

The judge sits high on his far chair,

While the people standing are aware,

The defense rests, the verdict stands,

The accused must meet demands,

Now all rise and pay respect,

As jury and bailiff redirect,

The lawyer made a good debater,

There was a judicious adjudicator.



An Inedible Editorial

I opened up the paper today,

To my surprise, what did it say?

It said that murder was the case,

In question in the caucus race,

A caption to my utter despair,

Told me then to be aware,

A woman raped at gunpoint then,

I hate to read these things again,

And underneath a tragedy,

One that spoke of savagery,

Some people broke into a home,

And then escaped out there to roam,

An article that made me ill,

A child had overdosed on pills,

A little boy of only eight,

To read these things I really hate,

At the end, the obituary,

I read a piece that was quite scary,

A little girl had died of cancer,

A long life lost, thus fate had chanced her,

Closing then the rotten paper,

I thought I’d sleep and wake up later,

And when I die, in my memorial,

I’ll be a page in an editorial.



An Ill-Disposed Deposition

Witness testimony heard,

The whole truth, we have their word,

The crime in question was a fight,

That happened on a Friday night,

A woman came to testify,

She said the man had made her cry,

Her boyfriend told the man to leave,

The bar where his old lady grieved,

The man who’d started all of this,

Told the court he’d tried to kiss,

The woman whom he’d so offended,

His lawyer in the court defended,

He said her boyfriend raised his fist,

Once this was done, he’d not desist,

And that was how the fight broke out,

While ‘round them all the people shout,

Finally the cops arrived,

The man was lucky he’d survived,

They said that he’d caused such a row,

He’d been a bastard; they said so,

At the end the judge did rule,

That the defendant was a fool,

He should have known then not to fight,

At the bar on Friday night,

They took him off away in cuffs,

It seemed the court had heard enough,

They ended then his inquisition,

T’was an ill-disposed deposition.

War in our Times

Marauder destroyer, battle hardened warrior,

Knower of things the instinct brings,

How many waves will crash over us?

When the tides recedes, are we left in the dust?

F-14 tomcat, bobcat tomahawk combat,

Cold cocked swung at, PTSD panic attacks,

Hard knocks, smokes and choke holds,

Be bold and unfold energy untold,

Spent to combat tyranny, weary diseases of society,

Find friends even in dark places of enmity,

Depend on one's sanity to lend the ability to be free,

Endlessly hunting an end for results that may be,

Fully righteous and running mad furiously,

Gunning down opponents, annihilating destructively.








The Perpetual War Machine

Combat, blood lust, raise your weapons,

Detach, break trust; get your hits in,

The terror machine that keeps the wheel turning,

Fueling the rage; in the pits fires burning,

Every day there’s wanton killing and wasting,

Uzi’s and machine guns, soldiers in haste bring,

Surface-to-air missiles and rocket launchers,

Blasting and blowing up people off yonder,

Sniper rifles, bazooka’s and bombs,

Mines in the ground on deadly lawns,

Military policing of the Taliban,

An effort to help free people at hand,

Torture chambers with sticky dried blood,

A strike to the head, the sound is a thud,

Another person dead, and what was it worth?

Why must some people just kill and hurt?

The generals need to control all they see,

To keep a stronghold so their people may be,

Brave and bold, dangerous and deadly,

With surety cold, holding railguns heavy,

The grunt foot soldiers, to the front lines!

We need to strike, and now it’s time,

So keep your eyes sharp and your gun-stocks clean,

We’re all part of the perpetual war machine.


For Richer or for Poorer

Number games and credit systems,

Treasure hunts for gems and jewels,

Stats pertain to global victims,

Of the high and mighty, all are tools,

Rarity is purchasing power parity,

Then at customs do declare thee,

The doldrums of border crossing,

At night tossing, strung out verily,

What's the hubbub all about?

Ask for more and they give a shout,

Trolling for emeralds in Columbia's river basins,

The game is afoot; up at dawn running and chasing,

Mad dreams of wealth bursting from the seams,

Gold and jewels, the stuff of dreams,

In times like these, others need charity,

And social submission is often an eventuality,

The way the world works does not seem at all fair to me,

It creates the conditions of economic disparity.





New Age Monolithic Demagogue Demigod

Media moguls, madmen millionaires,

Business bosses bombastic billionaires,

Socialist society with piety trillionaires,

There must be some more variety willing there,

Terabytes and exabytes, fractals and actual mind delights,

Practical pragmatic mathematics, hectic electric sights,

Hong-Kong all alight, and Tokyo and Paris,

The places they go and the things that they cherish,

Avatars and movies stars,

Flying helicopters and driving sports cars,

Travelling from near to far,

All these people stand apart,

They bring their attention wherever they go,

Like magicians with powers that reap what they sow,

And they will just know what only they know,

They’re modern-day demigods; we call them pros.















It’s Just Politics;

Nothing Personal












Our Democratic Republic is Bipartisan

The Radical Right and Liberal Left,

Without which our national government is bereft,

Of any other shape or form,

George Washington himself once forewarned,

A two party system is always at odds,

As men rise in might to rival the Gods,

And opposing perspectives always shall be,

A self-contradiction or war within me.























The God Machine

Keeps Us Squeaky Clean












The Cult of Personality

The big name faces, all of life’s graces,

A taste of a hit with a big screen flick,

Fame and fortune, goodwill is tasted,

Whether with pig-skin or a ball and stick,

TV keeps the personalities,

Entertainment well meant, or so it seems,

Plots thicken, hearts quicken,

Stomachs may sicken, brave ones and chickens,

The hits keep coming, someone is winning,

The group becoming together and swinging,

The movers and shakers, the real-life makers,

The product creators and ticket takers,

Hollywood is good and I like the big screen,

It makes as it should and feeds into our dreams,

Themes of life played, so that people can stay,

In homes all alone or with others who pray,

With their love for the people they see on TV,

The ones who live the Cult of Personality.









The Meters and Measures are The Spirit’s Treasures

Pen to paper, ink to letter,

Word to phrase, line after line,

Rhythm and rhyme, beating in time,

Meaning so fine, like supple leather,

Inspiration mine, in any weather,

So divine, and getting better,

Never will quit, the heart of the poet,

Starts when he knows it,

The love comes and shows it,

Realizations and inspirations of the mind found in time,

Applications of the rhymes intertwine so fine,

Meter and measure, teachers of treasures,

Givers of pleasure of sublime word weaver's leisure,

Until the poet’s pen is sheathed,

The truth of life unto paper bequeathed,

And the Spirit of it will be heard to be free,

And the words when we hear it will mark destiny.









A Standing Ovation

It was a staggering speech, he fell to his knees,

Begging the crowd to thank him please,

The cheers of the standing, clapping host,

Rose like a wave, a rush, a ghost,

The Master of Ceremonies concluded the scene,

And closed the performance, the passing dream,

The themes of conduction, the function of art,

Is to create a place for life to start,

The Deus ex Machina, the God Machine,

Will keep the performances squeaky clean,

And endorse the hits in the demonstration,

A speaker becoming in a standing ovation.















The Many Rings of Power

The many evil Rings of Power,

Held with temptation from the black hand,

Would the wielders' souls devour,

And turn Sauron’s will to unholy commands,

Demands of darkness, spent energy wasted,

Wraiths drained and stained, unclean, death tasted,

Flying on vast, shrieking wings,

Crying out the doom they bring,

Proud and mighty highborn Dwarves,

In tunnels glowing with golden hoards,

Gems and jewels wrought unseen,

Like living flame, a crafter's dream,

Pride in the dark, fierce fire in the heart,

And unto death the soul departs,

Roots of mountains, fountains rising,

Towers of ebony and ivory flying,

Elves departing Middle Earth,

To the land of Faerie of undying worth,

The Wise chastise the sinners and fools,

Meddling with wizards makes dangerous tools,

The White on the heights under the sun,

The lightning strikes, the battle is won,

The demon lord is thrown asunder,

And crashes, dying, to the world's wonder,

Leaving himself, the cards that were dealt,

Where power and knowledge are worth more than wealth,

An elven ring upon his hand,

On the roof of the world where he did stand,

Another in Imladris, where half-elven dwell,

For Elrond to wear, and they know it well,

Galadriel fair, a mighty queen,

Holds the third ring, though it is unseen,

The battle over fate is fought,

In deep debate, free people caught,

The tyrant holds his iron fist,

The storms of war will not desist,

Only one can save Middle-Earth,

And destroy the thing of evil worth,

Although it hurts, at last in the end,

Only on themselves, the hobbits depend,

And casting down in the Cracks of Doom,

They buried evil in its fiery tomb,

Then saved by eagles high they soared,

And lived to be free forevermore.











The harmonious hum is very vibratory,

Creates hilarity and makes things merry,

Melodies tranquil, a deep well,

A place to dwell away from the scary,

Senses felt, sensations elicited,

A feeling of vibration that is very gifted,

A lift to the spirit, a sudden rush,

A quest for the best when I have to push,

A judgment is made, do I like it or not?

Listen when played if it hits the spot,

I play my desires when I am the one,

To create in my space with a medium,

And I will sing ‘til my song is sung,

It’s what I can bring ever since I was young.













An Ode to Southbound Pachyderms

Flying elephants, heading for the gulf,

Straight down to Mexico, their master a wolf,

Armed equipped with weapons of war,

Mammoths dropping bombs from ceiling to floor,

Mechanisms and machines carrying them high,

Southbound Pachyderms, doomed to fly,

The pig men, the big men, shooting missiles to the sky,

Evil empires and corporations to get the tyrants by,

The people beneath wondering all the while,

Why? What are the reasons for the bloody hell?

Why do we dwell in such dark shadows?

Why heed the war cry if the man bellows?

Figures in the dark, moving shapes,

Watching and scheming, waiting on their high place,

Picking an opportune moment to strike,

Their poisons dig deep, the elephants' flight

Shooting the guns at the elephants in turns,

Trying to take down southbound pachyderms.





Down the Rabbit Hole

One slip, a trip over gravity,

Falling, falling, spiraling endlessly,

Down a strange dark tunnel, full of lights,

Like tender moments in bed at night,

A piano, a clock, a rabbit, tick-tock,

Tic-tack-toe, the Spirit knocks,

Upside down, upon the ground,

A moment’s pause to look around,

A room of doors, the portals where,

Only the brave would ever dare,

Only the strong beyond compare,

And all along they stand and stare,

Passing yonder to journey on,

Until the passage of the dawn,

‘Til hatters dance upon the lawn,

And Red Queen falls with all her pawns,

The palace gardens sing once more,

As had always been before,

And minstrels play the tales of yore,

For good free people, an end to war,

The unfolding tapestry of these days,

While Alice wanders all amazed,

At Red Queen’s castle, a hedge maze,

Such stuff and nonsense, heads are dazed,

It really was a strange, strange dream,

Woven from tales of where she’d been,

And waking then to find herself,

Alice knew in dreams she dwelt.









The Communal









God Moves in Mysterious Ways


Found in past to present tense,

Moments connect, sights direct,

Pieces of the puzzle,

Out there to detect,

Words are painted on cars and vans,

Servants of supply and demand,

Thoughts caught up beforehand,

To be seen after at store stands,

Or with people’s conversations,

At many strange destinations,

Planes and trains of infinity,

And interconnectivity,

God works in mysterious ways,

Read the signs, pass the days,

One must remind us to be amazed,

As we all walk on in the foggy haze.






The Archivists’ Scripting

The guardians of fate, deep in the Archives,

Determine and debate, over all our lives,

Forever implied they will study,

The history of the universe’s entirety,

They hold the keys that lock the Library,

And if you please you will gain entry,

Look into the crystals, you will see,

A vision of the world’s harmony,

All of mankind’s destiny,

Has been divined to be free,

So many tomes, wisdom compiled,

Piles of old bones to pick, kept locked in files,

Information about anything and everything there is,

A hidden dimension for the worthy to witness,

A kind of understanding of human thought,

Without which the subconscious really has naught.








Thrown Stones Make Ripples on the Surface

Sorry, oh so sorry, I never meant a fuss,

Causing a commotion in communal consciousness,

Externalized devotion to the ocean as a plus,

Wandering and wondering, does it belong to us?

Discovering what's under as a treasure hunter does,

Finding more than gold and gems, the truth is there because,

A projection that’s detected can direct a new direction,

Upon inspection, if neglected we never take possession,

Of ripples on the surface and a deep stirring of water,

That anyone can say is one of all the sons and daughters.





































Time Fluidity

If I stop on a dime in the nick of time,

Why would I pause to consider?

Otherwise known as a breach of faith,

And choppy ways with rhythm,

Fluid motion ends commotion,

Just a notion from my mind,

When it flows and everyone knows,

We all click together in time.
















Time and Pressure

It's all about time, in my own mind,

Enough time and pressure makes gemstones we find,

No time for leisure, and frivolous pleasures,

Intensely Intent on the jewels we mine,

Enough time and pressure turns life into power,

To fuel our tools; our consumption devours,

The corporate rule dictates how much and when,

We spend our own money and time that we lend,

Enough time and pressure and the Earth groans and shakes,

In massively moving continental plates,

Creating destruction in Western earthquakes,

L.A. will function, damage control makes haste,

Enough time and pressure and miracles occur,

The world spins on actions, to Gods we defer,

The Spirit will speak and we will not be deaf,

In the end what we need we will not be bereft,

Enough time and pressure and someone will win,

And find their won treasure, even if it’s a sin,

A person who struggles will one day be free,

To walk among others to their destiny.



Cause and Consequence

Linear vs non-linear sequence of events,

Causality means cause and consequence,

What comes before and what follows after,

One can explore, just connect the dots faster,

In the cycles of time, like the beat of a heart,

And the turning of space from which we don’t depart,

Things will repeat, which can be predicted,

Until there’s a break and the moment is lifted,

Finding the point, the nexus of energy,

Where connections can happen in friendship or enmity,

Can give you the choice to unlock a new path,

The consequence of which is your aftermath.



















Sacred Earth Mother:

The Tapestry of Life












The Birds Whisper in My Ear

I open a window and what is then heard?

The air is full of the singing of birds,

They laugh and they twitter, they call and respond,

As I look around all amazed on my lawn,

The mockingbird’s stories touch deeply in me,

It knows of a part of my infinity,

Sometimes it berates, but it likes to tell truth,

It responds to my mind as it did in my youth,

I can hear and interpret by reading ‘tween lines,

I’m a sort of a whisperer in my own time,

With all of this joy, what is there to fear?

I like when the birds whisper in my ear.















The Environment is Sacred

The Earth gave birth to life, it hurts from our strife,

Like a quarreling couple, husband and wife,

It is meant to be good, and well it should,

So we use it for fuel, oil and wood,

And create tools, yet more we would,

Recycle, reuse, in your own neighborhood,

These things I would choose to do for the Earth,

There is no excuse; all of life has good worth,

From its beginnings so lost in the depths of time,

The lava and rocks and sand so fine,

To the oceans and life that became in the deeps,

Full of blues and greens that for eons did sleep,

All the way forward, to our modern day,

When technology and money over all do hold sway,

In our landfills we fill up the holes we have dug,

Full of garbage that smells, covered with bugs,

So protect the environment; it’s sacred, it’s true,

And we’ll always have life on this Earth so blue.







In the Darkness there are Many Lights

The vast void space, an empty place,

Darkness deep and chill to face,

Distance far to every star,

And infinite time to never waste,

Let the sky be always above,

Vaulted high over Earth we love,

Lights in the night, the heavens shine bright,

Delights for our eyes, we fly like doves,

The moon so round and profound and white,

Effervescence like a ghostly wight,

The sheen surrounding is round and profound,

The green colors enlightening that dance all around,

Like Alaskan starlight, shimmering by,

Glowing and flowing up in the sky,

Ethereal passion celestial trance,

The universe turns like a cosmic dance.










Bipolar Icecaps

Frozen tundra, frost hangs heavy on sheets of ice,

A large patch of white, reflecting light,

And under, the ocean cold as Alaskan night,

One on either end of Her, look twice.


Time ticking, a cycle of a hundred thousand years,

Cut short on heavy demand of many things,

Undersea drills and oil spills, progress this brings,

And those who love the Earth weep sad tears.


The Earth’s orbit, waxing and waning,

Continents drift, an inch or two a day,

Never has the cycle of melting happened this way,

As the machine grinds on its gears straining.


As the ice thaws, open ocean is exposed,

Where before there was surface of white,

Now becomes blue, absorbent of light,

Speeding up melting as the wind blows.
















My Heart Speaks Plainly:

Love is a Rose











A Poet Must Play The Wise Fool

Words work wonders with women’s wants and needs,

An honest man backs up his always with deeds,

The truth is enough, if that’s what he leaves,

And aiming to please, the least can appease,

Nice guys finish last, but he who laughs last,

Will never have fear for his own aftermaths,

Follow your heart down your passion's own paths,

And live in the moment, for gladness and laughs,

Craving and raving for a sight of delight,

Maybe saving up all night,

Bright light to see for her and me,

A daisy, maybe, blowing free,

It takes a wise fool, to always unfurl,

His gifts and tricks, makes a woman a girl,

And in their laughter they are all the world,

And then comes after, love like a pearl.










The Feminine Curve

She was ravishingly ravenously pervasively curvatious,

A delicious circumference, in my mind persuasive,

The ecstatic bliss was a kiss for a fool,

A final decision from the community pool,

Round and profound like the Earth high and mighty,

A beautiful joy and a mind free and flighty,

Whimsical with toys, of course she likes boys,

And knowing what works I will hope that she likes me,

A girl of that sort has magic to import,

To give to her man if he never falls short,

Of all expectation, and finally a destination,

His emancipation for her to court.













Essential Aesthetics

What is pleasing to the eye,

Is often pleasing to the touch,

When beauty one does descry,

It can change things so much,

The symmetry and harmony,

Of figure and form so fine,

Is of the highest quality,

A look of something divine,

The soft textured hues,

Of scintillating toned skin,

Can cure a man’s blues,

And let the fun begin,

The curves and sublime bends,

Of mountains and valleys hidden,

To the mind they lend,

Fantasies unbidden,

The textured layered vision,

Lovely and sublime,

Can lead to a decision,

To have a thing so fine,

The gorgeous visual sights,

Can cure the lost pathetic,

And give a man delights,

With essential aesthetics.



Insinuated Innuendo

Slippery as a greasy weasel,

Sly as the Devil’s fox,

The player knows just how to please well,

Puts toys inside a box,

The words are sweet and so well woven,

Sensuous as silken thread,

To be a treat and know you’re chosen,

And taken to a bed,

A sexy streak, an intoxicating allure,

Straight from magic mouths,

And confidence that’s always sure,

And empty of all doubts,

So flirt and work to play the game,

Because they always said so,

Everything is all the same,

Insinuated innuendo.













Sex Hex

I have myself a sex hex,

It’s like a bad complex,

If I am had, I regress,

When I am bad I progress,

It’s like perversion sticks to me,

The disease is deep, so cut me free,

The only thing that’s good ‘bout this,

Is love’s salvation, like a kiss,

I wish that all I did was good,

And clean to be, just as it should,

But my animal instincts scream,

Leaving me lost in a dream,

I’m locked up in a catch-22,

And I don’t know just what to do,

I seek a woman at whiles for me,

Only in my mind I see,

I’m always meant to be alone,

For my sins I must atone,

Until I find a place to own,

A place to go to bury my bone.














God is Good







One God, Many Faces

The brilliant white light at the end of the tunnel,

A burning bush, a man’s revelation,

In your deepest dreams where everything’s well,

In a preacher’s devout ministrations,

In the laughter of children, innocent and pure,

In a mother’s love for her child,

In the promise of paradise, its own allure,

With The Christ who’s meek and mild,

In a person who knows that everything’s One,

And connections that bring us together,

In times of rest when the day’s work is done,

In the winds and rains of our weather,

God is in everything, in everyone who loves,

And all of this world is His,

The wisdom bestowed from above because,

His will is just; yes it is,

We are a people, who put up our walls,

Only to tear them back down,

Shining with light like celestial balls,

And the Earth so blue and round,

In everything good, and what follows after,

In all that is right and true,

God lives within us, our spirits He captures,

Until all our days are through.



Christ’s Passion and Compassion

He always spoke of God,

The Father and himself,

His will was firm and true,


The masses then he awed,

With the Father his soul dwelt,

To heaven then he flew,


The ancient prophets’ wisdom,

In tomes on dusky shelves,

In temples where they preached,


With his love he blessed them,

And offered up his wealth,

To him their spirits reached,


Humanity was his,

His passion and his flame,

To teach and always give,


To those who would resist,

And torture him in pain,

He forgave so they may live.





Jesus Pleases the Spirit

Natural adept, savant and genius,

Guru, medicine man, God,

Prophet, teacher, speaker to all of us,

The people watched him awed,

The power He held in his hand,

Was to govern human hearts,

And his love transcends The Man,

Until the soul departs,

Spoke in woven parables,

And metaphors well-knit,

Broke into homes with miracles,

And set forth with His gift,

He knew His God, the Father high,

His will the Christ did lend them,

Like wings of doves that in heaven fly,

He rose at his ascension,

Pure as snow on ancient grass,

Laying with no blemish,

Warm as the sun in summers past,

Of men did Jesus fish,

The healer and the peace bringer,

The dissident against wrong,

Forever after his spirit will linger,

While angels sing their songs.











Little Bits of Wisdom







Less is More, More or Less

A diet plan that fits my size,

Is something to look after,

I know someday I’ll have the prize,

A healthy body faster,

Giving up to get something,

That means there’s more for less,

Is difficult, at times a chore,

A challenge or a test,

I’ll hold back the things I want,

To have more things I need,

A guide to follow, not to flaunt,

A voice with which to heed,

No sugar, no salt, no animal fat,

And abstinence from sex,

Can cure my ills, I’ll have me back,

Away from my life’s hex,

Be frugal with your energy,

And all your worldly cares,

Do not indulge, relentlessly,

And be more self aware,

A final thought on cutting down,

On all of my addictions,

I see a smile from a frown,

An end to my afflictions.


Multi-Faceted Fascination

Everything has many sides to it,

Each reflecting in its own facet,

To see just one is total blindness,

To judge like this is sheer injustice,

A wholly single-minded drive,

Is no way to keep your spirit alive,

There’s far too much to any one thing,

Like the crowd’s hush for a song to sing,

We are all snowflakes in a grand flurry,

Running from place to place in a hurry,

We reflect light, our eyes can shine bright,

Even in a world with such stress and worry,

Late at night, the sleeper dreams,

Reflecting light, whatever it means,

This is the way of things, so it seems to be,

To look out from within and always see,

A rainbow’s colors are the spectrum,

Like the passion of lovers, with God to direct them,

To neglect such love is a closed, shut mind,

To nurture it means that more you will find,

A human soul is an expanse of experience,

Some which is mild and other intense,

The whole is more than the sum of the parts,

A multi-faceted soul, until it departs.


The Herd Must be Heard

A thousand voices, crying to be heard,

A crowd, a throng, a collection,

Until the status quo disturbed,

Creates a new direction,

The silent masses have intent,

Their needs and wants and drives,

And to their voices, ears are lent,

They must somehow survive,

And whether they are rich or poor,

In this it hardly matters,

The truth they hold has its allure,

For those with silver platters,

If one knows what the people need,

Then one may rise to see,

A place bestowed to one who heeds,

The people’s destiny,

And these great heroes come and go,

From the past to future,

The ones who know what people know,

In their time and culture,

Jesus Christ was one of these,

And Gandhi and Mandela,

They wish to help, they seek to please,

Inspiring story tellers,

So if you listen very close,

Within yourself you’ll hear,

The whispers of the masses’ ghosts,

And what they need is clear.

Definitive Definitions

I like language well defined,

That way I know inside my mind,

What the words and meanings are,

From the voices, near and far,

I dislike a sloppy phrase,

And shoddy words will make me crazed,

I question things that someone said,

If it won’t sound right in my head,

I think poetry does justice,

To expression, yes it does this,

And Merriam-Webster isn’t very,

Good as just a dictionary,

I like when things are set up straight,

And the words don’t deviate,

From the truth that’s plain in sight,

Like books I read far in the night,

A book that is so well described,

Has descriptions that are wise,

People who read them then will know,

What’s this and that, and so and so,

When people beat around the bush,

It’s like their brains are really mush,

And I don’t need these inhibitions,

Just give me definitive definitions.



The Virtues of Children

When one is very, very young,

And life springs forth anew,

Before the hurts that keep them stung,

And troubles, there are few,

Many traits and qualities,

Such lucky children possess,

And draw them to their ecstasies,

Oh what a life so blessed!

Affection for your fellow man,

And simple, easy love,

That for the brave will take a stand,

And God’s touch from above,

Then there’s curiosity,

A need to know and learn,

A need to seek more novelty,

The explorer’s heart will burn,

Innocence and cleanliness,

A soul not perverse or sick,

Spirit too, life’s own richness,

And wit to match so quick,

Toughness and a healing touch,

That comes from deep within,

That in your youth can mean so much,

Before the advent of sin,

These traits are common to lads and lasses,

And often they may know,

The Virtues of Children as their time passes,

Good God to them bestowed.

Jewel of Denial

To say no to the wrong desires,
In such a world of vices,

Is to not ignite the fires,

And pay much lower prices,

An addiction costs one money,

And time and mind more spent,

Actually, it isn’t funny,

To be so badly bent,

All my myriad perversions,

Are dirty in the spirit,

Some would say they’re just diversions,

But that’s not how I hear it,

Just like gambling, drugs, or smut,

The things that give us pleasure,

I should say, “enough is enough”,

And find a deeper treasure,

In this life our lots of fate,

Are paths through every journey,

And I find it’s not too late,

So don’t be in a hurry,

So try keep your habits clean,

And don’t be so on trial,

Stay away from the obscene,

Become a jewel of denial.



Pros and Cons

The writer, the genius, the thinker, the poet,

Can see the bright side of what they do,

And only they can truly know it,

That’s the truth that gets them through,

Bad days must always come and go,

This too shall pass, they say inside,

Their strength and weakness they may know,

They’re kept in secret places they hide,

Some wish to go pro, but many writers are cons,

Rich with avarice to sell anything that will,

Selling lies to people in which they are drawn,

Sleeping on golden beds where they lay still,

Professional people have a secret in them,

They need hidden knowledge to know their place,

Just as a criminal would say is deep within them,

A knowing way that keeps ahead of the race,

Prose is an artist’s tool, changing reality to what it needs,

The writer’s rule is to do whatever it takes,

A con artist is the same way, but they mask their own deeds,

Until they withdraw and their fool’s front breaks,

If you’re gifted and you want to make it big,

There’s good and bad to any path you choose,

You could end up a saint or a flying pig,

It depends on how you win and what you lose.



The Pain is Exquisite

Like your first tattoo,

Or a girl’s break of virginity,

Like birth pangs, life born anew,

Or the moment of your mortality,

Like heartbreak and loneliness,

Or your father’s hard slap,

Like memories of lost bliss,

Or a loud thunderclap,

Like a jolt of cold water,

On an early, tired face,

Like the marriage of your daughter,

And a father’s empty place,

Like conception of self-consciousness,

And the pain of puberty,

Like a scab you need to pick,

And worry constantly,

Like an ascetic monk’s life,

Or a Native Sun Dance,

Like Christ’s pain and strife,

Even deep within His trance,

The pain is exquisite,

It’s almost like a hit,

And again you go with it,

Even just for a bit,

Moments like these come,

And pass away, forgotten,

To all and not just some,

From the top way to the bottom,

And when the pain is done,

It always seems to be,

In a way you’ve won,

At least your mind is free.























Normally Strange and Strangely Normal

To be just a bit different,

Seemingly all of the time,

Is to be in a way bent,

On seeking one’s own mind,

One day here then gone,

And always it’s the same,

From dusk to every dawn,

Asleep we play the game,

In waking times there come,

Voices from the mist,

There’s always then someone,

In a covert tryst,

As the days roll by,

In the Spring and Fall,

The changing time will fly,

Like swift wind over all,

Just a bit superstitious,

They are watching me,

And my flowers hibiscus,

Are underneath the tree,

So one day I will go,

And I will never return,

What happens I don’t know,

What’s after I will learn,

It’s a strangely normal change,

As death does come to all,

And it’s also normally strange,

For this thing to befall.

Stupendously Stupid

To truly harness the enormity of ignorance,

Available, literally at times, on tap,

One must be desperate to be in happy happenstance,

And let go of an internal map,

The whims of idiocy are many it seems,

Though moronic this may be,

To chase pies the sky and caviar dreams,

And never, ever feel pleased,

The ignoble will rule, with blind eyes turned on us,

Looking but not seeing at all,

Quick to judge, in contempt they’ve drawn us,

Drunk as though on alcohol,

Stupid is as stupid does,

A wise man once did say,

And ends to means are thus, because,

Of every passing day,

Dumb as a brick, and deaf to all,

They run in circles swinging,

The world is sick, a polluted ball,

And more and more it’s bringing,

Ill-advised by fools and crooks,

Unwise to be so senseless,

Inanely babbling like bubbling brooks,

Asinine, absurd, and reckless,

It seems daft to think these things,

But my words, I must be true with,

And after all, this world will bring,

Many people stupendously stupid.

Insidious Sadism

Like snake venom working its way towards the heart,

Like the sudden rush of an opiate fix,

Like a guilt trip used to make the fear start,

Like a tumor eating away in the body’s mix,

Like a spy digging into enemy territory,

Like a mugger lurking in dark alleys,

Like a torture chamber so cruel and scary,

Like a scorned woman hating a man’s fallacies,

Like a pedophile hanging around a schoolyard,

Like an tyrant setting the world on fire,

Like an abusive husband’s hands cold and hard,

Like a power madness gone haywire,

The insidious need to hurt, maim, and kill,

Is an infliction on the human condition,

Until the prey dies and lies still,

And the predator revels in their own sadism.




Let’s Talk About Everything and Talk About Nothing

If something always is, and nothing always isn’t,

And everything contains itself, always endlessly,

To know itself then is the way that everything is bent,

And nothing goes on forever, outside of infinity.


Nothing is an absence, a negation, and a void,

And everything reflects itself upon itself at times,

The unconscious and subconscious are mysteries for Freud,

And emptiness that does exist, exists inside the mind.


Nothing can exist outside of everything that is,

Within it all, like a big ball, it’s filled up to the brim,

Basically just energy, to itself it gives,

And nothing comes from nothing, whether it is Her or Him.


Talking about nothing will always lead nowhere,

Talking about everything can lead you nowhere too,

With all of this discussion, I feel I don’t know where,

To go then in the end and then have nothing left to do.














It is The Spirit of Things:

The Undercurrents and Umbrellas










Seeing is Believing

I come bearing belief, to win an end to grief,

And connecting with life is my only relief,

I ask only for some tolerance and guidance,

To relieve the diseases that impede us and hide us,

I know when I die, all things I will see,

There isn’t actually an end to me,

In actuality, it’s a fact that to be,

Is finding a way within infinity,

I hold the keys to kingdom of ease,

I wish only to please, I beg on my knees,

Only one way for me, and I watch the trees,

The breeze comes free, all these things that I need,

I sow my seeds, and wait patiently,

For all good things to come to me,

With patience and temperance, one may be,

Allowed to live on endlessly.












They say that one becomes as humble as can be,

By recognizing their own mortality,

It’s the only way to be, a paradoxical reality,

Like everything else, dichotomy and duality, 

The law of two is what is always true,

And into self-knowledge my paths will lead,

One only gains control when control is lost,

An act of faith is always the cost,

I must acknowledge the truth of myself,

And know what is good, so that I can get help,

From God as I should, in my humility,

My personal savior will set my soul free.














Kinetic Intent

If a point of pressure was created,

Somewhere on the body,

If the spot was chosen with wisdom,

To mean something to those who choose,

As a metaphor of feeling,

To have character and meaning,

If the pressure was focused on,

With the Intent of thought as a conception of what one wished for,

Love, for instance, but anything would work,

Peace is simple this way; it’s the Intent that counts,

The belief and the powerful, intentionally heightened wish,

That carries itself out somehow for the wisher,

We always get what we truly want in the end,

So be careful what you wish for,

This is simply a way to pray.











Individuality is Reality Too

Your own subjective reality,

The thing identifying with thee,

The one behind your eyes that sees,

The trust in knowing who one will be,

How charming and disarming is he,

Not even harming but really free,

Yarns and threads to weave karmic tapestries,

Greatly needing a sound destiny,

The individual path is what sets apart,

A person from others, where the ego starts,

So heroes are made, and villains too,

As people stand out, doing what they do,

I never doubt this is often true,

And I won’t pout over what I knew,

The truth that I stood for nothing good,

In confusion and illusion as one never should,

My own account of my history,

Is a shattered mind, my individuality,

And yet I find that the end of me,

Will make me kind and set me free.






The Force is With Me

Waiting attention, prepared to be open,

Interlopers create cracks in my television,

Outside forces redirected mentally,

Into my physical environment, temperamental,

I think it has effect, the motor broke,

Shortly after I began channeling this way,

Redirecting Intent with the Intent of release,

And thus see the outcome of spirits I heed,

Time ticks away,

My waiting watching attention holds me in sway,

The overwhelming weight of conception,

Each minute ticking by, a moment before I see it,

My attention like a Jedi-reflex, a step ahead of change,

I know it is magic, I have no doubt,

A momentary lapse of reason without which,

I would not know at all, and only pretend,

And revolve my world around facts too concrete to be true,

Though still I may have to, yet much time alone,

In quiet remoteness I am free to explore this,

A beggar maybe, yet larger than life,

A trance is a state of mind in which to see many things,

Delights of destiny, the night closes in,

And makes me face the music, my daily dreaming,

I take myself home, drawing and consolidating my energy,

Into my center, from my head down,

Then I find myself in a world full of light and color,

Powerful people often are there,

Spirits, not phantoms of my mind,

Each and every day, I wonder what I will see,

A woman or a man, or children?

Or will I be alone, as I almost never am,

And in those dreams I wander, knowing that I dream,

I am always myself then, knowing my person awake,

And knowing I am that person asleep, but these worlds are all real.













The Constant Quests of Destiny

The armies of the living battle over fate in the fields of existence,

To win reality itself at the cost of persistence,

The fire within drives the hosts to chase personal glory,

In the names of God and Man, these games are life’s stories,

For king and country, for power and personal wealth,

For the love of God, and Jesus Christ Himself,

For the sake of our souls, wanting to be wild and free,

To be among the high, masters of destiny,

To have total control, and know what it means,

To never give into the demands of the obscene,

To know one is winning, and forget about sinning,

And always have access to laughter and grinning,

To be taxed less and not bored, to look for a score,

Every day some people always only want more,

Greed and avarice, drinking from the golden chalice,

Seeking true bliss, but the point of it’s missed,

When serving the self as though ultimately,

The self is the only thing one always needs,

Is to be set apart, to be always alone,

And have a small heart, but yet bend on a throne.





Warrior's Worlds and Wanderer's Welcome

Intrepid and delectable,

Undetected in the waking world,

Internal directives predictable,

Into other dimensions I’m hurled,

A trance moment that comes to pass,

At the cusp of sleep,

Immediate passage into dreaming at last,

No break in awareness do I keep,

Only levitation tells me its vision,

And for a moment I wonder if I’m awake,

Always a hopeful supposition,

But alas, this has never been the case,

And I always check myself,

Seeing the whole room with my mind’s eye,

Knowing now in sleep I dwell,

Feeling my energy lifting me high,

And then I may fly out my window outside,

And see the world under, and always I try,

To hold in the vision exactly what’s there,

When I am awake, of this hope I’m aware,

To dream myself into reality itself,

So that I may believe that my soul will be dealt,

A hand so amazing and ultimately,

Living forever in this world, yet free,

Sometimes I’m transported to vivid strange places,

Often alone, and in God’s good graces,

My goal’s not to wake for as long as I may,

So that I can explore and this beauty will stay,

For as long as I can, and this exercise does,

Allow for attention to strengthen because,

It’s just an extension of one’s waking self,

I believe it’s my soul, this I’ve always felt,

They’ve called it a double, a dreaming body,

And I know by now that it’s actually me,

So I go on my way in a reality,

Being a dream to see what there’s to see.













Subtlety is the Art of The Wizard

Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards,

For they are subtle and quick to anger,

A wizard's work is never done,

And their staff a head banger,

Silence broken by tinkling laughter,

With so much to do, but what follows after,

Is what becomes true, they follow their cause,

A wizard's work is never done,

They come and go, just because…

















The Spiral Staircase

Ground zero, the door opens,

In I go, and what do I see?

A dream hero, not broken,

And a spiral staircase in front of me,

The first small step is always the hardest,

The beginner’s entrance initiation,

I thirst to be kept at going the farthest,

Finding a winner’s destination,

The spiral continues,

Up and up it goes,

While the staircase sinews,

Out into the cosmos,

It escalates away,

It creates like day,

A metaphor for destiny,

And all the games I play,

To the top I go,

With my friends in tow,

And what do you know?

Mary Poppins all aglow,

Handing out umbrellas,

To the gals and fellas,

On the edge, leap from the ledge,

Float down to earthly dwellers.


Vibrant Colors of Wonder

Avid livid vivid dreamer,

Active lasting color schemer,

The direct path is a line straight,

Walk on through the open gate,

The other side is just a prize,

Hide your pride and always wait,

Until the moment comes at last,

To go over, tests are passed,

And once more the shining hues,

Reds and yellows, greens and blues,

Are candy to my mind to choose,

In sleep divine, I never lose.
















Death is a Procedural Event

Death is a procedural event,

The doors open, the crowd is ushered in,

They take their places, take their seats,


Their quiet speech filling the space,

The master of ceremonies calls for silence,

The room is hushed and ever-present,

The speaker comes forth and begins their story,

And all fall under their spell.

Finally, the story ends,

And the speaker leaves with no more words,

Out into the unknown, where there may be,

Monsters, angels, gods and demons,

And the crowd rises to leave,

Only to wait their own turns.













This book was written during a period in my life that was blessed by regular positive energy and good feeling.  I was then smoking marijuana daily, and I was receiving it medicinally in the state of Massachusetts.  I am diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder, which implies mood swings of bipolar nature and a variety of difficult altered states, including hallucinations and hyper-creative, intense thought.  My history is complex; I was born a hypersensitive to an atheist and scientific father, but I was also a prodigy intellectually, and this made me painfully aware that my belief in and practicing of magic would someday be considered a sign of schizophrenia.  In my first grade year, shortly after turning six, I’d had an experience of Seeing, where I Saw thoughts being brought down in language form that I could almost hear, directed at each child, which I recognized as being the conscious or subconscious concerns of their immediate families, as all the thoughts I saw were of adults.  I was enormously gifted, but deeply scared, at that time having an awful revelation of my fate bringing me into the realm of insanity in my future, and I underwent a painful process from that moment on of forgetting this experience, the memory of which was brought to light much later in life.  I was a gifted visionary, both waking and asleep, and a literary guru for my age, reading books like “Crime and Punishment” and Steven King’s “The Stand” at the early age of ten.

My upbringing was a key element to the breakdown of my mental health, as my parents were permissive and uninvolved, especially when I became a teenager, at which time I started smoking pot due to peer pressure (as I didn’t like how it affected me but didn’t want to lose the friends I had), with the parental advice of smoking in the house to not get arrested.  This only confused and scared me more; my parents had been strict about my schooling up until then and I was a straight A student, even for some time after the drug use began.  I felt I did not trust them or their judgment and secretly wished they had simply forbade me to spend time with the friends that were a bad influence on me.                                                                          In any case, my history from that point on was lurid and dotted all over with intense use of hallucinatory drugs, including magic mushrooms (starting at age fourteen), LSD (at fifteen), PCP, and later mescaline containing cactus and the South American plant mixture known as Ayahuasca.  I’ve even recently been using this one mixture of plants, and have had trouble in my life because I do not have any real expertise in knowing how to be safe with such powerful tools.                                                                                                          I grew up in a home with a father who was either an Atheist or Agnostic. In any case he did not believe in irrational thought as a basic premise of reality and was a hard scientist, both in his work and in his mental state and perspective on life.  My mother was a psychic and sensitive who was very unhappy in her marriage for many years at the beginning of my life and my brother’s, who was born three years after me.  I was a gifted child, both intellectually and as a hypersensitive who was empathic and to some extent telepathic and moreover, conscious of this aspect of himself and what it meant under his father’s roof.  My life is complicated, and I’ve hidden this truth from my own family until much later on. Only after being diagnosed and having intense spiritual experiences as an adult, knowing myself much better, and being confident in what I knew did I become able to openly discuss my magical experiences with my own parents.                                                                                                I am writing several books of poetry besides this one at this time.  One is based on Lewis Carrol’s “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland” and “Through the Looking Glass”, and another a collection of short stories.  I went to a Protestant Church starting at age eight up until my freshman year in high school and the beginning of my drug use, after which I was cut off from that community and more scared and confused than I’d ever believed was possible in my previous life.  I was devout as a child, and have been deeply involved in prayer and meditation on the teachings in the Bible and the Word, which is God.  I also am comfortable within the understandings of The Spiritualist Church and have had experiences with seeing ghosts and other manifestations, and as a late teenager was deeply engrossed in Carlos Castaneda’s works, which are entirely based on the lineage of ancient Toltec sorcerers and their knowledge over millennia handed down generation by generation.  As you can see, my history and influences in belief and experience of spirituality are as complex as other aspects of my life, and I’ve practiced techniques written about in Castaneda’s work effectively at points, especially regarding dreaming practices to induce lucid and cohesive dreams.          Currently I am interested in understanding my feelings for God the Father, Jesus Christ the Savior and penultimate spiritual healer of humanity, and also reading about mediumship and the understanding of psychic activity to access the spirit world and commune with those who have passed on.  I’m naturally and especially interested in learning to dream of my ancestors, people in my history who loved me dearly such as grandparents. I’d like to go even farther back in my ancestry to devout believers in God and gifted Seers that my mother’s side of the family still remembers stories of.  We are Armenian, as far back as our history is remembered we are only Armenian, so as many know our history has been broken by the Genocide during World War I.  At this time, 1.5 million Armenians were killed in a few years by the Turkish government, and many women and children simply sent into the desert to die, taken forcibly from their homes.  All four of my grandparents were small children during this time in Armenia and survivors of this horror.  I’ve never heard them speak of what they went through, and hardly knew my grandparents at all, as my mother’s father was already passed on at the time of my birth, and my two grandmothers as well by the time I was five.  What I remember of them was that they were very deeply kindhearted and good-natured people who were full of love and affection, warmth and compassion.  Both grandmothers passed from cancer, and my father’s father as well, that in our own home when I was twelve years old.  He was an Atheist until his death, and never spoke to me about his mortality and knowledge of his impending end.  He had terminal lung cancer, and we took care of him in our home with care from nurses, to mostly keep him comfortable, as he was beyond help for a cure.  He died at age 81, and I remember clearly the moment it happened.  During this time many things occurred, including my first drink (stolen from the unlocked liquor cabinet, and it was scotch, my father’s daily medicine), and my first sexual interaction with girls.  I was at the cusp of teenage years, and all the influences in my life led me to make staggering mistakes that ultimately destroyed my sense of safety and self by the time I was a senior in high school.  I was diagnosed at age twenty, after working in living torment of schizophrenia being covered up with a sheer effort of will on my part at difficult jobs that made life hell on Earth for me in the two years after high school and before being medicated.  In any case, my history was intense and very painful more often than not, and I feel grateful that the worst of it is behind me, as my condition, if not tampered with by taking more dangerous drugs, is generally going to improve and stabilize over time as I age.  I am happy and grateful to have had the ability to write this book, which I feel is a very realistic representation of my own thoughts, feelings, and experiences, and reflects my character well.  It was a book about the positive aspects of my experience of life, by and large, and I’ve self-published another book previously that was basically a journal of mental disorder, pain and suffering, entitled “A Long, Cold, Lonely Winter”, which can also be found on Amazon.  I have done nothing to market this book, and simply published the text of poetry I had written without editing or considering what I would do with it after, simply because I found out that Amazon can publish books for free. I just wanted to see how it worked so I jumped to do it to find out.  It’s not a work that I’m very proud of, and has mostly dark material, and was not professionally worked on in any real way, but if you’ve read this and are interested, it would be an expression of my hardship in life, and there are some good pieces of work in there as well.

In any case, I want to thank any readers for trying my work and taking my mind for a spin; I hope you’ve enjoyed my efforts and would look for later publications of other works I will put out in my life. I am a new aspiring writer with no fan base as of yet, but if you are reading this than you are a contributor to my efforts to establish myself, and again I thank you.


God bless and may your souls feel free in this life, and have no fear of the next. My hopes and prayers are with you.


Saro Bedian
















Definitive Definitions

Definition – A linguistic cognitive construct that allows a word to be used effectively in communication.  Definitions must be agreed upon or communication becomes futile.


Power – A mysterious and compelling force that is accessible though discipline and careful practice of utilizing attention to access it.  Power directly affects reality inasmuch as the use of it or effects of it can readily change reality to whatever the Intent of the power is.


Evil – An abstract and intelligent force that acts on human beings through inciting them with the promise of power.  Its Intent is to dominate, corrupt, destroy, and subjugate the spirits of other forms of life, especially other human beings so that its own ends will be met.  Those who fall prey to its enticement suffer enormously in the long run, and those under their influence suffer in the short term the most.


Good – The Truth.  The Light.  God.  Love. Zen Oneness.  A force of compulsion to create connectivity for the purpose of serving the spiritual wellbeing of those within the connectivity.  A unifying force that creates this connectivity is good.

Story – A telling of woven strands of fate with an underlying purpose that is the actual Intent of the telling itself.


Eccentric – Successful at being crazy.


Privacy – The intimate, secretive feeling of aloneness within the context of the self or an intimate circle of actors and observers.


Basic Trust – The state of being defined by being comfortable and safe to “let go” and just “be” in a given situation.  It is created through tolerance and understanding from the environment one is living in.  It is considered by psychologists to be paramount towards effective and healthy social growth.  It allows for spontaneity, genuineness, freedom of expression and creativity, high energy levels, and safety through understanding of rules within this freedom.


Normal – The majority. A statistical analysis of characteristic factors contributing to any comparison would determine what normal is for any population of items. 

Wise Person – A person, usually of great age, that understands madness in such a way as to have a very powerful method to their own.  Attributes of a “Wise Person” include generalized happiness and contentment, knowledgeability and the ability to express themselves effectively, gifts of insight, foresight, and secret ways of knowing things.  Also, they possess the abilities needed to make others open to living with deep experience and will act as a guide for them effectively.


Name – A language metaphor used to identify something.


“It” – A voice in the communal pool of collective consciousness.  “It” is compelled to give what “it” can give to aid the natural workings of life, and this compulsion is “its” humanity. Linguistically, “It” is a noun that can be applied to anything possible of being conceived in thought.

Hit – An idea or consecutive series of ideas that are like “happy thoughts”.  A hit will incite desirable change in a person’s organism.  A hit in its realest form is like a mind altering, extremely pleasurable state of being that changes reality in as much as it can be used within social or other contexts, depending on the Intent of the actual hit itself.  It may be useful as a mind control mechanism, as it can be used to manipulate other people’s consciousness and act as either a dominating force or if better a guide to how reality transpires.


Ludicrous – Pointlessly ridiculous or ridiculously pointless.


Death – The culmination of one’s life to a point of infinite expansion.  The ultimate equalizer of life. It is the same for all types of organic life, in the sense that all DNA has an original source and all functions with death as a finality of its organic existence.  Death implies closure of one state of being and rebirth into another.

Freedom – A state of being that is characterized by heightened levels of reality, fluidity, a “natural” feel that is very human, higher functions of the mind and psyche, a “letting go” of controls on one level to access another level of perspective, and a sense of liberation of constraints and blocks to the natural functions of the mind and body.  This can achieved through discipline, but is as natural as a two year old babbling.


The Mind – A collection of internalized interpretations and reactions that are developed through socialization in childhood.  The mind is an imposition of socialization.  It is most often characterized by a need to dominate or subjugate another mind, or to be dominated or subjugated itself.  The mind, as a rule of thumb, is a “lower” state of being for a human.  Human’s may go beyond the socialized mind and have evolved perception and a higher interpretative system that is more omnipresent and does not fall into the predator/prey complexes that the lower mind does.


Alone – To be separate from others and connectivity besides the internalized awareness of one’s self.  To be separate from interconnectivity in any way creates aloneness, which can lead to loneliness, and can be remedied with intimacy.

Intelligent - Wise


Reality – An agreed upon, cohesive, perceptual understanding of aspects of existence that is accessible through the mind, body, and spirit.  Things may be “more real” or “less real” depending on relevance determined by other aspects of existence, subjective and objective effect on other aspects of existence and the individual, and validity via observable and predictable effects.


Truth – Truth is “what is real”, and the closer to the central nexus of truth that one goes, the more relevant and “real” their experience of the world becomes. 


Fate - What actually happens in the physical and metaphysical dimensions of reality, down to the minutest detail, is the truth of Fate. Fate is determined, as is everything else, through observation.  The most fluid path of Fate possible is the most “natural”, and most befitting the followers of that fluid path.  The Universe’s observations of Man determine Man’s most fluid fate, which is God’s observations.  God’s fate for man is to determine a utilitarian benefit to everything that is to the utmost of its ability to be determined through free will, and this is the fate line that holds the most compulsion over human hearts.


Free Will - Man has been given the ability to go against the most fluid and “natural” course of fate, which is only possible through free will. All other organic life does not possess this ability in any regard.  This has allowed evil to exist, and has also propelled mankind through history to greatness.  The results of Free Will have led to modern society.


Prisoner – A person who is stuck in any given situation that they wish they could extradite themselves from, and does not have the power to do so.  We are all prisoners of power.


Victim – A person feeling self-pity is a victim for the duration of time they succumb to that experience.


Humility – To know one’s self honestly is to be humble.  To give credit to another based on merit of essential humanity is to be humble. To know one’s mortality is to be humble.


The Virtues of Children – Affection, curiosity, openness and honesty, exploration, playfulness, intuition, cleanliness, and innocence are the Virtues of Children.

Essential Humanity – Core positive elements of human nature.  The Virtues of Children apply as aspects of Essential Humanity, as well as compassion, empathy, tolerance, fairness, generosity, libido, and love.

Nobility – The character trait of being noble is based, in the realest sense, in an individual’s virtue, which is the reality of what is good in them.  True noble character comes from nothing more or less than the development and pursuit of this intrinsic goodness.