Belief

Belief as the boundary of my mind
Boundary as the temporary relief forming my minds bind
Divided in this misbelief, provided by the disbelief
Broken, shaken and forsaken by the strife of this confided grief
I invite the plight of my fright, I plunder in the light of my blunder

Unable to be aware, disabled to care for my own self that I call my-self
I join with those that object, interject and project my own mind
Hand in hand, mind within mind, in each others bind, I bend the realty to make my actuality
An actuality that forms the very lens of constructive destruction of my own minds grind

This destruction as my norm , my very form and the storm, I look for a reform only to renew the storm of this destructive norm
Unable to inquire, I enquire every mire that I can hire, adhere and admire this wire
Living in the hallucination of the other, calling for the causation’s of the nether, leaving the very observations of ones tether to the other, I bathe in this relative relatable relative

Forming customs, cultures and the vultures that feed on my accustomed cultural customs
I hide behind faith, abide by the scape of this wraith for a momentary escape
Momentary escape as my new cape, I live for the pride of this abide making it my abode

Divided in the name of religion, I create legions of regions and provisions of these divisions within my very hidden garrisons
A garrison guarded, regarded, carded and beaded as needed
Traditons as my renditions, I am an abomination to my realizations

Stoned to the known comfort, I take the pain to the boned miscomfort
I breed greed for this misunderstood comfort to form the plead for another lead of this postponed feed

Maybe a movement will arise in the moment I claim and proclaim as mine
to show me that the mine is a meme of the shrine I worship as my flagship in relationship to every dictatorship within

Maybe, I will realize and actualize the conformity to the misinformity instilled and distilled within me to be still and make everything nill
Maybe, I nourish the life in front of me, around me, abound in me and within me
Maybe then, I may see the actuality of my belief, my minds mis-belief and the very nature of the own boundaried reality of my own mind

For, Life is not be staged, not to be caged nor appraised, Life is to be praised
Life is not a strife not a rife, Life is found in the wildlife
Life is not be tarnished or diminished, life is to be nourished, cherished and flourished

So I let go of the past, every tradition, every custom, every belief and every division within myself
I stand naked in this moment and in the movement of the moment, to face, to embrace and to grace the very perception of life within

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Me & the Other

When I was born, I was crying and the other were in joy of my crying
When I leave, the other cries for stealing their joy, their memories, their idea of me and never me

For the me I call me, is a relative me that is framed and formed from the fabric of the other
To know the me, to know the I that is other than given by the other, maybe I need to look at the tether of the other
A tether that is non relative to the other and that which does not reside in the other, and has its roots with the me I call as me, the image of the me within me

And maybe when I stand alone, I may come across this tether of the idea of the other and the nature of my perception of the relationship of the other
To get to know this tether of the other is to know the nature of the nether
For the feather and the nether within is relative to the other and the other in the I that is neither in the I nor in the other

To bow to another, to row with another may extend the hand of comfort, lend the land of the concert and justification of the act of non-rectification
And I may never come across the nature of the I that is lost in any of the other

So sound the horn of the Human, Be the lumen that is born in every numen, realize and actualize the Hu within the Human
For to be the Hu, is to be the new in every morning dew
In the new is the true and in the true is the new

New is not a relative new to that of the old
For the old is a memory with its prangs and gangs that gets drunk in the name of the new
Break this gunk, shake this skunk and make one self debunk
To know the nature of the new
For such new, has no knew or new to show the old or the bold or to uphold the so told
Like water this is the very matter that is behind all of the later

To face this new is to travel within, to ungravel the in, and to brace this akin is to make the fuel for my actualization of the realization of that which is burning
Burning within, from which I am running and yet akin from running
For standing has strength while all else are running from this aking

For the kingdoms and the doldrums, the rags and the riches, the drags and brags are all in the with in
So wake up, Stand up with in the up that has no ship of relationship, that which is neither the up of the down or the down of the up and is always around and abound

Love In Action

Love is an idea when in actual action has a different notion, a different motion, a different station to board a different interaction
Ideas are many, actions are so few and very new to the very few that knew, knows of no new

An idea is not of the new when its from the memory, when it has its roots within the penetentray of the memory
Tried and Trekked, wired and wrecked, dried and ducked, walked and talked are all of the memory
Memory is of the old, is of the comfort and of the uncomfort directing me, carving my ideas and the resulting ideals of the I, I call I
To live in the memory is that of self shackled prison in which the prisoner and the guard are the same
The one that lost the key to my shackles and the one that has the key to my shackles is one and the same
Same shame, just a different name and a different game and still of the ideal of the same tame of the shame

To arise from memory is to take shelter in the Sensory, a sensory dungeon
A dungeon that never be the pigeon that flies, that is free of that which weighs me down, forbids me from my very own melt down
Always showing me hope, scarring me of the my nope, my very probe in to the nature of hope and wraps me with a robe of illusory armory in the protection of stationary
For Hope is the temporary temporal twist in this motion to bring forth the notion of the past and relive in the reiteration of the retreat of the past

Past as my mast
Pasts mast as my cast, I see the vast through this cast and the caste of the cast
Contrast as my justification, my juxtaposition to recast the past to outlast the precast, I recast the past in aghast
To understand this nature of the pasts contrast is to avast, is to move with the motion

And when I move with the motion with no notion of the motion, I may come across that is which is neither of the motion nor of the notion
For the motion has no commotion nor devotion and still includes all of the emotion

This Motion has no definition of Love, no definition of this or that. NO idea of love, No comfort of the idea of Love
For it is the action, in every momentary movement of the moment that redefines, vines and shines that which is
And that which is has in it the awareness of all that was and is and never was

Such a mind is neither blurred nor scared or scarred
And is in the state of self inquiry to myself that which i call my self and all of the perceptions of that self
For the inquiry when turns on itself, a different state arises from such inquiry
To experience this, the clearance of this experience in everyday action, in every perception of my every thoughts action has a very different essence to the very incidence of essence

Emotion As Motion

Emotion is not the motion of an age old locomotion
Emotion is the motion of the moment in the movement within each momoent

For emotion is of the present. That which arises from the past has its roots in the memory and is just a motion of the memory and not emotion
To know emotion is to know the motion, to know the motion is to enslave the emotion to the shackles of a memory repeating itself

Emotion maybe like that of the awareness, that is aware and yet never repeat nor clig on to, to repeat the same or mask the same in the name of a different meme, a concurrent name

Emotion is neither devotion nor an explosion of commotion
Emotion may be like the ocean, that is ever flowing and is neither taken from nor added to and yet is in motion of its own notion

Born out the ocean, every notion returns to the ocean and so is the emotion
Born out of emotion, every motion of the emotion returns to emotion to experience the very emotion, to represent the present within the present

In the present, there is the presence of emotion
And maybe when I am able to be aware of the this presence, the presence of the absence has a different presence within the presence of this emotion
To be emotion, to live in the emotion with no recollection of the presence of emotion, maybe then, I may come upon the nature of a very different selfless emotion
A selfless emotion that is not of a self nor of the self and is of the very emotion’s motion

For the emotion to be emotion, there is no I motion nor the me motion nor the myslef commotion
In the awareness of the motion of this Me, Myself and I’s locomotion, I may come acorss the very I that is after the motion of this emotion
An by inquiring this very I, I maybe like the ocean and dissolve all the notions of emotion

Maybe then within me rises and arises the emotion
Like the fire that doesn’t burn itself
Like the water that does’t wet itself
Like the wind that doesn’t feel itself
For each of them know not of their presence and yet are present in the present’s presence
So, I be the emotionless emotion within the motion of the emotion

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Boredom

Bored and smeared of my boredom
I have created my own wardom
To create to destroy, to destroy to recreate the same, stealing from another, I have become the dictator to the idea of the other
The other as the nether, the feather for my existence, my sustenance, my deliverance from my own mold, my own hold, my own past
My past that is so vast, I no longer see it as my past and only and a mast to crush, to flush the present through the past

To be better from the past, recreating the past and referencing the past
I have built a present that is not the present
Lost in the past, past of the past
Unable to be aware of the present, my very being has become a sword that have sworn to enslave my mind and thus every action of my mind

Time as my comfort, time as my reason for seeking security
Intertwined in this twine of time, within this predetermined time
Predetermination as my determination, my destination, I am just a procrastination, procreation of the past

Swinging from one bringing to another dinging, unable to look at my own upbringing, unable to look at my own current ringing within
Religion as my escape
Division’s as my new scape
Philosophy as my therapy
Ideology as my mythology
Reliving the others past through the books, through the scriptures, through the idea of better knowledge
Adopting, adapting the experience of the other, the other that is of the past, to avoid looking at the contents of my own mind
I now arise as the seeker of the knowledge, speaker of the disillusioned porridge of this past knowledge

With a new mask, new cask of the mask to hide behind, to abide by the past, yet reliving the past inwardly, through the comfort and security of the pre-established norms, accepted worms
I am just another short term germ seeking leisure in the pleasure building my stature, my caricature

A mind that is imprisoned, however self imposed beauty of this prision might be, is still a prison
A prism of the prison, held onto, withheld within, fed from the walls herein

My mind, divided to feed its prison’s prism, creating a hallucigenic reality, residing for eternity
Living in relativity, supporting it as actuality, bonded, bounded and confounded by the the threads of the opposites
It finds comfort of one over the other, one from the other
recreating, procreating and desecrating itself in the idea of its prism’s prize

Contained within the threads of my mind, of my own reality, making each thread my reality
and reality of this containment as an actuality, I roam the streets of my imagination and seek those that support the greed of those that disagree and agree

absorbed in the self, building a self for a self calling it a self, a pointless point, a self justification view point to justify every point within this habituated habit of the self
I escape what is, chasing my own tail as my only rail

Maybe when I realize, when I release my hold on the past, my mold of this past’s mast
I may come across that which is, that which is not of the past and includes the past, not as a hold and to behold of the unfold

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Living in the I of the Eye

Eyes looking for I’s and I’s looking for Eyes
making the I from the eye and I within the eye
creating, procreating, marketing the eye of the I
I am neither in the eye nor in the I and thus neither shall I live in the I

Living through many eyes, unable to connect to any of the I
clinging, swinging from this clinging and springing from this upbringing and singing this ringing
I have become the very tradition of this wringing

Traditions as my renditions
Traditional renditions as my conditions
Conditions as my contradictions
Contradictions as my reasons, Reasons for treasons
Treasons as my seasons and so many prisons
I have become a malfeasance to the very essence

The mind’s many ways making many stays.
Many stays for many strays, for any strays and for many sways
Every escape with no prescape
Forming the makeup of the cape of the new scape of the I of the eye.

Many lives lost, many knives were toast
Through the hearts of the human and the minds of the maiden
forgotten, forbidden, forsaken, my mind is cultivated in the cult of the belt that melts into the felt of the mind, calling it my mind
Repetitions, remembrance, repetitions of this remembrance, making my memories to crave for the same hickory creating the fine thread for my traditional culture

Cultures as vultures to feed, to breed on my habituated and habituatory divisions
Divisions as provisions to make more separations
Separation’s in the name of identification to a different vulture, different Stature, different caricature
Each division creating competition in my mind, dividing my perception and fighting within the divided perceptions within my mind

For now, my divided mind has become a knife between life and life
The very knife that strives to be the strife of the life
And this, I label as life

A life that is formed through the eye, that arose the I from the eye
Maybe when I pluck the eye, burn the I of the eye
In this absence a different presence may arise, a presence that is of a different I and a different Eye of the I

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Desires Of My Mind

Desires in search of attires to bear the fruit of satires for my attire to make more desires
Unable to be aware of the nature of this mire
I weave the quilt of guilt as my belt to uphold up my pants of rants

Lost in my desires, engulfed by my fashion for new attires and enslaved by the mind behind my minds barbed wire
Unable to wake up, I hick up through my life of desires as a ream of dreams

In the pursuit of a dream, in this leap of my sleep
I have become a brute to loot, to scoot and to recruit more sleep

In this sleep, I weep, I sweep, I peep through the sleep
Dreaming, I am awake, awake within the dream of the sleep, seeping through life’s dream within the dream of the dream
I make up my own beams and screams of dreams

Confused, camouflaged, bruised, and abused by my own mind
I excuse myself of the self as a separate self to help me with the accused, with the amused

Within time, within this twine and within this train of this intertwine
I measure my treasure, my pleasure, my tether to live through the weather of the tether

In the name of together, for the sake of the heather of the other
I hold, to be bold, to uphold this mold, to live in my own blind folded mold
To behold this fold within the fold, I am sold to the wings of desire and to the streams of dreams

Wandering, meandering, plundering and laundering my plundering to make my I a hardening
I am just gardening a little more darkening to keep me asleep in this nether
To make me afloat, to look for another boat, to look for another ship of relationship
And never to unzip, to take upon the judgeship
For the judge ship is another kinship to use as a flagship to wonder of my next battleship

Ships I change, whips I arrange
But for the scar of the ships whip, I am always in range

With Scars I am full, through the stars I am filled
To maybe someday, maybe one day, I may wake up, not from the dreams or through the desire within the dream to shake up
And actually wake up

Maybe within that movement of the moment’s movement, I may invoke, provoke and evoke

Evoke

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