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

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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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Inheritance

Like the time, I was born, I dint know I was born
Maybe, when I leave, I wouldn’t know I have left
Maybe, such is the nature of birth and death
And everything in-between is not mine, it is of the other, it is the inherited thought of the other to the other to another

So I ask myself, how can I rejoice of my birth, that which I dint know
How I feel sad of the approaching death, again, that which I don’t know
For both the sadness and joy are of the known, are of the inherited thoughts

Maybe, such is the nature of hate and love, fear and fantasy
Maybe, it is someone else’s fear, somebody else’s definition of love that I made it mine
Maybe such is the nature of relationships, it is someone else’s thoughts I have made it mine and started adapting, adopting, acting them, passing them on to the other to relive another day

Maybe, so is the reason that each of us is called a person, meaning, a mask
For each of the masks I mask myself in, I task myself with to bask in my many masks

The mask of the male, the mask of the mother, the mask of the female, the mask of the father
to create a cask for the masks to fit, called relationships
Like a fish in the water, unknown of its water, I swim under the ship of relationships, carrying, storying and marrying my masks

For in these masks I makeup my life that I call mine to relive to revive the marriage of my masks
Making Life a knife edged with good and bad within which I find my pleasure of the strife

Maybe, one day I may realize that Life is neither in the good nor in the bad. Neither in the light nor in the dark
And that day, maybe I let not the opposites be a requisite for life

For the day of departure may arrive within any moment
The moment of suffering can move in within any movement
I let not my power over the other be my own cower

The mask of Suffering is real, as real as the body
The task of my perceptions are real, as real as the perceiver
The basking of pain is real, as real as the memory of the pain brought into the moment within the movement of its elegant expression

I cannot change you, I do not want to change the you nor the world
I do not want to wait for the day of my departure to realize, to actualize, to mesmerize the beauty of life beyond the walls of my masks

For the end of the rainbow is near, very near
So maybe I sacrifice the me, to be born form the ashes of the me’s me
to give freely, to outlive that which I give to maybe relive really

For the path of truth has no path of the fruit
It is a path I have to unmask and face it on my own two feet
to stand up to the habit and to the uncomfort where no other stands, where no other walks, where no other marks
It is a path that I create for myself and myself only to walk alone, all alone
For I am that has no claim for I am is always alone

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Life through a few Loaves of Bread

For a few loaves of bread and a few grains of grub
In-between the joys of pleasure and the sorrows of pain
I find my life I call life, I define this as my life

Enslaved to my desires
Engulfed by the objects of my desire

I make my desire my attire
And I roam the streets of slavery in the savory of my sorrows

Unable to create a life on my own
I recreate and procreate on the knife of pleasure and pain

Lost in the images of imagination, I build walls of hallucination
And I deck my walls with accusations of the other

Comfort as my fuel
Comfort of Security as my duel
I burn in the flames of my own habit

Unable to open up to the unknown
I stone the unknown for the known, to the known

I trade freedom for security to find freedom through security
For I know of no freedom without security and purity

I wonder if I am dreaming, if I am asleep
Only to realize that the dreamer and that is being dreamed are me, one and the same
I wonder of that which I wake up to, I wonder if that is another dream within my dream of the dream

Unknown of my own known, I weave a web of a prison, a prism
Where I am the thief and my own grief

Tired of the games and afraid of the memes and the names of the memes
Walloped by my own imagination, I no longer can gallop through my memory of life
For my life is through and for a few grains of grub and few loafs of bread

Sympathy

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Like of the Likes

Living in the Likes
Liking the like of the likes

My life as a like
I frame the likes to farm more likes

And in this war for the likes
I forage the rage of the like and unlike
For my life has become a like and unlike alike

Striving for more likes, I strike for more likes
A strike that I box in, my life, for another like, another unlike

Like as my connect, I have become a disconnect
Disconnect of my own life, the very life

Living in the image of the like and unlike alike
I forge the unlike to like and like to unlike

Like and unlike as my reason for the season
And the Image of the like as my creation
I became the I of the eye that imagined the I through the eye

Images creating images from images to imagine the image of my imagination
I have become an image, an image I feel as a privilege
Intoxicated in this beverage of the image of privilege, I pillage every village of my image

Image of my Body as my boost
Image of my mind as my feast
I scavenge through the bodies and minds for another boost and another feast

In this feast, I have become a beast
A beast that exist, just for the yeast
So it can be the so called priest

Maybe when I let go of the feast of the yeast, the image of imagination, the creation of this imaginary infatuation
Maybe then, I may come across the provision of the like, separation of the imagination and confront my hallucination

Maybe when I move from this memory of the moment, a moment of the like, a movement to the like and the moment of the images imagination

Maybe then, I may move with the movement of the moments movement with the movement within the moment that has neither the movement nor the moment

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I be a ZERO

I wonder why ZERO (0) has NO value of its own and yet used in our numerical system as a value.
I wonder of its relationship to my state of being (whether it is psychological self or the physical self)

Just like Zero, when Added or Subtracted from another number, looses itself to become that number (3+0= 3; 3-0= 3)
Same way, When I try to live in the other by taking on the other’s habits, following the other, become slave to the authority,
loose my way of thinking and living in the name of race/religion/country/Society, I loose myself into them, this may diminish me and I no longer exist except in the other, through the other

Just like when I multiply Zero with any other number, the other number dissolves into zero (3X0= 0)
Same way, when I try to manipulate the other by posing as an authority or guru or teacher, the other ceases to exist and becomes me, lives through me.
And when the other becomes me, there is only me and I cannot exist to me myself.

However when Zero, PAIRED with any other number, it not only retains its own value as ZERO, it also amplifies the total value (3 0 = 30 is greater than both 3 and 0)
Same way, when I be me and I let the other be them and when such individuals who are complete, pair up together, we create an experience
An experience that is amplified many times than any one of us

And in order for me to be me and let the other be other
I have to understand me, get rid of all the layers of comfort and security that I hide under and actually know the me I think is me
Not through the eyes of the other, or as the opposite of the other but only me

Because the other only exists to me as my perception. And my perception of the other is within me
For the other to exist, I have to exist first to perceive of the other, isn’t it?

So, maybe when I start to peel off the layers that is not me along with that which I think is me
I may come across that which is me, that which is the I that I claim as I
Not the word I, nor the qualities of the I
And maybe, I be the selfless self that neither has self or no self

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Unknown

I swing from the known to the known
for I only know the known that I have known

I find comfort in the known that I have known
I find pleasure/pain in the known that I have known
I am attached to the known that I have known
so I keep swinging from the known to the known

When I see the unknown that is known
I say, it is magic to know the unknown
I forget that it is tragic to know the unknown, for it is now the known-unknown

So I sing the known of the known-unknown
Never knowing that the known-unknown is also known
until it again becomes known to the known

As the days turn to night and night to day
I sleep and sleep walk in the known to the known
Until the day I wonder the unknown of the unknown
that day, maybe that moment, I may wake up to the unknown

The unknown to the unknown to unknown
And in that unknown I may find the unknown
For I am not known unknown-unknown
And maybe I am the unknown-unknown to the unknown-unknown

Conjure

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