The Other

In the name of the tether, each is for the other
The good tether, the bad tether, the dark tether, the light tether, the love tether, each is just another tether
For within each other, with roots in the nether and leaves toward the father, we nurture the mother

The mother that gives birth to the web of life
In the ebb and flow of life, I may forget this mother
Yet the mother remembers the tether to all of her other

To care for the other, to share with the other, to spare another
Every tether gets stronger by the number
For each number is another feather within this heather that make up every feather and the heather

So Shine up, soak up, rise up, lift up each other
For each is a tether to another and every other invokes the another

So clean up, lean up to wake up each other, one another
For each is a deed, a feed, a need to the other to sow the seed of the tether
And none is a weed, for every weed is another need to nourish one another

For every seed that is sowed is to be freed, to knead, to heed, to bead every thread of life
So let the flowers bloom, the lovers boom and the hours filled with perfume

And I let me forgive, I let me live, I let me give, I let me outlive that which I give to re-give to each other, for one another, to lighten the tether, to heighten each other

Each is a fairy, a glory, a story and an allegory
For there is no other.

None

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Love, Memory & Thought

That which springs from the memory is not love
The mechanical repetition of memory is not love
The re-iteration of memory and reliving of memory in billion different ways is not love
And the inheritance of memory of love from my environment is not love

The pleasure of a memory is not love
The fear of a memory is not love
The escape of a memory is not love
The experience resulting from memory is not love

That which belongs to me, that which I think is mine, that which I think I posses is not love
It is only a memory, a memory of the thought
A thought of the memory

so many thoughts, so many not’s
so many not’s with so many knots
so many knots with so many thoughts

My own thoughts and the resulting memories are my own confinements, my own comfort
The more I try to escape, the more I try to cope, the more knots I weave, the more memories I cave myself into

How many thoughts till I am free from the memory of thoughts
No thought that I know thought as the thought

From no time to time I create time
And from time to time and in-between time, I create a space, space for a time, for a thought

Can this thought of mine be free of memory, can this thought be free of recollection, reliving of the memory?
If so, what would such thought and the resulting action if everyday life be?
And most importantly, what would the resulting I that I call MY, of such thought be?

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Perception of Love

Many times I define love, many times I deny everything other than love
I speak of the love as the only one, for I have none to match the one I call, the one.

I say to my girlfriend/wife that I love you but then, I dint even know you existed few months ago, few years ago, few decades ago
I say I never know what love is until I met you
Do I say that because I have defined love as the absence of love and now I define love as the absence of that absence of that which I defined myself as love
I wonder if that is love

A mother says to her son, I love you, but the mother doesn’t even know the son until she conceived the son/daughter, who was this son/daughter before then, where was the love before?
So, Is love that develops with progression of time, experience and memory?
Is love that comes and goes as I will and wish?, Is that Love?
Rather than condemn this thought, I must consider it!

Is it possible that I define and speak of love as if it is the very life itself, a life that contains all of this illusion of perception of this and that
So as to make me feel secure and keep my illusion of security and comfort going,
So I am intoxicated in this illusion of mine and never to wake up to question my perception of love?

Do I speak of love so I can keep a lock on love
Lock on all that speak of love?
Maybe this is why I don’t want you to change, nor question myself, for then, I don’t have to change because the you don’t have to change.
Maybe, this is why I am so attached to my labels of my race, my country, my religion etc. in my every act and in my every thought I think
May be this why I encourage you to speak of them as well, divide yourself from me as well so we can divide ourselves and I don’t have to change or give up that which I hold on to, cling on to
is this love?
If this is love, then I wonder if this is actually the attachment to the experience of the mind and the memory developed from that experience

When all else fails to satisfy my clinging, my dinging of what I hold on to, I say, love cannot be defined, it must be felt
Forgetting that I am still defining love by un-defining love, in feeling love.

When I cut open my skull, I see no thoughts of hate or love. I cut open my heart, I see no sign of love, so where is this so called love?

Maybe, rather than asking what is love, for that only shows the quality of love
I ask myself “why” do I feel certain way when I “think” of hate or when I “think” that I am in love or I am loved?
Where is this perception of mine coming from?, Is it from this body?, Is it from the others body? And when the other ceases to exist first in my thought, what is happens to love?

Will I then be able to understand/feel for myself, the actuality of that which is happening within me, the awareness of me that I call me
Maybe then, I can no longer hide behind the words or the illusion of my own perceptions and its security/comfort both mentally and physically.

And maybe then I am naked, “COMPLETELY” naked inside out.

Friend

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All Selves as My Self

When a Business man becomes a Service man
When a Farmer becomes a Father
When a Artist becomes an Enlightener rather than a Entertainer

When Flags become Rags
when Racial Separation becomes a Radical Union within my self
when Color becomes Colorless and Clueless
When Religion becomes a Legion of Love within me

When Division is no longer a Diversion
When Labels becomes a Babble
When Corporations become units of Compassion
And when I no longer want the other, thither me

Then, maybe then, I will see myself with an eye that has no division of I
Then, maybe then, I will BE the society that I wanted to see, I will be the experience I wanted to be
Then, maybe then, I will actually, myself and through myself, will see all selves
ONE SELF, Myself as all selves

For, myself is the self that sees the other self, through myself and within myself

Passport

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A Seed & A Thought

Every Seed has the potential
some seeds are grown, some seeds are thrown

Every thought has the potential
some thoughts are Sown, some thoughts are blown

Every act has the potential
some acts diminish, some acts flourish

The seed that is sown has the thought to be grown and the act to be glown
In the thought of seed is the act to flourish and in the act to flourish is the birth of the seed
For the seed without soil and the soil without seed is the thought without an act and an act without a thought.

The seed is not a weed to fill my need but the seed is a deed to the one in need.
For the seed and deed are indeed in need and not in greed

The seed is a bead of love indeed to bead the love of the deed.

To know the seed, to sow the seed is to know the thought, my thought.
For in the very seed lies all of the life of the tree
A tree that is free from the seed and yet bears a seed that has all of itself within the seed

So is in every thought and in the very thought, is the life of the thought of myself
A thought full of experiences, a thought full of memories and a thought full of thought

For in the thought that is full, has no thought to think of, like the seed that is full bears no leaves to see
And yet all of the roots & fruits lie within the seed and so are the acts of my thoughts to the thoughts of my acts.

So let me not be a dot in the thought or a drought of the thought
And maybe the thought as the act and the act as the thought with no knot

For in my thought is my tree that is free
To be Free of a thought and the very thought

Roots

Tree

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Escape to a New Scape

Some wants to Escape, Some wants a New Scape
Some wants to Escape the New Scape, some wants a New Scape to Escape
For some wants a scape that is a cape to cope with the escape

In name of hate, in the name of fate
In the name of the love, in the name of the dove
I play the same game, again and again for the same gain
I say the same name, again and again for the same pain
Wanting the same thing again and again to cling on
For repetition has become my petition and my repetitive petition has become my imagination

With my hand full of experiences
Mind full of memories
I live in the thoughts with knots and not’s
For I am caught in the knot and I fight the not

My fight has become my flight
My night has become my light
And In the name of light, I take my flight
and in the name of flight I hide behind the might
Filled with might and the imagination of light, I lost my sight
For my sight has been blinded by the darkness & brightness of the light alike

Thinking this is light, I escape to another scape
A scape formed from my own memory to commemorate my memory of my repetitive imagination of the same name and the same game, Same gain and the same pain
Which I label my life

For I know of no life.

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Human & Numen

A human needs no high-rises nor 10 bed townhomes
A human body needs a shelter within nature, within the nature of nature

A human needs no company of a companion
A human needs to accompany the mind of the human

A human needs no security of tomorrow
A human needs to scrutinize the human mind of today

A human needs no fort of comfort
A human needs to get to know the confinement of the comfortable mind

A human needs no needs of the wants to haunt
A human needs to daunt the wants of the needs

A human needs no free will nor the free will of choice
A human needs freedom, from free will and free will of choice
Freedom, from my own known voice

Freedom is not a dome that it is confined to but maybe is the home that has no dome
Freedom is not in the blame of the other nor in the acceptance of the other, but in neither

Freedom is not in the experience of the yesterday nor the repetition of the memory of the yesterday but maybe in the birth of the awareness of today

Freedom is not in the labels, not on the tables of the labels, nor in the fables of the labels
But maybe, in the unlabeled, in the un-tabled, within the un-fabled

Freedom is not in the confinements and conditions of hate or love, chaos or peace, for both are simply refined confinements, refined conditions
However refined the confinement, The refined, is only as fine as its confinement
But maybe in that which is neither confined/refined nor conditioned

Thus, a mind that is unexplored beyond its confinements, beyond its own known refinements,
is a mind that is unexamined

For a human that is free is like a numen and a lumen that know of no numen or lumen
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