At times in my life I have pondered the question of death. My mind fools me constantly into believing that I will somehow live forever.
When I have this idea I find that I have entered into a type of sleep. A sleep where I am lost in this world, I start to believe that my actions actually mean something. Like a thought that I have today will have some effect a hundred years from now.
I remember the song I heard so many times in my youth, "I like dreaming" Why is it that we as humans like to close our eyes from truth and pretend that everything will be all right? Are we really so helpless? Are we going to wait untill our death beds to ask the important questions?
'
"Who am I"? "What is my purpose"?
Christ said that we could have everlasting life. I think that means that if we find who we really are (the spirit) then we will see our eternal nature. Which is not the dream.
And if we don't believe in Jesus then look to the other great scriptures of the world. There is a common thread. They all say that we should know ourselves.
So here is a poem which I wrote while in deep contemplation about death. "The death of the dream" I pray that I wake to find myself, before I die.
The peace in dying
A song sung for none
Severs a thick sky
With a pining there
To belong
On a river bank
On a moonless night
blood whispers alone in the heart
Where will this end
When will be the last breath
The breath, descending from all those life bestowing breaths
Submission Once feared now welcome
No longer striving to be apart of
No longer able to stay apart
Fading , Desires Slipping from finger tips
Rendering loves’ essence
Found now a whisper
In the darkness
In a moment
In the peace.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
A little contemplation on the spirit
What is it to be one? What is it to be everything? And what is it to be nothing?
Could it be that all these are the same. Infinity and Zero, both somehow beyond grasp.
I so much enjoy a poem by Rumi on this subject, "this world which is made of our love for emptiness.
Praise to the emptiness that blanks out existence. Existence:
this place made from our love for that emptiness!
Yet somehow comes emptiness,
this existence goes.
Praise to that happening, over and over!
For years I pulled my own existence out of emptiness.
Then one swoop, one swing of the arm,
that work is over.
Free of who I was, free of presence, free of
dangerous fear, hope,
free of mountainous wanting.
The here and now mountain is a tiny piece of a piece
straw
blown off into emptiness.
These words I'm saying so much begin to lose meaning:
existence, emptiness, mountain, straw: words
and what they try to say swept
out the window, down the slant of the roof
I like to consider a question, what is the thing that seperates us from God? Could it actually be our thoughts, not some other eleborate thing.
Thoughts create our world, they are the building blocks. Laws are made of thoughts, Nations are made of beliefs or you might say thoughts. When a child says what he wants to be when he grows up, he is conveying his belief in our thoughts.
So these thoughts are also the source of illusion. And if you look closely at what happens when we think, you will find that a, "thought" is always existing in the past or the future. Meaning two worlds that only exist in our minds. Reality is only living in the present moment. The moment that moves by like water in a stream, and is unable to be grasped. Unable to be possesed, it can be only witnessed, without thoughts.
Right now, I am not going to go deeper into this subject, I just wanted to ask the question.
Now here is a recent poem that popped into my head.
Prentending to be
of some form, or shape
I ride the thoughts
What is it to be, who I am?
Who I am
and not this
Swimming in illusions
Engrossed in material things
able to be impressed upon
But when I close my eyes
Oh yes, when my sight is gone
a bit of the illusion vanishes
Oh what it would be, to be, who I am
Who I am
And not this!
Love wells beyond sight
beyond hearing and beyond smell
And that I see my love in me
we are the same
I need no longer say, "I"
This is who I am,
who I am,
And not that!
Could it be that all these are the same. Infinity and Zero, both somehow beyond grasp.
I so much enjoy a poem by Rumi on this subject, "this world which is made of our love for emptiness.
Praise to the emptiness that blanks out existence. Existence:
this place made from our love for that emptiness!
Yet somehow comes emptiness,
this existence goes.
Praise to that happening, over and over!
For years I pulled my own existence out of emptiness.
Then one swoop, one swing of the arm,
that work is over.
Free of who I was, free of presence, free of
dangerous fear, hope,
free of mountainous wanting.
The here and now mountain is a tiny piece of a piece
straw
blown off into emptiness.
These words I'm saying so much begin to lose meaning:
existence, emptiness, mountain, straw: words
and what they try to say swept
out the window, down the slant of the roof
I like to consider a question, what is the thing that seperates us from God? Could it actually be our thoughts, not some other eleborate thing.
Thoughts create our world, they are the building blocks. Laws are made of thoughts, Nations are made of beliefs or you might say thoughts. When a child says what he wants to be when he grows up, he is conveying his belief in our thoughts.
So these thoughts are also the source of illusion. And if you look closely at what happens when we think, you will find that a, "thought" is always existing in the past or the future. Meaning two worlds that only exist in our minds. Reality is only living in the present moment. The moment that moves by like water in a stream, and is unable to be grasped. Unable to be possesed, it can be only witnessed, without thoughts.
Right now, I am not going to go deeper into this subject, I just wanted to ask the question.
Now here is a recent poem that popped into my head.
Prentending to be
of some form, or shape
I ride the thoughts
What is it to be, who I am?
Who I am
and not this
Swimming in illusions
Engrossed in material things
able to be impressed upon
But when I close my eyes
Oh yes, when my sight is gone
a bit of the illusion vanishes
Oh what it would be, to be, who I am
Who I am
And not this!
Love wells beyond sight
beyond hearing and beyond smell
And that I see my love in me
we are the same
I need no longer say, "I"
This is who I am,
who I am,
And not that!
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