The creation of this blog symbolizes my step to begin publishing and circulating my work on the largest scale possible. I wish only to make the world a better place as a result of my existence, and every cumulative major event in my life has led me to the realization that this is my true purpose. My gift for writing is not to be ignored, it's not to be hidden any longer: but rather pursued, appreciated, and shared. I am unable to change the world from the pages of a notebook, and thus I present the world with the first glimpse at what I have always dreamed to be my life's work. Without further ado: Genesis Beginnings, sugar sweet as glucose, Pumping through trees meaning new growth And breeze sweeping the land as throes Of mother Nature's diminishing prose, Who will save us, we don't yet know But someone must come to disclose the woes Of a world so furtively breathing below The suffocating breadth of a life we chose. Exploring more, destroying scores Of be...
12:08 AM Who am I? I search inside, I seek the source of heart and mind And find that many questions rise. It’s witching hours— The spirit that devours me is waking: Can you hear it whispering? Feel it kicking into life? Eight past midnight: Genesis, I am a vision born in silence, Chasing at the great unknown Beyond these mystical horizons. Even when I write, When I project this voice divine Like windows let in sunshine— I’m feeling less than certain yet. Who am I? Am I some reflection? Am I simply a given name? Am I the courier of an ancient message? These are only partly true— BrontĂ«, Shelley, Wordsworth too Do live inside the fire I store. I am in part these writers’ dreams. Or rather a pristine reflection, Human experience with a name. Forged in part by years of change Like waves that carve the ocean cliff. I am a mission bound by fate: Beseeched by seraphim unknown To bear the sacred torch of hope To brig...
21 Becoming more than the person we are, consistently and concertedly, requires we cross the road of material desires and material suffering. There will always be material attachments; I seek not to renounce them but to view them from across a valley, at a distance. Only then will those considerations be secondary to what is truly important. Only from this perspective will I make peace with the depth of suffering that all can identify in the world. “We”, or rather the perception of what we call consciousness, are immaterial. Ideas, dreams— immaterial. Love, hope— immaterial. For those who believe only in science, or simply for the many disenchanted by religion, why do we spend so much time shutting our senses to the immaterial if it contains such things? Because we have had difficulty in attempts at perceiving signals from the immaterial plane? Because there is hypocrisy in the way that some try and decipher and explain the immaterial? In the intangible space that holds our enti...
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