Re: Spirit and Soul
- --- In firstname.lastname@example.org, "Jean-Marc Nguyen"
> *Reconciliation* is a truly happy and relevant choice of word,Jennifer.
> [...] my conscience's intention :-) merely was to try toI'm so glad I asked, Jean-Marc. Thanks a whole lot for illuminating
> illuminate a little the grandiose cosmic background behind
> our daily hardships in a very conflictual world...
the dark places. :)
Do you ever ask yourself, "Who mirrors my deepest desires?" I think
every soul longs for its counterpart, that heart beating harmoniously
together, the one that warms your own heart so that it radiates
pleasure throughout your whole body, that "coffin" you mentioned. I
think of my soulmates, people with whom I share vital connections,
and feel grateful, overall.
Our desires can be like invitations to disaster sometimes, though.
For instance, did you ever say to yourself, "If I can't have X, I
will selfishly withhold Y." When a pathway is blocked by
circumstances out of one's control, a feeling of helplessness and
victimization permeates the body. Depression is inevitable; it is the
natural response. Feeling those feelings cannot be escaped; the only
release from them is acceptance.
We talk about the weight of things, heaviness. What *is* this weight
that presses against us? I think it is conscience. Watchful eyes and
I's. Is anybody watching you now? (Perhaps.) Any disapproving stares
from the rafters? (I hope not.)
Reality is only and always what it is. I think therefore I am, and
those thoughts arise out of our deepest longings, and out of our
Betrayal of conscience leads to spiritual crisis, I think.
Cheerful Wednesday wishes!
> Cheers and happy Sunday!
- Jennifer, you wrote:"Betrayal of conscience leads to spiritual crisis, I think."-------------------------------------------------------Well Jennifer, I think this applies beautifully to mankind as a whole,especially at the time when the Source of Life feels most unwelcome,patiently waiting out in the rain, on the threshold of our graves.Yes, Judas again...Cheers,Jean-Marc
- I was rather astonished to receive this poem from a good friend
yesterday. The astonishment was because the theme so closely matches
some of the themes here in the group lately.
it dreams in sleep, closed eyes rolling
behind eyelidsit knows no justice,
no love or blind illusions, it sees only hearts
beating softly across long fields without end.
it knows no boundaries, there is nowhere
it ends, there is nowhereit begins,
undulating, rolling like mossy rocky hills,
these mysteries hiding from sight,
always at the corners of our eyes,
beckoning us to follow them, to play
new games with them, to hold new rings
for them. these blues, these eyes
each stone each morsel of heart,
each beating, pounding moment,
i would sign my name in blood
for your torment to end. i would spin
my world into muck, watch as we wash
ourselves into some endless vacuum
into the holy temple of fire.
in dreams, in sleep, closed eyes rolling
behind those lashes, the whip strikes flesh,
smoke billows from fires and covers cave walls.
i remember this life. i remember all the lives
that ever came before. the veneer is crackled
and spun into melted threads of silver,
slivers of gauzy wing material, flesh and metal
mixing within each other. your bowl
made of flesh, this vessel made of loyalty
i came to conquer, watching softly, steadily
the easing of pain comes in and i think
i think there is nothing else to think.
flowers grow where you step,
flowers sprout from the earth
and scent the air with spices,
cinnamon, nutmeg, vanilla, passion.
i, holding my hand, i standing alone
on this magnificent shore, jagged stones
stab the sky as waves cleave themselves
on their crowns, eddies whirl and jostle
flotsam and foam, the sea is a lover
a pearl lodged in my heart that won't be removed,
look yondera gull coming to wrap its wings
around my neck, look further, a flock of them
wrapping themselves around my neck.
i would like to tell a story, but i can no longer speak.
i would like to cry a lullaby, but i am too weak.
i stand upon the shoulders, the palaces fall
to the ground, this dust and rubble, this mess of nerves
each thing falling from one form to the next.