The heart beats and with it the whole of our past; all we’ve stressed and all we eat, collecting all of perceptions impressions, thumping like streetside construction, constantly building a soul
Tag: karma
All the Seeds
Perfuming all the
seeds, each moment, as wind
ripples leaves; waterfall.
If you want to see more of my haiku, you can check them out here.
Mirroring
Here on earth
we’re spinning ’round
mirrored reflections
Oh whoa ho
sometimes I catch myself
and everything goes streaming
by this is where I see
I’m a part of it.
Touching that
which can’t be touched
I’m touched.
We’re spinning ’round
heart reverberates
into the endless mirror chasm
Oh whoa ho-o
Filtering
down
back into myself
to continue
the mirroring of images.
Stuck on a loop
it keeps repeating
spinning ’round
when I stop
it’s then I hear the sound.
Can’t stop me now.
Oh whoa-oh ho
Can you feel the flow?
it brings you closer
to the hole
inside the mirror.
Karma
Live without thoughts,
that’s an interesting notion (the thought says almost simultaneously)
arresting me in another galaxy.
The karma on that shit arrives instantly,
i know cause i watch it taking place;
the future is forming all around me.
There’s no subtext here; i mean what i say.
How’s that for a moment of clarity.
They glare at me, i’m a rarity
Awash
in the presence of the mind’s eye
i sit in the womb of awareness
still
without words,
or worry
but only for a moment
Until layers of Opinions
and memories are turned
into thoughts.
Too caught up in this one
perspective
we’re lost within a stain of time
falling way behind
too late to hit rewind
and i just
keep repeating
trying to hit that benchmark
once blessed to perceive.
Remember just as we must let go of every breath
So too must we let go of everysight, sound, taste, touch, smell, and thought.
sight, sound, taste, touch, smell, and thought.
YOU ARE THE DEAD!
In this world death is boredom,
it is the sinking feeling in your heart
and your chest, pulling you down into the
couch. A voice echoes, rippling through the corridors of space
trapped within a mind.
When you are the dead you don’t care about anything.
Death is routine. It’s having the same reaction to a similar set of circumstances,
and feeling like every day is exactly the same
I know this world well.
It’s a living hell.
In this world death follows you daily
because it manifests as the illusion of freedom
Real death is in action, as in the action of following
thoughts.
trapped within a mind.
constantly trying to leave something behind
You are the Dead.
(Note: the title is from the arrest scene in 1984, where Big Brother busts into Winston’s apt. and we hear, “You are the Dead! Remain exactly where you are. Make no moves until you are ordered!” Not meant as some proselytization of Buddhist theory. Since the poem seems to take from some of the themes of 1984 this scene came to mind and thus the title.)
What is freedom? Are thoughts free? What are thoughts anyway? When we choose to believe in the form of a thought, we die. Or so I’ve read.
