Tag: poetry

Move Your But

Morning Meds; 2 27 22

But nullifies what proceeds it.

It can cancel dreams before they start.

…I can write, but I haven’t the time…

…I want a new job, but it’s hard…

…I can try, but I might fail…

You need to move your but!

…I might fail, but I can try…

…It’s hard, but I want a new job…

…I haven’t the time, but I can write…

Ancient Songs

Morning Meds 2 26 22

We may be our forebearers

reclad in flesh

and songs that seem new

are just echoes of what we sang before.

Carried back to us on ancient winds,

our songs returning home.

Songs we learned from nature’s spirit,

teaching us to trust our hearts.

Songs we sang with our own voice,

from a free and vibrant time.

Songs taught to us,

one on one,

we didn’t need a translator’s voice.

Returning now to set us free,

and to remind us of where we are from.

Dream, Fried Chameleons

Morning Meds; 2 25 22

Everyone interprets their dream in their own way.

I always look at them from a spiritual perspective as if they are a gift from higher aspects of reality.

This is a recent dream and how I interpret it. Maybe it will be helpful to someone else.

…. Standing on a tall hill looking off to the southwest

(South is physical, west is past, southwest is this physical world in the past; by what I see it is still close to this present moment.)

Below is a suburban area where all the streets are torn up, major reconstruction underway. A few of the houses are torn down, just the brown footprints of where they stood remain.

(The old paths are being removed to make room for the new.)

Looking to the southeast.

(Southeast is this physical world future)

I could see the same deconstruction going on, but in the near distance I could see a large, white, old five story mansion.

It stood in a larger scale than the disarray surrounding it and the remaining homes.

Next; I was entering a house east of the main street that divided the suburb.

(The main street would symbolize now; it runs due north and south)

The house wasn’t mine, but I didn’t feel as if I had broken in, but at the same time I didn’t want to disturb the household. I didn’t feel comfortable at home.

I could see the ceiling of the room, but I could also look past it, as if part of the roof was removed and could see the five-story house to the northeast.

(North is spiritual)

I turned to my right to face due south and there to my right (close past) is a gas stove with the front left burner going.

On top of the burner are two chameleons facing each other, both are completely engulfed in flames.

I quickly removed them from the flame, but they were real crispy….

(Two objects often represent duality, three object seem to represent spiritual concepts)

Next; I am in an adjacent room changing my clothes, putting on some clothing that were draped over the back of a chair….

End of dream.

I have recently finished a process of letting go of some belief barriers I have created for myself.

The two chameleons represent those persistent fears.

I am a animal lover and seeing them up in flames was disturbing. They had their little front leg reaching towards each other.

But as to what they represent, God rest their wee little souls, I hope they are toast.

They are chameleons because I was recently shown that I was battling behaviors, instead of the beliefs that caused me to fear the behaviors.

The two beliefs are.

One; the necessity of a complete Old Testament style purity to approach a higher power, i.e., God. With the God of the old no one never ever quite good enough.

Two; The fear of other people’s disapproval of how I am now experiencing my spiritual world.

These fears were camouflaged as behaviors when what was needed was to change the beliefs that created the fears.

Fears are the root of most unwanted behaviors. Change the beliefs and the behaviors no longer have the power we instilled in them.

I am not well versed on the belief that we are moving as a planet to a 5 D existence, but a five-story house could quite easily represent that concept.

If it is that, then it is a promising sign that there are clothes laid out for me and I am changing into them.

It is better than standing on the other side of the street on the middle of the construction site chasing chameleons around.

Fun dream.

The Repentance of the Conquistador’s Priest

Morning Meds; 2 24 22

This poem is the product of what people refer to as shadow work. Shadow work is the process of uncovering hidden aspects of your life in hopes that their discovery will aid you in making wanted changes. This particular shadow work is also based on belief that reincarnation is valid and that we may not have always been at our best behaviors during our past experiences. It is possible that events and the outcomes of personal choices, in this case misdirected fervor based on invalid information, can be carried with us from one lifetime to the next. This past stagnated energy can be addressed in the present and as we release it out of our lives the effects of it are also released. Many hard to release personal issues often dissolve after this type of work.

The imagery of this reverie was not what I expected it to be. Without going into too much personal information, what I was addressing was what seemed to be an insurmountable reluctance to move forward with what I believe I have chosen to do in this lifetime. Any boundaries we erect for ourselves are generally fear based. Addressing the possible sources of fears allows us to make different evaluations and choices.

After this experience I was reminded of a dream I had at least three to four years ago. It was when I first started to see the usefulness of following a dream in meditation. In the dream I was riding a horse, heading west on a narrow path surrounded by thick vegetation. Both the horse and I were in light armor. The main thing I remembered was that my sword was gone out of its scabbard. The scabbard was slung from straps on the left side of the saddle down across its left flank. I thought it was strange that the sword was missing, but the dream didn’t offer up much information when I pursued it.

The posts I post are my personal beliefs. I believe there are as many roads to the Supreme Being/ God/ Creator of All/ Consciousness…as there are souls to walk them. I don’t think any religion can possibly contain the immenseness of whatever or whomever the Creator of All happens to be. The fact that I believe this doesn’t make it so and it’s not my intention to step on anyone’s else’s beliefs.

In all fairness to the priests who served the church as this image unfolded, I researched the connection between the Conquistadores and the priests. I found that many of the priests petitioned for mercy for the indigenous people of the Americas.

*Fray Bartolomé de las Casas is credited with being the first priest to try to change Spanish royalties mind about the indigenous people. He argued that they were indeed human and should be treated accordingly. He freed his American slaves but kept his African slaves. Later he decided that they too should be freed. He should be commended for his change of heart, at the same time, I was amazed to see how dark the world was at that time.

In this instance some of the process of looking into the past was through a CTT technique as taught by *George Duisman. His method is modified from mainstream Tapping and what I was using was an abbreviated form that I am pursuing. I find the whole tapping technique to be very useful but am very limited my knowledge of it.

The link below is a writing that explains the location of where the subject matter of this poem is happening.

*(At the Black Sea of Imagination or The Sea of Infinite Possibility) https://storysspiritual.com/2021/12/01/black-sea-of-imagination/

The Repentance of The Conquistador’s Priest

Beyond the beyond at the shores of the Sea of Possibility, on an outcrop of stone, imagined in place. I stand before the great I AM, sins in hand.

In the midst of the pounding foam, I stand alone, pouring out the darkness of my soul.

A cloud of energy, dank to the touch, foul to the scent and lethal to the hearts of men. Darkness pouring from my blooded palms, palms that were meant to save. Palms stained by the stagnated blood of souls discounted.

A darkened cloud spreading across the sea slowly sinking down into its depths. The depository of energy spent and everything that can ever be.

Hands that have killed, stolen and harmed in pursuit of spiritual gain. Misused, abusing, tearing clutching claws removing the hearts of men.

Desperate times of disillusion. Evil times of confusion. Darkness seen as a means to reach a better end.

Confused emotions of incredible pain doing what one knows to be wrong yet commanded by the knower of all to believe that exceptions are justified.

Always fervent and always directed, always performing and ordering more. Embracing the lie, always afraid that the commander will find disdain and for me the exception will apply.

Watching sorrow grow, piled upon the corpses of children, women and men slain for their contrasting views.

Descending to the depths of the sorrow of those around me, felled by the greed of man, as I murmured an empty pray and held my cross aloft, holding the book I thought to be true. Condemning them solely because they wouldn’t accept what I said to do.

I rode the pale horse and dealt death to those around. I touched the distant end of hate and cupped it in my hand. Looked into the empty stare of lifeless eyes watching me as I rode past.

A soldier of the cross, a messenger of God, a proclaimer of truth, a covenant keeper, an eradicator of evil beliefs. Proclaiming holiness, I rode past, reins in hand, eviler than the innocents slain.

Watching mothers with rended souls rending their clothes and hair, stooping over their beheaded youth, with their fathers, husbands and friends strewn across the city squares.

Why would I fear the wrath of God? Because, I have seen it spawned through me.

I stand upon an outcrop of stone above a foaming sea, the waters rise around my feet; clutching hopes and futile expectations that physical decrees and fervent pleas can somehow absolve things already done.

They say it never ends.

Upon this slab of stone, I plead for forgiveness from all the souls that I have harmed. Please forgive me!

I thought I was found, but I now see. I was more lost than those slain through me. I was lost to the judgments of men. Men who praised justice over forgiveness, vengeance over love. Who stole wealth and horded abundance in the name of a God they didn’t know while they lied about love and hope for every man’s soul.

Forgive me, for I was blinded by politics masquerading as the voice of God. Mankind’s deception of accrediting piety to justify man’s inhumanities to man. Using a soul’s desires for sacred contact as a chain to hold them close. Creating rules promoting fear lest their captives wander away.

I see now that the effigy I lifted was merely a symbol, it’s meaning lost. The words spoken by the man hoisted upon it nearly stricken, carefully concealed by calculated deceptions.

He brought a new song to be sung. A second song to free us from the first. A song of love and unity, forgiveness and trust.

Words of compassion; feed the poor, share all you have, wash each other’s feet.

Words of peace; love your enemies, lay down your sword, carry your invaders pack.

Words of forgiveness; turn your cheek, give your cloak if they steal your shirt, let the sinless cast the first stone.

But the old song remained, it had such a catchy tune. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, execute vengeance upon the heathen, punishments upon the people.

Bury the new message in the rules of the old, proclaim the second while tapping time to the first. Say it is the wishes of the one true God and offer damnation to those who oppose.

A song of love can’t empty an enemy’s coffers, secure their land or their lives for your labor. Only the ways of the old can justify that.

Forgive me, I plead and please set me free. I see now how easily wrong can be dressed to make it appear right. How loyalty to a belief can be a cancer in one’s heart. How swiftly we can choose to look a different way so as not to see the evils this cancer can spread.

The Creator I face now is not whom I thought I was serving then and the deceptions I was taught are flowing out with the darkness I brought. The I Am I see now loves me without end and I am embraced in spite of errors I’ve done.

I see that the forgiveness I seek is not from the Creator of All. It is forgiveness from myself and from all those harmed by the atrocities done.

As this darkness of hate shrouds the face of the sea, flickers of lights sparkle and rise. The essence of all those who were slain released. The fullness of their soul never contained only the parts soured by those hateful lies.

The sparkles migrate towards the surrounding shores, their human forms return as they rise. They gather to see their part, how all our lives intermingled, how each touched each other’s hearts.

From the outcrop of stone, across the way I see the high priest of the civilization I reviled. As lost as I, looking out across the sea, watching resurrected souls rise from the deep.

Facing his own contributions to this nightmare of hate. As zealous as I, he followed what he was taught, judging and punishing those who didn’t comply.

Both of us drawn to this moment of self judgement to reminisce. Both of us guilted by our need to rule, to control, to force our way.

Disregarding love and compassion, believing that laws and punishments to be the only course. Earnestly attempting to enforce what we were taught to be true, hiding our eyes from the sorrow we birthed.

Sacrificing animals and souls to appease a God who flies through the sky in the form of a snake. A God of fury and reprisal demanding blood to gain favor.

While I served a judgmental God, created in the image of man, identical energy differently portrayed, a similar God that only blood and a death could please.

Our journey as one connected by the energy of our beliefs, not the words that were written, nor the forms that appeared, but by the energy hidden beneath.

Energies of division, exclusion, hate and fear, punishment, retribution, revenge and damnation. It’s not what is seen through a belief’s elegant presentation, it is the essence beneath a belief that reveals it’s truth.

This priest too can now forgive himself and ask for forgiveness from the souls entrusted to his charge. Whether now or at a later time, whether now or if already done. It could be his repentance that sparked these memories of mine.

The souls resurrected too can do what is needed. They can relieve themselves of this orchestrated horror. They can continue in their eternal evolution.

While all along the Creator of All reaches out waiting for love to finally take root, knowing that the excursions into judgment and hate will finally run it’s course. Knowing that the hearts and minds of man will finally adopt the better path.

For the pains I cause to others always becomes my own. The pains I cause to myself are always passed along. We are not alone in our pain, for through the magnitude of the Creator of All we are all one, immersed in Consciousness.

All man’s sorrows are like snowflakes in the immenseness of time they form and then melt when their work is done.

Their sharpness dulls when we feel ourselves renewed and we realize that our wanders here are elaborate dreams. Some a joy, some a nightmare, but all our own.

Dreams created to teach us how to abandon hate by letting love transform our soul, as we continuously grow in this bubble of air containing our tiny blue school.

*Fray Bartolomé de las Casas https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bartolom%C3%A9_de_las_Casas

*George Duisman https://sites.google.com/site/ttchtraining/audios-and-videos