Tag: poetry

Morning Meds; 12 5 18

The velocity and trajectory needed to reach our goal is determined by our assessment of the resistance against us and where we believe we are in relationship to where we want to be.

Anything we hope to achieve must first take place within, once our goal is realized, it has no choice but to materialize on the outside.

Our imagined struggles are, struggles with energy. Energy is all there is. Our thoughts are energy, our beliefs can be looked at as solidified energy we store within.

To reduce the resistance, we can use our thought energy to reshape it. If it is huge, we can see ourselves as the giants we are.

We can reduce the distance, by seeing ourselves as already there. We are complete.

As our realization unfolds, we see that our only limits are those we choose to believe.

Anytime we ask, where am I at in my life?

The simple answer is, we are always right smack dab in the center of what we believe.

Morning Meds 12 4 21

The persistent drip of fear echoing in the chambers of our heart like echoes in a cave.

Courage and fear are the two sides of a coin, one can’t exist without the other.

Fear is always a pointer pointing to where we would prefer to be, a destination marker, a “you are here” sign in the hallway of our mind.

Fear always calls for change. It is the voice that creates better things. Without fear many things would remain the same. It’s a strong energy that leads to better things.

Thank it for its direction, for its persistence, for its knowledge, for its evaluation of the moment.

You never have to live in it, it is just a tool, a vehicle, a miracle, a necessity for change.

Morning Meds; 12 4 18

When I look in the mirror anymore, I think,

“I look older than God.”

Spiritually, that delightful, I guess were about the same age.

Physically, not so much.

Morning Meds; 12 3 18

When faced with a problem, the best first thing to do, is to go to the Source.

We are one with Source.

Morning Meds; 12 3 19

Our oneness is the snow.

Our individual expressions of our oneness, snowflakes.

Arbitrary thoughts,

Arbitrary beliefs,

Arbitrary feeling,

Our imagined journey is as personalized as our individual demands.

There is no, one for all, set of beliefs that works for everyone.

No solitary technique.

No single path.

No set of laws that justly applies to every situation.

No one system can provide all the information we need.

Thankfully,

The answers are within us.

They have always been within us.

We are complete, connected and one.

Our shared primal pre-incarnate original nature is what makes us inseparably one, but it takes our individuality to display its beauty.

Morning Meds; 12 3 21

Our lives are music dancing in the air.

Dissonant or harmonic,

rhythmic or arrhythmic,

we exist to play our own song.

We are not here to be someone else’s version of us or someone else’s version of spirituality.

We are not drawn to Source to be a copy of someone else’s aspirations of correctness.

Our callings are beyond the approval ratings delved out by well-meaning others.

We are not here to be spiritual clones.

We are here to remember our essence and express it as Source flows in us.

Morning Meds; 12 2 18

I often imagine my life as if I live within a snow globe and just beyond my mental and spiritual vision, i.e., the glass, is the vast completely filled void of Source, where all things are one.

No good, no bad, no up, no down, just Source.

Seeing your world from the interior of a snow globe can create the Job complex, for snow globes were made to be shook.

My Job complex was believing that God comes by to shake the globe, just to wash my snowy reactions.

It is part of an eternal game of craps between ultimate good and ultimate evil.

A view cultivated from a belief in a cursed world and us as inferior damaged seed.

Although the snow globe view is flawed in that it promotes the mistruth of separation and that we are in some way distanced from Source.

For me it still is useful tool of thought to help guide me past the imagined separation.

The needy God, the one who demands loyalty, admiration, devotion has for the most part has been replaced by one of unconditional love.

Ultimate Evil has faded away, as just another attempt to explain duality and the possibility of seeing Source, myself and all things as one, looms on the horizon.

We humans like stability, much of my conflict, is in my attempt to reshape my beliefs, so that they will mesh like puzzle pieces forming some kind of orderly coherent doctrine.

It can be a challenge.

Source unconditionally loves us…. because

Source unconditionally loves everything because there is nothing else but Source.

Source, whatever it may be, can’t hate itself.

As we begin to remember where we came from, we to will love ourselves completely and unconditionally.

The love, that has been blocked by our spiritual Alzheimer’s, will flow out and flood the world.

Morning Meds; 12 2 21

The silence often found in meditation is not a condition, it’s a presence.

Morning Meds; 12 2 19

The vibrancy we feel, and project is dependent upon the vibrations reverberating from within.

Like a tuning fork, our core resonates the pitch of our creator.

A continual unstoppable pitch of unconditional love.

We can’t stop it.

It has and always will resound.

Meditation stills our mind, so we can still our surface noise.

As our surface noise stills, we can recognize the sound rising from our core.

It always to call us home, into the warmth of unconditional love.

If we need anything in our life, we only look within.

Morning Meds; 12 1 19

Consciousness exploded,

the Everything separating into everything, and we are but one.

Particles of manifested consciousness, flung from, our best guess, an exploding star.

Each essential element, eternally and completely alive.

Stardust magnificently regathered into universes, galaxies, planets, and stars.

Our consciousness too, was once the unformed energy of nothingness.

We are a portion of the Everything that once was one.

Exploded consciousness reformed, precisely regathered into an eternal expression.

The eternal expression of the miracles we have become.