I ask myself, on what level can I form a friendship with another person? I think my answer is our common humanity - the human condition. Sure, I’ve got my beliefs and they’ve got theirs - but on a human level, can I not respect and have compassion for them? I want to see their well-being and flourishing… I wish for no one to suffer. Thus, goal is to focus on having healthy, mutually rewarding friendships. (A work in progress, but fighting for every step)
Pure unconditional love healed my damaged spirit.
It radiated life into the being gasping for air that once was.
I believe love rises above all, and nothing can harm it.
I encountered a beautiful soul who guided me into the light.
I don’t know if I yet have the strength to radiate this light,
but I can describe it, point in it’s direction, preach it’s value…
I love life, and try to plant seeds of hope that may enable and maintain it.
‘The cosmos is within us. We are made of star-stuff. We are a way for the universe to know itself.’ - Carl Sagan
I am a bit of star-stuff, floating around other bits of star-stuff, trying to make a happy dance.
“Hatred paralyzes life; love releases it. Hatred confuses life; love harmonizes it. Hatred darkens life; love illuminates it.” - M.L.K. Jr.
Hate is a poison, and love the antidote.
A person is too complicated to hate.
Hate a person, and you’ll learn to hate people.
Your enemy’s heart is a mirror of your own.
And of anyone you love.
Hate can only get you so far.
If hate were enough, why would we love at all?
[meta]
Selection of things written between Apr 30, 2014 (The Sun, written on ILP) to present.
We each are given our time in the light.
To spread our wings and fly.
But a moment is reached where one must land to rest.
To clear the skies for another.
And when we’re of the earth,
we can fuel their journey.
To leave seeds from our existence.
Perhaps where a plant may grow.
To create a welcome home…
…as was given to us.
why should I mourn for witnessing the dove fly?
is not my life richer, for our paths crossing?
is not their expression flight, and mine reflection?
to claw at the sky, than feel my heartbeat…
fly high, free bird -
may the winds of truth be your companion
to witness others float into the abyss.
the tides of time, dragging us apart.
each born with it lapping our ankles.
to be washed adrift into chaos.
[left with a wish and a prayer.
for this story to be told again.]
boundless darkness besieges us.
there is a reason we persevere.
a campfire that fortifies the spirit.
a light upon glimpsed, flows within.
moments rush by, escaping our recall.
yet real as any other.
silently reverberating -
guiding us towards the present.
reflecting on those we love,
trailing behind is a yellow brick road -
moments gone captured in amber.
mementos that decorate our heart.
perpetually radiating within.
nourishing and regenerating us.
our paths are parting
so it always was
wherever this path leads,
i call it my own
for it lead here
a gift we possess:
we’re receptive to love
and upon being given it,
are able to magnify it in return
to nurture the seeds
until branches spiral out
and roots draw strength from the earth
no need to look far
for a suitable spot to shine
there’s spores all around this earth
there are seeds waiting to flourish
floating all about us
a garden starts within
and can grow anywhere with patience and care
a museum
adorned with an
ever-glowing campfire
crystallized memories
litter shelves:
the library of me
i need only breathe among the embers,
and my troubles become as light as i
my spirit warmed,
by a personal rainbow
“You are a child of the universe
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.”
- Max Ehrmann, from ‘Desiderata’
The cosmos declares we are worthy.
The earth holds us to it’s chest.
The sun shines it’s love down on all.
We yet survive every obstacle and adversity thrown at us.
Every moment we live, is a demonstration of our hard earned life.
The word of people, has no power to diminish
the truth spoken by the cosmos, sun and earth.
Our bodies are built and composed by the universe.
How can we be wrong? How can our existence be wrong?
There is love in our hearts and we are beautiful.
Even if every single human being despises you but one.
You are beautiful. There is treasure within.
Here’s my heart.
Use it as a stress ball.
When you treat things well,
I’ll leave to meet another.
I’ll hand them the toy,
to practice being well.
[notes: old write about feelings of mistreatment, and not willing to accept compassion]
I want to accept it all.
To say yes to every moment.
Pull all to my chest,
and hold it with love.
To look upon existence,
and call it worthy.
To say my hope,
is that it’s a circle.
And if it is only once,
the wisdom and courage
to accept and love that too.
If the cost to be among you,
is to embrace it all alike -
then I write down my name.
To create meaning from the suffering.
It is an inevitable part of the chain.
But cannot it be a catalyst for beauty?
Empower us to become kinder and wiser?
We need not emulate harm of the past.
I hope my presence,
makes the lives of others warmer,
as theirs do mine.
I hope your hearts are full of love,
and when you look out upon the cosmos,
you are filled with awe and joy.
That to see each other thrive,
is a source of meaning and strength,
enriching all of our lives.
I am a fool.
A fool cultivating love.
I am grateful for the capacity.
sounds flow by a worn shell
and while the echoes of shock
are returned by crashing waves
the hermit continues to listen
for there is much to say
on this patch of sand
about shimmering marvels
within the sun’s gaze
a pattern spirals without age
of dimming lights and dampened sound
with nightfall arrives an enveloping abyss
of birdsong, two crescents still reminisce
to be held
in glistening magnificence
by their gravity
a trek through crystal stars
sparks beneath incomprehensibility
a whirlwind through heavens
a path can still
radiate colors newseen
on my journey
do my feet not trace
reminders to the sky?
with each exhale
is it not their life
i whisper to the world?
cannot i be a vessel
for their spirit?
with divinity in grasp
they are part of me
their warmth refracted
kindling an inner lamp
guiding with gentle glow
in fires of conviction
i burn with their image
carving ablaze into the unknown
eyes of many see inconsequence
dirt mound among mountains… yet -
a kiln building bricks to the future
Why are you spamming.
You must know no one is reading it.
Thanks for protecting the sanctity of this forum.
My deepest respect.
I’ll continue spamming when fancy strikes.
Please ignore and avoid participation - thanks.
Have a good one.
Well-handled, Ben. If I hadn’t already been lurking, I’d def start now.
on the merry-go-round of chaos
where next to be flung?
into a jack-in-the-box
to once again emerge
in some absurd arrangement
none the wiser
of torments and revelations
prized in rounds before
paper planes whizz by the head
detailing plentiful vulnerabilities
ripe for daggers to be plunged
herded along by
a parade of dread
mirroring steps in morbid jest
tumbling further into
the snaking crowd’s ensnarement
losing a game of attrition
[notes: this is a rewrite/combination of two previous posts I shared in this thread: ‘i wish’ & ‘A day which doesn’t come.’]
spirit siphoned in a bucket
groundwaters of one’s flesh
thrown to wind like rain
diving into murky waters
to pump history from one’s lungs
relief in a flooded chasm
unearthing a storied labyrinth
beneath the light of surface’s reach
the sole ladder out rests within
hand brushing against stone
rescue search for cave-ins
to mend a leaking vessel
but the fuel is now a river
rushing to another’s shore
a voyage in ill-direction emerges
[notes: this and the previous poem I posted are on the darker side of my writing. In recent years, I try to share more of the uplifting ones.]
To cleanse my spirit with love.
To rise above the well of misery.
To build meaning from atrocity’s debris.
To absorb trauma, and let it be my fuel.
I am the buck, to which it ends.
I consume poison,
and radiate the light.
The misery is fertilizer,
for my little garden.
Converting hate and pain,
through the filter of my heart,
to love and joy.
With this,
I can look upon myself,
and feel pride.
[notes: rewrite of a recent post on ILP]
Can even God change the past?
Was it not all real,
even if we forget?
Even if He rewrites a million stories of heaven,
there’d always be this little corner of existence…
A bittersweet light flickering within the depths of an abyss,
like a porchlight that didn’t get the memo of house abandonment.
But can’t I linger here a moment longer?
Brush my hand against once living wood,
now crumbling into the earth,
to be recycled and reborn.
To once again,
soar like the mayfly,
in the light of the sun and moon.
Dancing between forms,
to the vibrations of the cosmos,
in the name of love.
Was it not all worth it?
Could even He say it ought never been?
‘The sweet is never as sweet without the sour.’
We can create meaning from the suffering.
A compass, so we may head true.
An anchor, so we may stand tall against the sling & arrows.
An antidote, so we may cure it next time.
A foundation, so we we may build monuments…
Monuments carved with their names.