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Sunday, February 26, 2012

Los Angeles 2012: Continental Islands Of Stars Lit From Within

This year of more
I imagine
that I can see
in the eyes
of everyone I meet
their personal star ...
their star quality.

I live in a city of tourism,
at a world famous beach,
egos centric in the land of artistic ideals.
The tourists who arrive daily
from all over the world
arrive with preconceptions.
I am grateful to everyone
who shares with me
their preconceived ideas of America.

I was born in Canada,
and that is fortunate
for many reasons,
mainly because it provides me
an outsiders view from the inside out,
and an insiders insight
from an outsiders point of view.
I recognize the smell of roses during the day,
and know why sweet grass is burnt at night.

From my inside I look outward,
and sometimes interact externally.
From my inner world I witness my Self creating
what I command to manifest outwardly into being.

I am grateful,
I grew up with nightly playful star fields,
dancing Northern Lights,
energy bursting into flames of creation
in constant formations transforming -
the night sky lit up from within
was my normal above me,
and beyond me
point of view.

It was typical for me to witness
the constant infinite flow
of ever changing forms.
To learn to bead the patterns of stars,
and weave baskets in the shapes of the universe.

I often meet people in cities
who will not, or cannot, imagine
what it is like to see
vast fields of stars illuminate skies each night.
They have yet to,
or may not,
glimpse their own insignificance
in the expanded-picture nature-of-creation.
They will not,
or have not yet,
connected to their own significance -
the profoundness of their own individual life
experience becoming more.

I am grateful for my ancestors
that they have lived
in North, Central and South America
for thousands, if not millions, of years.
In the past when I travelled from this land
to other continents, I shifted -
I felt an inner shift ...
that can only be described
as a sensation of disconnection -
similar to a cord being pulled taunt ...
a tightening of the heart-cord to my solar-plexus.

My solar-plexus connection altered
into kind of unkind survival mode,
and assumed a kind of poverty consciousness.

My core-mind-field of energy spun out dizzying me,
revolved around my belly button
then lowered into my pelvic floor.
The landscape of my inner world journey ...
tilted until I felt,
felt the crown of my head,
in candesently filled,
full of wisdom,
dipped in an adventure,
to ease my access to my quest for vision.

In the past, my always internally-active Self
taught me to guide mySelf beyond me -
beyond what I had so far imagined my life to be.
My ancestors guided me,
taught me to listen to my Self,
to see, what I have,
yet to imagine into being manifest.

When I leave my ancestral land,
this shift of ages
used to prompt my cellular memory,
remind me of all of human history.
I remembered the advantages of reinvention -
domestic truths of foreign stories,
foreign truths of domestic stories.

The most obvious concepts of reality are seldom true,
perhaps were never true, were only ideas seeking believers.

From my inside I look outward,
and sometimes interact externally.
From my inner world I witness my Self creating
what I command to manifest outwardly into being.

The people who come to the city of angels
come to see the stars on the Hollywood Walk of Fame -
many do not stay at the beach
to see the stars in the night sky appear.

Each newly arrived person I meet seems to know
the history of their own individual native national culture,
it's connection with the Americas -
and their own personal and ancestral history
with the continents known as the Americas.

Spanish know some of Spain's history of interaction here.
French know some of France's assimilation here.
Africans know some of the stories of their ancestor's reinvention here.
Asians know some the travails of their colonial past here.
Ascendants from North African and Central Asia know things.
Descendants of English, Scottish, Irish and Europeans found out things,
but did not discover the secrets of the new or old worlds within, the Americas.

I hear so many different points of view about the same thing -
the same world, the shared planet, our same world, our shared planet.
I have yet to meet someone, arrived here, from somewhere else,
who knows the history of these ancient tribal ancestral lands.

I do see people arriving to search for their lucky stars -
wanting and wishing to see the fame of the fortunate.

I learn something from everyone,
no matter where every one arrives from,
and no matter where they journey to next -
in the eyes of each person
I have learned to see the light of the stars.
Eyes are stars illuminated from within,
reflecting back out
the truth of our own inner light.
Each set of eyes displays each individual life story.

Sometimes when I am star light gazing,
I see into the person whose eyes I am gazing into.
Some times
I glance their Self-fullness.
I sense their Self-leadership.
I witness their Self-individualization.
I feel their Self-empowerment.
I recognize their Self-recognition.
I become aware of their Self-awareness.

I am entranced by the variety of stars I have looked into.
Each one of us is a singular event of unique individual formation.

Our bodies of matter are lands full of stars.
I recognize Self within us each one of us,
our star quality of Self, my Self, you and your Self.
Star fields within bodies of light, within each one of us.

A friend of mine from India was visiting for a few days.
We exchanged our Self's perception
of our Self-recognition -
the variety of stars within Self ...
within one, and an other,
within all That is ...
within all that might ever be,
within all that might ever be willed into Being manifest.

Without questioning my Self ...
I meditate
to see my Self within the islands full of stars,
populations of planets glowing brightly from within.
I meditate
to see if I can recognize my Self
as a star living within the biosphere
of my individual body's planetary life.
Do I recognize my Self among all the stars.
Yes, I see me within me.

Life is simple when each life form is recognized
as a single form of life.

Life seems more complicated when,
each life form is viewed as a group,
and grouped as a whole to be seen -
and then seen once again,
as an individual within a group of individuals.

Self individualization, is the Self, tapping cellular evolution awake.

We all are, made of the same ingredients,
there are no races, only one species of humanity -
light souls within bodies of sound.

I am grateful. I grew up with nights full,
of dancing Northern Lights, the eyes of the universe
illuminated from within - playful painted colours of creation
illustrating alive, the transparent veils, of constant transformation.

The night ceiling, lighting up above me
was my existence's sky, of infinite abundance.

This year, of constant change, makes it easy to not expect.
This time, of consistent shifts, make it easy to not plan.
This space, of flux, creates graceful recreation, which relaxes anticipation.

Each day is full of ease when I relax
into a constant relationship with breathing my Self alive -
being in charge of my being alive,
my being the one and only leader of my own life.

Each night is, wide awake, with potent dreams
of awakening, each day, to more, of my Self-recognition.
Awakening, my Self-leadership, power growing,
and cultivating my abilities of Self awaking.

This year, of constant change, gifts me more.
With more I expand, my ability, to recognize my Self and see you.

This year of more, more constant change
to recognize my Self more, and see life more clearly.
Being creative, is having power, to create more presence,
and being present, is what forms creation.

This year of more, I imagine that I can, see in my eyes my Self -
and I imagine that I can, see in the eyes of everyone I meet
their personal star quality.

I often meet people, who will not imagine,
or cannot imagine, what it is like to see into people -
see in their eyes, their stellar illumination.
Some people have yet to, or may not,
glimpse their insignificance,
in the larger picture, scheme of creation.
These people will not, or have not yet,
connected to their significance -
of how profound, their own individual life experience,
is uniquely fulfilling, their destiny in all ways, always.

Cities of angels,
continental islands of stars lit from within ~
this year of more star quality
reconfiguring transformations of the light within ...
more cellular light, within more, patterns of light transmuting.
More augmentation, of more abundance.
More relaxation, into more constant change.
More moving, star quality within stillness within.

To relax more, is to become more aware.
To recognize Self more, is to see life more clearly.
Imagine our universe, made up of planets.
Imagine planets of worlds, made up of cities of angels -
continental islands of stars lit from within.

~~ Other People's Fingerprints ~~
In 1936 James Hilton and Robert Riskin wrote
the movie screenplay "Lost Horizon".
Frank Capra directed the film,
and it was released to the public in September 1937.
While people watched the film "Lost Horizon",
Japan invaded China in 1937 and the Second World War
began on the 1st of September 1939.
This human's searching for meaning during wartime and upheaval,
was the political landscape behind the philosophy of the making of this film.

Because, my son, I am placing in your
hands the future and destiny of Shangri-La.
For I am going to die.
(There is a pause during which Conway
cannot conceal his amazement at this
simple statement.)

I knew my work was done when I first
set eyes upon you.

(Conway is too awed and impressed to
utter a sound. The High Lama finally resumes.)

I have waited for you, my son, for a
long time. I have sat in this room and
seen the faces of newcomers. I have
looked into their eyes and heard their
voices - always in hope that I might
find you . My friend, it is not an arduous
task that I bequeath, for our order
knows only silken bonds. To be gentle
and patient, to care for the riches
of the mind, to preside in wisdom, while
the storm rages without.

Do you think this will come in my time?


You, my son, will live through the storm.
You will preserve the fragrance of our
history, and add to it a touch of your
own mind. Beyond that, my vision weakens.
(pause - magisterially)
But I see in the great distance a new
world starting in the ruins - stirring
clumsily - but in hopefulness, seeking
its vast and legendary treasures. And
they will all be here, my son, hidden
behind the mountains in the Valley of
the Blue Moon, preserved as if by a miracle.

(The voice of the Lama, toward the last, seems to fade out.)

(Conway, thoroughly engrossed, half-consciously waits
for it to continue. Following a protracted silence,
he slowly turns toward the Lama.
A breeze blows through the room,
ruffling curtains on the window.)

(From whose face the glow has faded.
There is nothing left but a dark-shadowed mask.)

(He stares, uncertainly, for a long while,
with a slow realization that the High Lama is dead.
Quite unaware that he is being moved emotionally,
tears well up in his eyes.
While still sitting this way, unable to stir,
he becomes conscious of activity around him.)

Sunday, February 19, 2012

Santa Fe, New Mexico 2003: The Sum Of Our Whole

I remind my Self -
“Our Self reflections 
patiently carve 
our way 
along the initiatory river of life.”

I read -
Over two thousand years ago, 
Cantor argued that Aristotle 
was making a distinction,
that in truth the potentially infinite
has only a borrowed reality –
the potentially infinite is, 
always, connected t
a prior existing, infinite, potential.

I recall -
Before he died in 1037, 
mathematician Abu Ali ibn Sina 
wrote The Book of Healing.
He wrote -
God is infinite intelligence, 
so it is a crucial human activity to gain knowledge,
to understand the intelligibles, 
which determine fate, 
of the rational soul, in the hereafter.

I write -
The art of receptivity is a bracelet of consciousness, 
soul-beads, linked, together-moments, 
like prayer-beads forged in the glass of awareness.
Created with love to be touched, 
each bead’s radiance is its unique gift to this world -
liquid-jeweled light-forged by fire, 
given freely in inspiration with no attachment.

I read -
In 1584 Giordano Bruno 
wrote a book on the infinite universe and the worlds.
The Catholic Inquisition tortured him nine years, 
so he would agree the universe is finite.
He refused attempts to change his views, 
so he was burned at the stake, fired for his ideas.

I write  -
Soul is beautiful -
glass-like coloured-light 
passing through our fingers
each bead of time.
We are never alone, 
the time-light of our soul 
reminds our inner Self 
that each moment passes 
through our life 
accompanied in the eternal 
embrace of sunlight and moonlight.

I feel -
Light and love if judged have imperfections, 
so why bother judging 
the quality of light in sunrises and sunsets -
the outer form 
that light takes 
is only one aspect of its colour.
The larger whole body of light
is experience 
not always visible 
to the naked eye.
One person sees the sun decreasing, 
it's setting is the fall of light dying -
another person, in another part of the world, 
sees the sun increasing, 
it's rise is the ascent of light birthing.

I read -
In the seventh century a mathematician in India, 
Bhaskasa II wrote in the Bijaganita -
“A quantity divided by zero becomes a fraction, 
the denominator of which is zero.
This fraction is termed an infinite quantity.
In this quantity consisting of 
that which has zero for its advisor, 
there is no alteration, 
though many may be inserted or extracted; 
as no change takes place 
in the infinite 
and immutable God when worlds are created 
or destroyed,
though numerous orders of beings 
are absorbed 
or put forth.”

I remember -
In the year two thousand an old man in Brazil 
lay his hands on his heart and whispered –
each person counts, 
each person matters, 
we are our extremes 
and everything in between.

I muse -
I challenge my Self to practice new equations, 
live in my heart’s marvelous dimensions.
Experience is created 
never only from a single facet 
of our jewel’s perfection –
our aspects contain our flaws born of pressure, 
our stresses from forming over time -
each part of our experience 
adds to the sum of our whole, 
in all our parts exist our soul.

~~ Other People's Fingerprints ~~
Alexander Solzhenitsyn 1970 Nobel Prize acceptance speech;
“Not everything has a name, 
some things lead us into a realm beyond words … 
to revelations unattainable by reason. 
It is like that small mirror in fairy tales – 
and what you see is not yourself; 
for an instant you glimpse the Inaccessible, 
where no magic carpet can take you. 

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

Nicaragua and Beijing 1991, Los Angeles 2012: Alter Your State of Being, By Being True To Your Self

While we watch street performers act out another Beijing opera,
I whisper to my friend Mei ~
“Customs performed as rituals are ever changing
with not one performance being alike.
Similarity only seems so
to those who want to perceive uniqueness as such.”

Today, I learned via the postal mail
that my friend Michael passed from this planet.
He died while creating his unique performance.
At twenty-eight years old,
Michael was killed in a motorcycle crash
that not everyone accepted as an accident. 
Even if his death was perceived coincidental, 
his life and his choices were intentional.
He gave himself permission to author his dreams,
play out his life, and die unconditionally.

His death was merely an act of punctuation on a well-written sentence.

Michael was a journalist for a newspaper in Nicaragua.
He got to know people by working along side them in their fields.
The people who mourned him
were grieving for whatever reasons they had,
reasons personal or political,
some people did not grieve his absence at all.
Some people felt he was deliberately killed
generating worker's dignity and protecting human rights.

Michael had established a stable life in Canada.
In appearances, he seemed to give it up for an adventure.
He ventured into the instability of change -
he exchanged whatever he had for whatever he desired -
his feeling for what his success should, could and would be.
Michael's heart inspired his contribution to his own humanity.
He created the life that he felt he desired and deserved.

He altered his state of mind by being Self-present.

I do not know why the ritual of Michael’s life entered into my mind.

Maybe the Wind on my neck just blew in from Nicaragua
still carrying on it Michael’s last breath ~
the breath that made him so different
from the someone who wished him dead.

Fear blows in on the Wind
from somewhere around the world
bringing me a reminder
to exhale my love to balance what is left.

Wind blows even stronger onto my neck,
from out of the darkness behind me,
so I curl my fingers
into the palm of my hand
in order to press into my depths -
to cut through my layers of life,
to see past
"my what was"
and see into
"my what is".
I want to rise to my conscious surface
"my what can be",
I want to stimulate my below surface archives
of life hidden unconsciously
beneath my skin, behind my heart,
beyond my humanity to the beginnings of eternity.

I ready my Self
for an event to emerge
from my horizontal memory,
a blast from the past brought by Wind
light enough to time travel the distance between the voids
the spaces that dimensionally bridge
the light of my awareness’s spectrum –
to connect and support my feelings
that in any moment might weigh heavy on me.

Death in many cultural beliefs is a gate of exit, a window,
a transition from one state of mind into another state of being.
For many cultures to write about death is not encouraged,
and to mention the name
of one who has passed
from this world
into the next world is forbidden.
I changed Michael's name, and wrote about him anyway.
I am not worried that, for my Self, it is wrong to remember
someone, who was close, in this world
and now is perhaps farther away, in another world.

My deciding to re-write this story
can be associated with the rain -
now pounding on my roof.
Rain is like a keyboard clattering
typing poems of fleeting existence.
Rain is a fascinating force of change,
bringing joy to whose who are dry needing to be wet,
and frustration to those who are wet wanting to be dry.

The transitions I have undergone
since I last poetically wrote,
cannot be measured
like barrels of rain water,
but can be compared to
the amount of precipitation
that has fallen on the Earth
since the beginning of time.
Rain, since transformed
into evaporated experiences
of something more,
than it's old self alone -
and something other,
than truth born out of transition.

If I have one thing to communicate
before I die,
about the life experience
I have had so far on my journey -
I would describe the stillness
that I witness within my Self growing ...
I would share
the sounds
which best describe
what I have witnessed.
I would and I am communicating
in words shouted out, loud, clear:
"To thy own Self be true".

I alter my state of mind by being Self-present.
I follow the wind of the world,
from outside me, to within me ~
I inhale and I witness my breath within me,
my breath transform my world view.
I am change ~
I am the transformer of all my experiences,
in to the stillness, stillness of peace.
I am a peace maker, maker of my own peace.

In silence, I own the space within my inner world ~
Lightly, I breath to convert what was, into, what I am.
Quietly, I change what was inauthentic in my outer world,
Breathing my Self awake, I expand my presence
from This into That
my authentic inner world knowledge grows ~
more than That,
I alter my state of Being by being true to my Self.

~ Other People's Fingerprints ~
Sometime around the 5th-4th Century BCE
(Li Er, Li Dan) Lao Zi wrote,
“He who does not lose command of himself lives on,
he is effaced by death, but has eternal life.”

"Make your heart like a lake
with a calm, still surface,
and great depths of kindness."

Baiyangdian, Hebei, China 1990