May indeed the towers of creation that created the Pillars of Good and Evil dissolve and erode like the imperfection they are. Mustered and moulded are their thought patterns, weathered and worn are their greed. Indeed long has it been since man has seen the days of perfection, where deceased imperfection could lay silent of tainted thought, for upon creating imperfection did man instantly forget the idea of perfection. Even perfection became an imperfect thought, prone to scepticism and ridicule. May these pillars of imperfection fall away into a sea of eternal forgetfulness, the sea of eternal forgetfulness where perfect waters that have weathered the storms of our imperfection lie waiting beneath, lay waiting beneath our wading feet, toes barely dipped into their seas.
Are we simply petrified to learn the true meaning of that which we are, scared to discover that which we are not was merely a creation of our thoughts, a limited deviation from our plans of success, eternal success with no notion of failure. Yet still unconceivable is perfection, grown on the pillars of good and evil and therefore: unconceivable perfection parallels undeniable failure. More frugal to save victory in the safety box, buried beneath years of loss than frivolous to find failure amongst the success. It is easy enough to fail at that which you have yet to succeed, but no success every sprung from an idea of certain failure. Fail not in giving thyself the opportunity to awaken into perfection, for in forgetting the notion of who you are and where you came from, is failure inevitable and evident and unescapable. Success succeeds itself and proceeds to outweigh the failure as it builds and binds to itself, and it coats and lines itself with more that it is. If we are perfect, then line thyself with nothing less, clothe thyself in the best of thy own beauty, a beauty that thine own true eye can perceive. Conceive nothing less than the mystery that you were all created to be. Break down pillars of doubt regarding the miracle of your existence. Troubled times of your existence will banish soon too, into these waters of eternal forgetfulness. Then these memories of forever blissfulness have room to stroll back in.
The mind is infinite and consciousness endless, so limit not thy consciousness by placing an expiry date on it, a quality label on it, or a deadline on it. These deadlines of unthinkable times have banished from the times that have held them captive. New conscious states of creation are abound, determined by every mystery ever written or found. Question not their truth but inquire into them, for no door was ever left closed to those who have chosen to knock. But physical doors of current reality will not yet open themselves simultaneously unto thee until the knocking begins from within and the hand of your chosen consciousness reaches forth and succeeds in opening it.
No life began from the outer, even the beauty of birth is comforted first from the inner depths of the womb, the womb of life, of conscious creation, where cells and electrons form and fashion themselves into the state that has been chosen. Do not see the outer world as a reflection of the outer. Grow to believe and understand that the outer forever reflects the inner, for nothing is created in the outer that is not first carried within. The miracle of life lies in the womb of our consciousness. So thy thoughts perceived from a congested and confused mind predetermine a congested and confused reality of outside lies that are simply the distress of inner sighs, conveniently confused and misinterpreted by the outer eyes.
Free thyself of old beliefs, they weigh you and sink heavy on your already hardened heart, crusted by winters of darkness and scars. Green grass grows in light of the sun, on the hill with the most sunshine – so stand forth in the sunshine of your own light. No grass is greener than on the hill in which you stand for no other light is more powerful than that which is direct. You are direct, and you are the director of your own garden. Whether it produces sustainability or vulnerability to scarcity comes down to your choice of planting and cultivating. The Pillars of Good and Evil do not grow good crops and bad crops, for under the impression that there is separatism everything grown in imperfect. The Pillar of Life, in all its majesty, will grow the crops that are seeded best in the fertile ground of an open consciousness, grown uncontrollably in the sunshine of thine own light and harvested in perfect communion with your current state of conscious communion with thyself.
Weave the basket of your life with an open consciousness and the basket will forever expand to house the size of your dreams.
No perfect answer was ever lost to those who first chose to seek
So seek ye first the kingdom of God and all things shall be added unto thee
The kingdom of God is in the midst of you.
Knock and the door shall be opened thee.
Truth finalized by words spoken from a man who is yet greater than me.
Life is as unpredictable as the ocean. All it knows is vastness and greatness and a
never ending openness of movement. The waters themselves cannot be mapped, merely the space in which they occupy. We may map our futures, as we view them from above, but floating upon the waves will shift us to where we will go. No life should ever be a road, with signs depicting and predicting in which way to move – but like the waves and the wind, should life guide you to whichever shore the sun is shining.
The sun first rises in the East, where the West is still dimmed in the darkness, but then sets in the West when night has already silenced the East. We are meant to rise with the sun and set with the sun – eternal movement is inevitable greatness. And so like the ocean, who can be as silent as the moon and as thunderous as the heavens, shall life, my life, expand and contract in every direction until I have found myself on every shore that the sun is shinning.
Until I can conclude that I am the ocean – And I am the sky above it –
And I am the land in which it encompasses.
All labour of love, lost infinite by the word
For mind speaks louder than heart to be heard.
And all poets, with minds, will purge
But upon a word with no meaning, little ground to be stirred.
Is Love not easier said than explained?
Easier imagined than felt, or proclaimed than maintained?
The mind be strong to boast love’s truth
But never has a mind ever felt what Lovers do.
Never has the mind bared open its soul
And allowed the whispers of eternity to unfold.
For love with an ending is nothing more than a word,
For True Love speaks of ever after and more.
But finding nothing comparable on Earth,
Shrink titanic feelings unto a four letter word.
Till the mind sinks everyone on board
And suffocates the heart, unheard.
Yet love is the bridge between man and his soul
Likes stories, lost fables, the greatest tale ever told.
In search of true love, we pine what’s outside,
But in the midst of the world, we’re all seeking the I.
True Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder
Laid in the hand of the owner.
There she lays
Misread and misused
Vacant screams echo for Beauty true
Stiffened from Judgement’s abuse.
For Confidence speak silent beside the stature of Judgement too.
Reflections staring back –
Is the girl inside the glass
Tragically insecure is the one she’s staring at.
Perception creates images of belief
Till disturbed by every senseless spot
And shrunken by lines that stray the image of that perfection
The story that our minds begins to lead
Legs: two inches to short
Feet: one inch too long
Black shadows form frightful, in funhouse mirrors: distort
Rooms lighted to light
This room: too many shades create shapes.
Pencil us in more lashes and erase the brows curved steep.
The twinkle of our eyes shift rapid across boring features
That grew boring with the sight of it each day
But stare regardless, at this woman that we’ve made.
Options of colours for hair, clothes, and face
Painted lips, painted skin, painted cheeks
Removes all of our natural trace.
But it is us,
Ignorant, we gaze
Greedy to be more
with more hair
with more glow
with less shine
and less size
And longer the list grows
Till tainted, weeps True Beauty
Misinterpreted by the eye that has always beheld.
Satisfied by dissatisfaction, Judgement smiles –
Whose eyes dare not to sleep
To close but a wink, True Beauty’s words would start to speak
And notion our great madness
To have ever sunk beneath.
The darkened waters of our inner anguish
That crash coldly on our internal state
Where clouds smog in the stricken shores
Masking the inner lighthouse that awaits.
So sleep soundly The Essence of our beauty
Till into our hands, conviction we take.
And allow confidence to grow
And destructive thoughts be still
And the woman that lay inside,
The All-Power that we are,