W e A r e What We T h i n k

W e A r e What We T h i n k

If we become what we think
To purify the mind should
Should be our priority
The mind is everything

So let us not dwell on the past
Or dream too much of the future
But love the present as
The greatest gift, like

Health, wealth, faithfulness
And learn to love too
The nature of change who
Can be aggressive or docile

Peace comes from within
Conquer yourself with acceptance
Love yourself with surrender
The shadow’s good health requires

That we become less attached to our shadow
The patterns we fabricate
As comfortable routines of dysfunction
The shadow is what we must act upon

Holding on to anger or giving words
To sadness to ourselves
If we become what we think
We must laugh at our shadow

Convince it to dissolve
For we have to work our own salvation
Do not depend on others for it
They will not have time to care for it.

After Heraclitus with Kundalini

To sneak upward is one way to reach God
My teacher said to learn to be transparent
To bathe in silence and watch the waves

To shed in the cycles of time
To renew the spiritual skin, again & again
Until you are so alive
That nothing can stop you
All nature is a fire

So learn the alchemy
Of transformation, befriend change
Shine on the sunlight and praise the metamorphosis
Dart with the ancient hieroglyphs

Learn what the ancients meant
By spiritual discipline, conservation of energy
The same river of the universe is always there
We burn in it and are taken away

Only to age in rugged paradigms
One step closer to quantum realities
Self-preservation is a spiritual event.

Wasn’t the Road Filled With Eternal Welcome?

Telling you all would take too long
About the wholes and misfortunes
These breakthroughs through errors
A memory more persistent than love

But I’m okay, perhaps our lives
Are no more than the fire’s reflection
Complicated by Plato, flabbergasted by Nietzsche
I must sing the years full of
Sweet abandoned voices

Places I have been, what I have seen
Vulnerable in the public squares
Telling you all would be seriously wrong
We have our special secrets, our wanton surprises
The double anguish, wounds that

Won’t probably ever go away
Prisoners, genuine humble pilgrims
I want no descendents, I want
No shadows in their blood
No more serotonin misfits

Tell you all would mean mourning freedom
And I don’t mind being alone
For in solitude I’m always in ecstasy
Always writing poems to nobody.