The Art of Dying to Live: Poem

(An artistic view of the ever present consciousness)

If there were an assemblage point, a single brilliant spot of light where awakening suddenly happens - a point so exact and intricately placed in the Universe - possibly somewhere between the Star of David, Orion's Belt, midlife miseries and teenage angst, that one space known to all, then it would make awakening an easy goal.

This place does not exist, nor is awakening a goal. The point is everywhere and the goal is the process itself. Where the process seems to end, yet another path through the stars awaits to begin with us once again, and again.

A circle, a spiral, a dance of sovereign spirit - a spirit within a body, holding the experiences of paupers, artists, kings, queens and blacksmiths, of monks, writers, dukes and harlequins. I find that the spirit knows and holds none of it to itself, but is merely the guiding force that holds the vessel of matter together - with meaning.

The body is merely the vessel, the mind the engine. Each character is sewn together by a series of ideas, ideals, thoughts and deals. Deals made with others, deals made with ourselves, deal with the mirror, deals made with the delusional evil which lies nowhere, yet everywhere, and deals made with nature - your Mother Earth.

She remembers your deals; When you were in Kashmir in the 1700s begging for some stale bread. She remembers the deals you made when you were slaughtering slaves like flies because you liked the way the colour of their blood stained the limestone walls of the dark bejewelled chambers you dwelled in. She remembers the deals you made when you were a young girl in Atlantis, counting Cowrie shells with the Mermaids. The Earth Mother remembers the deals you made when you were the father of six, last seen riding into battle, in order to acquire your safe spot in the illusionary Mecca of the afterlife you then called Valhalla.

The Mother remembers - she is made solely of electromagnetic frequencies - energy which only rises, expands, falls, contracts, transmutes, transforms and never depletes. Energy cannot be destroyed, she holds it all within her, upon her, for you to recover when you choose to remember.

Your body is young, your mind naive, your energy ancient.

Remember. Re-member.

Gather the members of matter of your delusional deals.

Forget the thinking and exercise your innate ability to feel.

Heal. Here. True.

- Isabelle

#remembering #reincarnation #living #death #spirit #consciousness #bodymind #poem #wordweaving

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