Casting Spells of Love and Forbidden Fruits


Casting Spells of Love and Forbidden Fruits

Unleashing the power of the mighty pen

Fragmented completely and thoroughly broken with explicitness as the only means for definition of said brokenness.

Stiffer then a corpse giving deathbed’s modern-day look of peeking sun and morning moon’s confused look transpiring onto pages of life. Collapsing lung crashing thoughts yielding nothing in return, paralleling altered states failing to grasp written and non-written words, just avoided truth remaining as if patterned after a triggered, traumatic experience, yesteryear and childhood blanketed cover-ups.

Year after year, the clouds roll in, bringing heavy density with midsummer night’s dream foreign to fading memories of ancient and futuristic potentialities, yet it remains. Sitting as the joints pop and lock with no explanation, something giving way.

Unbending to right-the-wrongs, stroke-work and masterful penning deliberately on hold, just being in the present moment, like a seven and seven wistful faithfully twisting of lime. Sitting, allowing discomfort leading up to misery and pain, bringing discovery to July’s forbidden truth, waiting — still intently waiting for the answers to life’s crippling effect on body and spirit.

Deep into the cavernous thought we go, yet again profoundly given directions to innermost workings of self-awakening truths. Overabundance, lack thereof, fears of unknown or traumatic response like an allergen twisting sinuses uprooting peace and solitude of falsities.

The boredom of daily observatory looking outwardly at the folks banging their drums all day, not giving thought but just being self-amidst physical dualistic and spiritual bodies of universal consciousness. Inner stares, piercing gaze cutting laser-like etchings within stones of time giving purposeful meaning of nothingness and happiness in every breath.

Take up the sword, re-writing missing chapters of life’s chapter book’s unfinished storylines, casting spells, prophesying, and self-proclaiming reality as it was intended — free and clear of hazy truths just observing passing clouds coloring our sunny days.

With every stroke, lightened loads and calming winds brushing through imaginary locks of love, planting seeds of change on fertile ground. Waters quenching thirst completing the course, the drenching entirety of cosmic vibratory truth, spinning threads of interwoven reality — it is coming of age.

~ Ani Po


No explanation to this one, just an invite to share what thoughts come through for you. Looking forward to your sharing in this dance.


Much gratitude for those who take time to read, ponder and allow the inner workings of self to come forward. Grateful for the feedback, love shared, and more importantly the Dance with Inspiration. Deep Peace.

Joseph Lieungh

Photo by Javardh on Unsplash

Battlefield Within Our Minds


Battlefields Within Our Minds

Reminding one of an ever-expanding thought process

Photo by Jesse Bowser on Unsplash

Never giving thought to whether I would be saved, just living by what feels acceptable or beneficial to self and all. Maybe it was stubbornness to outside worldly influence, clashing with inner knowing of how the world might appear in my world.

Living to the fullest, zig-zagging in and out of traffic, careless at first glance but assuredly methodical in pursuance of an end goal of something not fully understood, taking every breath to its last, every step to world’s end, expanding boundaries every day.

Voices screaming “you are not invincible” from the outer voxes playing by everyday rules, ignoring them with replies of “go back inside your little cave! Tending to personal adventures, extreme to ‘the others,’ redirecting, recreating realities as visional within inner realities, going to meet outer boundaries, nudging them forward once more, doing what ‘they’ said can’t be done. *Why do I suddenly hear Jerry Reid singing in the background?

Maybe I did not, but already knew, savings for another day? Each moment was facing a near-death fade to black, either ending or a new beginning of the same. “Holy smokes,” retorting reply, unscathed by yet another attack of the unknown strikings of lioness roar.

Thrown from this world, thwarted into the next, unofficial observance of thought reality, causation by own two, twisted by fate and altered by you. Geometrical and alchemical processing of consciousness, unseen becoming physical proof — there is something more to what has been told.

Trapped in the abyss, surrounded by darkened souls lingering all-around, the breath of life flowing through its entirety — shining for another day of soul binding mystical understanding not linguistically tangible by common perception, carrying on like a torch-bearer hoisting the Olympic flame.

Challenged by subtleties and catastrophic events inflicted by the masses, still foreign is the thought of being saved. What is the magical formula — the Giver of life? Can it be recorded, documented, and copy-written? Uncertain to the many questions posed by ‘the others,’ carry on with day-to-day pushing terminus into a transmuting vibrational frequency into a continuation of souls offering new hope of possibility.

Doubting Thomas appears at home’s front door, ringing to an unanswered sound of faithlessness, knocking and begging to enter daily practice. Unwelcome opening of the sacred entrance to the inner sanctum, “take a seat Thomas, let us have tea.”

Head to head or side by side, paralleled battlefields within our minds, gratitude for this visit once again — reminding one of an ever-expanding thought process. “Thank you for coming Thomas, so glad we had time to chat. Our time is done. It is time for you to go.”

~ Ani Po


Photo by eberhard 🖐 grossgasteiger on Unsplash

I tried to address this prompt in normal writing fashion, but I swear my life is one giant prose poetic mix of realities spilling onto the page. Maybe it is my lack of punctuation, grammatical appearance in its proper form? or maybe it is a desire to captivate the reader into a spinning world of thoughtless boundaries, expressed in thought-provoking words of chain-less beginning and ends?

I go with the flow in an ever-spinning boundlessness swaying in figure-eight patterns that natural flow invites us all to take hold, choose to enter, life-altering strands of hope, faith, and unlimited love pouring over all wounds of past, present, and future encounters.


Photo by Jan Canty on Unsplash

I have never been one to live by the boundaries set by the governance of our daily lives. I often write “the others” into my pieces, symbolizing the majority of people falling into the day-to-day traps of self-inflicting reality. Further referring to them as “They” without judgment of who or what they stand for, it just does not compute in my trade of thought.

Being thrown from a car, a motorcycle, and a bicycle, hanging from a cliff or a two-story building, ‘the others’ plead with me to slow down. Maybe I can slow down, or maybe I cannot? Maybe it was not time for me to slow down, offering an extreme example of pushing boundaries for others ‘to see.’

‘To see’ is to bear witness to a higher belief in what we can or cannot do, blowing the equations to life’s problems out of the waters and throwing the formulas out with the trash.

Rewritten is the formula to life, infusing spirit’s sacred touch upon our souls.

My most difficult situations in life are those who see linearly, believing it to be true. Never giving thought to other possibilities, I struggle to keep these feelings at bay. Collective mixed into own thought, inviting Thomas to join us for tea. Extended stay or short visit is dependent upon the flavor that is served. As for the time of our visit, they are short-lived offerings to see into the minds of another, digging deeper into the cosmic dance of ‘all there is.’

‘All there is,’ referring to a greater perspective on life — seeing beyond the beliefs of the narrowed ways, in the eyes of spirit we are becoming.

We all have our doubting Thomas who appears at our doors, whether we believe in the message carried inward — remains undefined by self-realizing thought.


To answer the prompt, I cannot — for I am too busy ‘being’ what I was called to be. Wait, I think I just answered the question. Then again, maybe I am just delusional?!

Thank you Dan Catalin for the prompt and Diana C. for housing our words.


Much gratitude for those who take time to read, ponder and allow the inner workings of self to come forward. Grateful for the feedback, love shared, and more importantly the Dance with Inspiration. Deep Peace.

Joseph Lieungh

Photo by Javardh on Unsplash