Photo Credit Linda Schoenthal

in stillness I am fulfilled

It is not without saying, pain and suffering existential hold of human psychotic continuation, intercalating the daily grind, introducing new possibilities, transcending constructs of being. Within our own chasten beliefs, like a distant galaxy waiting to be discovered, we need only fuel transportation, completing life’s journey.

Seeking out this pursuit of happiness, unbeknownst absolute meaning of what may be, nevertheless, forward appetence, fiercest of intensities, eyes burning hot with a laser-like vision for what’s to come. In a glimpse, given unto me, purest of joy, peaceful tranquility-I did it, it found me-this is Eudaimonia! And just like that, it is taken.

For a moment in time, sharing space with ‘All There Is,’ ecstatic bliss within and out of the field of possibilities, we’ve become what we sought for so long. Snatched instantaneously, with thoughts of finding such joy, infusing pain and suffering, returning as quickly as thoughts might permeate, what just happened?

Cogito, ergo sum, Descartes declaring truth in plain sight. Born into reality, single breath kissing the ether; intertwining, co-mingling dance with inspiration, born into life, from unseen to known physicality. We think therefore we are.

We are happy paralleled thoughts say it is so, contrasting misery, for we are that too. We are what we see, feel, think, and believe to be true. Intermediary source translating thought as to generational, collective ideologies, whichever wolf we feed leading the way.

This fundamental concept of pure happiness, escaping thought transcending mindful understanding, remains in silence or absence of mind in all its misery. Sitting with our drunkard selves, tears flooding life’s meadow, washing away distaste, formalities of being present, Eureka’s moment returns.

Cut off the head, clouded mind tainting our wine. Rose-colored glasses, beer goggles coming into focus, what was-is no longer, what was a fantasy-becoming living word, throwing out the playbook from second-century dogmatic ways, we are becoming.

~ Ani Po

Photo Credit Linda Schoenthal

Photo by Javardh on Unsplash

Stentorian Voice Echoes Through

Literary Impulse’s prompt — ‘Andoumboulou and Vorfreude’

That stentorian voice echoes through the field, pounding at inner and outer doors. Calling upon once familiar pilgrim, forthwith warrior sings a creative song. Echoes, creative tune, stars dancing energetically and spirited song. Notwithstanding arousing suspicions, incomplete works flesh unbound words, the Author gathering tools acquired along this trail.

Written first upon the stars, eternal void yet filled by the common man. Heroes’ journey walked a thin red line, regardless all the same, for The Few heeding the call, traveling as needed re-writing total existence. Imaginative, factual, matters not to the creative souls.

Star key found, entering school house for daily’s lesson. Adopted by the ancients, elements communicable ‘all there is,’ opening vortices with a magic quill. Looking to the skies, heavens, and emptiness of what may be. Nothingness presents, vastness, voided thought, transpiring tune silenced by the mood. Fear of incomplete, mirrored blankness, the mind stops, pausing for evaluation.

Self-doubt, transmuted expectancy, years of training, the Recruiters remain in the shadows. Not the shadow of self, doubt, or misery, but elitists, forgers of reality, keepers of sacred truths. Called upon by the Watchers, branch of the Guardians, hand-picking recruits worthy of holding sacred draft.

Like a ship washed ashore-tattered, gaping holes, broken bones, rocks puncturing remains. Hollowed bones, empty soul, and abandoned crew once swabbing its decks. A rotting corpse, laid to rest, sifted and lifted remaining treasures and booty of Caribbean. Nothing left, unanswered call, yet a lonely seeker stumbles upon flairs last remaining shot.

A passerby or called to witness, tattered soul, one last flair in the chamber. Launching a fiery ball lacking accuracy, persisting hopefulness prevails, responding messenger approaches from the East. A metal detector in hand, hardened tools, wood-working masterful carpenter’s guidebook, spiritually received.

Andoumboulou or Ouroborus, Vorfeude tails scribbling nature. It is written upon the stones, ancient story-lines, awaiting translation and transcription for the other’s detection.

No longer afraid, work undone, Story-Teller tells the tale. Through song and dance, interpreting vibratory thought transmission, Akashic speaking unhindered, conductor raising wand, readying Great Orchestra’s forth playing sacred tune.

Breathing in lacking presence, past and future uneasy, woodwinds sounding, releasing the mesmerizing hold, transfigured sound, and healing touch kissing all willing to be, joyful symphony returns.

Returning to lack, the emptiness of abandoned ship knuckles to the bone, bled sweating tears, altered, transfigured, made whole as promised by the sea. Not for the lacking human conditions, stentorian voice sounding alarms. Not in the stars, external gaze emptied-As without, so within. Inward gaze, universal truths reveal-Once broken, made whole once more.

~ Ani Po

Image for post

Photo by Javardh on Unsplash 

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

Joseph Lieungh