Zero Point Gravity

Turning the sands of time

Sitting amidst the darkest realms hidden amongst illusory thoughts ever-present — melted sands of time with a thousand faces — fusing as one evil plot against self — fading memory once lost — giving birth to a new way of being. Lost in a myriad of thoughts — unable to climb out of the rabbit hole’s downward spiraling tornadic pull — call to a friend, but echoes of silence prevail.

Alone in the world gone awry — Hercule’s mandated strength emerging victorious at the center’s storm — a path chosen sans regret. The weight of the collapse calling out to a familiar voice — regret, pain, suffering multitudes of lifetimes in a single grain of time — acknowledging both sides to a flipping coin with tales never failing — armies of peaceful warriors emerging victorious from thoughtless vagary.

We are

Painstakingly moving into the unknown — hidden doorways opening — new channels, a directional pull too great to be ignored. The horrors of what was — not knowing what will be — faithfully stepping into the canvas of all there is — painting a new reality with fantasy and co-creative thought — so shall it be.

Melted molten rock of the ages into a puddled muddling of who we are — tar sand bitumen thick as the molasses on a January morn — resting in our darkened minds, reaching for candle-lit sparks leading us home. Upside down — turtles struggle to get afoot — aid of a brother or self-reassuring knowing that all will be restored — back on the foothills of planting additional seeds to rebirth.

Zero Point

Hourglasses running out — granular speculations of nearing the end — the hand of time aiding in the turning of another hour — maybe more — left to the evacuation of centuries of fabled speech — soapbox shattering beneath our feet. One knee to upright forward moving beginnings — bipedal confidence not shared in historical records but self-realizing knowing — making a clean breast of accidental encounters — suffering a loss of heart’s gaping wounds not yet healed.

Turning the page — chapters of books lacking words feeling into confessions shared by broken winds shaking storms antiquated passing of another day. Rolling hills — discovering a continuous flow — ebb and flow — right to left brain fusion of once broken one-sided truth — becoming untouched by mortal ship-shape, shape-shifting possibility.

Gravity

Energetic beings bound by meat — flesh’ singular inferring directional pull — escaping prisons constructed by minds, boundless acts of suffering — we are becoming. Broken, afraid, an inadequate record of a greater whole, adopting inseparable and contradictory opposites — accepting imperfection perfectly as it was meant to be.

~ Ani Po

Much gratitude to J.D. Harms, Melissa Coffey and the whole Scrittura family for sharing these words. Have not been able to download, with life calling me away. The idea of Zero Point energy is a concept of having the lowest possible energy in quantum mechanical systems. Our thoughts, hindered or enhanced by belief, allow us to sit with these burning thoughts, submitting to all there is around us, allowing a deeper understanding of self and those acting around us. The mechanical system is a reflection of the world around us, inviting us to sit with everything happening, changing our course to redirect self and, with hopes, those around us.

Loop pedal activated, here is the song playing in the background of these 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

It Has All Been Written Before

But a thousand more attempts drilling down to one word

Just as the author before* — prompting the others* to explore — in the beginning was the word, having been interpreted, used — misused for selfishness or self-control of one’s usage of an unwritten word.

The power of words can truly make or break another — lifting them to Mounts of Shasta or crushing future dreams purposefully living in heart-centered realities. Checked at the door — muted lips no longer sinking ships, listening to sounds of creative voices screaming from seventeen thousand feet, allowing self* — I am no longer living under the stronghold of fear-ridden truths.

Ink envy of another* — empty canvas I’ve become, no longer writing these words on the flesh of my understanding — removed by laser-like attention of a physician’s hand. Dreaming solitude amidst the bombings of neighboring communities — holding firmly to peace invigorating heartfelt transmutation every second allowed — entering a void of all existence.

Entering the winds of change — no longer worried by familial exchange — breathing out with Dragon’s* burning breath — clearing the battlefields of opposing forces’ dreams of conquering another. Following the Moskva, down to Gorky Park — letting go of our difference, holding hands like brother and sister — the winds of change transgressing follicular inner beauty with hair blowing free.

Looking deep into the reflecting waters flowing — crossing the Canvas’ global figurine — witnessing an all-encompassing feeling of paradoxical palimpsest written and rewritten so that symphonic healing courses through our veins — self and collective as mother’s rivers dominating landfills overflowing shadowy screams.

We have arrived — no longer audible are the words but felt by those close encounters with every step in our days — peace restored, dreams fulfilled and carried out like the literal transcription upon the flesh of another. Empty is the Canvas — skin unfolding the winds of change, ever faster than a thousand thoughts pulling at our attentive ears.

No bugles sounding our arrival — answering the call of being present — we just are.

~ Ani Po

Inspired by the *Author Before, Melissa Coffey invites us to dive into the influences of words. The *others, Scrittura family, et el. are left to interpret this prompt. *Ink envy of Another, J.D. Harms leaves me in awe with his response, witnessing my empty canvas left for personal interpretation — no longer taming the *Dragons of shadowy desires, but embracing and allowing them to speak in a transmuted breath.

As it has been written before, attempting a rewrite in a different language, vibrational understanding for the readers to experience on a personal level — referring to *self, first-person singular — embodying the greater whole of humanity — at least that is my dream for understanding, knowing I too, fall short of truly grasping the meaning of it all. 

Blank as the skin, empty page before, loop pedal activated with Winds of Change. Inspired by the lyrics repeating, on noise-canceling headphones, a remake of a popular hairband from my youth. I am drawn into the void to interpret self and the collective others as it was all written before — but was I listening to the deeper meaning of it all? 

While writing, I recall a Korean poem, author unknown, Just One Word.

Just One Word

Just one uncaring word can spark a fight.
Just one cruel word can shatter a life.
Just one harsh word can sow misunderstanding.
Just one disrespectful word can douse the fervor of love.

Just one kind word can smooth a rocky path.
Just one joyful word can cheer a gloomy day.
Just the right word can lighten an uneasy heart.
Just one affectionate word can show the beauty of the world.

I picked this photo, reflecting on why I started writing.

Thank you to Scrittura and the whole family, as I share my words.

Original prompt:

Awe-inspired reply:

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