Photo by Clay Banks on Unsplash

Captain’s Log

Passing of Another Story-line

Beginning with a story of cutting and rolling, painting of sorts, covering walls with new tint, singing and dancing nature’s song, youngest of clan enters the room. “Can I help?” Yes, of course, never turning down a helping hand.

Handing brush, ox hair priceless as it may be, not thinking of consequences, paint now covering bristles, metal and handled stick. What the heck happened? As quickly as the “I’m sorry” happened I was transported backward to working with my father. Scolded for not knowing proper care, a brush is still a brush, but his failure of not knowing, teaching example lacking the same.

Oh my dear, it is ok, merely making you aware. While only a brush, value to whatever given, it still needs our care. Spinning possibilities as to how events came to be, similarly worldly events, it could be this or that, failure on my part, lacking on theirs, blame game as watered down paint to thin, it just is.

Lesson learned dragon arrival for a nightly visit, cyclical return, swallowing own tail. Ouroborus infinitely returning, never-ending, ever-beginning, drenched in a message, collective past, backtrack discussion daughter explained.

Next day thoughts digressing, expanding awareness, consciousness exploratory assignment,’ It’ comes to be. Gods of Sea, Thunder, and Wind. Spirits of the Wind, Great Spirit, Oneness, contemplative collective, the visionary label of things, collaborating stories soothing souls, mere attempts to what ‘Is,’ deductive reasoning, becoming It Just Is.

Affectionately guiding us, becoming what may be, challenging all things as before, accepting what’s governing corners of the Earth. Transcending label of things, integrating and intertwining All Things in All Ways, no longer following rules of engagement, written laws of man, Stepping into The Canvas, becoming the Canvas itself, self-declaration I Am Here, stepping precisely as expected.

Respondents unable pressing journalist thoughts, obsessed with grass greener on another side of the moon, whereas color wheels losing mind. Stories passing day after day, ideating new chapters, unspoken words given new meaning to co-creating without lifting a finger once smashed by hammers weight.

Grabbing Author’s Quill, re-writing story-lines, generational twist, ancestral beings, traumatic events or guiding lights self-realized, traveling before the beginning of time, entering the void of All there Is, returning the sacred kiss, Universal response placed upon the lips.

Weeks end, sacred song, heart singing for all to Hear.

~ Ani Po

Photo by Kelli McClintock on Unsplash

This piece is a reflection of the past week, prompted firstly this past week’s prompt of daily journal.

Consumed by recent project, unable to sit in sacred writing space. Thoughts kept coming, entering post-it recording devices, sticking to desk, emailing self, thoughts entering with nowhere to go but limbo for future reference.

As timing has it, the beginning of the week ties into the end, wrapping up with another prompt for weekends delight.

Monday was filled with a lesson of healing past, present and future generations, allowing my daughter and I to heal together and father’s ancestral lessons handed.

That night visited by dragon’s tail, as it often happens whenever a lesson is learned, swallowed whole once again as if completing another cycle. Healing past trauma, learned behaviors, deepening understanding of All there Is.

Bringing me to the existence of God’s and Goddesses, Spirits small and grand. Where do they come from? Merely labels created by man, unfathomed voice given hence? Saints and Sinners, Angelic presence at bay, just as the battlefield of the mind creates illusory story-lines self-inflicted or handed down, label of things we must, human we are after all.

Expansion of sorts, outer-body experience, traveling to the beginning of time, witnessing shape-shifted story-teller atop mountain range. valley’s gorge imploding song, Creation speaks through Heart’s tranquility. Journeyed for understanding, returning with All there Is.
From fear ridden past at beginning of week, to fearless freedom lighting up my world, humbled by the lessons learned, steps taken, hearts Song carrying tune.

Thank you All for reading and continued support.

Joseph Lieungh

Photo by Miles Loewen on Unsplash

The Author

Once Follower, reader of sorts, taking Quill in hand

Sitting on the mountaintop, contemplating existence, observing the storylines, told, and untold. With every breath, a new scene, clearing palette given the same, the Author witnesses an unfolding of realities from past to future sense.

A gust of wind, more like a horizontal cyclone, tornadic proportions sweeping through valley’s gorge, all the while conversing with Smokey Joe, the Author remains observant. Witnessing townships, planets, creative existence birthed and reborn, breathing in familial traumatic treasures collective embrace, breathing out universal love cleansing palate, expatiate painful feeling of sorts.

Wetting quill’s tip salivary kiss, sharpening gaze over life’s basin, preparatory involvement, prior re-writing story retracing creative tale, through the thick and thin, darkened shadow of death, recounting and recanting thus before.

Firstly a great fear enters a trade of thought, consuming our narrative, telling false tales of comets, cupids, and big dippers taught to us by dictatorships and dogmatic control. The Prince spelling out as Machiavelli retorts, creating illusions, gaining control, binding subjects into submission, and servitude to mass consumption, sickness prevails exponentially.

Cyclone called from valley’s gorge entering thoracic walls, dantian and crown aiding force, melting mountainside, feeling hands of the many. Frozen in time, fear-ridden, what if I die miserably? Heart pounding, fear of heart attack commence, irresponsible father forth tracing steps, sent to the island of misfit toys.

Battle in the mind commencing at highest of magnitude, the brink of psychosis at hand, yes, yes, let us lose our mind! Great Spirit passing wind external auditory, whispering conversation, “What are you afraid of? What is the worst that could happen?”

I could die!

“Do you think you die? While yes the body will eventually decay, passing like a living compost pile, merely returning to the void, fertilizing and awaiting a rebirth of sorts, it remains eternal. Here let me show you…”

Traveling past existence, feeling pain and suffering of all generations, specifically and precisely seven generations as told by the Elders, division of great magnitude exists. Growing further apart, sons of Jacob dispersing to the corners of the globe, fission at atomic levels, cosmic dimensions supervoid growing amidst constellation Eridanus, ‘the pain still grows’ whilst Disturbed rewriting ballad.

Like a hollow bone, black hole swallowing remnants past, present and future thought transgression be, transmuting and refuting, gastric juices dissolving solidity, what was, maybe and everything in between.

Breathe.

The internal voice echoing song, afraid of disturbing the neighbors, enters quiet room within, the song of the universe changing chorus every breath, breathing in pain and suffering, breathing out a new landscape. Watery streams flowing, trickling Love and Peace, remembering once translated songs of pain and misery, “Hello darkness my old friend. I come to sing with you again.”

Heart ripped open, spilling contents planetary involvement, pouring like a river once sung Elder’s song, infinite, ever-expanding magnetic field, layers of pain pouring out pure love’s tune. Submitting to Universal awareness, consciousness as one, Seeing Eye of Creation itself, the Author bowing to those before him, teachers and gatekeepers, cavernous spaces unknown, as in the beginning was the end, stated before, written word, twisted or translated for few to understand, all was understood.

I Am Here. Take my Hand once sung to thee. I Am Here for all to breathe.

Enters the field, Great Mystery, Universal Consciousness, ability to enter, exit lifetimes inserting optional redo, witnessing explanatory planetary evolvement, sapiens bi-pedaling two wheels ride. Purpose-driven life became known, once shadow of a doubt now the light of day, breathing in Universal Love nothing absentia, all-encompassing, existence singularity ‘drops of Jupiter,’ hearts flooding interstellar space, blanketing the Sun, and solar system to the nth degree.

Melted, faded, countryside landscape, blooming petals, flowering buds, smallest of sentient feasting on mana’s flow. Pouring out, fungating presence breathing through, ancestral beings taking hand, wrapping the globe, third rock from pivotal exchange, accepting life ever-lasting, taking seat with the Masters.

Strokes the whiskers, facial delight, universal gaze outward exchange, it is so, once the pawn now the King, rhetoric, parabolic, or metaphorical life consummating turn, the Author smiles in harmonious silent tune. Singing universal breath, silently, stealthy, unbeknownst to the others…singing the Song of Creation, life itself labels not included.

It is time.

Quill in hand, careful dictation, translated eons of storylines, correct as they were told, pardoning not one, labeled as such, remaining the same, expansive and vast the Way, Void of All there Is, written upon the Canvas.

The Canvas of Life, once a follower of delight, now Author of Absolute, wetting whistle, singing Song of Creation, re-writing past, present, and future, as it was, in the Beginning, It Is the End.

~Ani Po

Photo by santosh verma on Unsplash

Joseph Lieungh