calm and beautiful
is a movie of the I
— watching the watching

muddy and troubled
is a mind confused with I
— fear of being lost

a lost perception
is regained with memory
— one moment away

quiet and silent
is the act of seeing it
— one process, just one

a life as a play
is seen by an empty mind
— movie director

 

 

I, the poet,
	a wizard,
shall define
my craft:


(Chapter One)

	What is this ?

	These words
		that I'm writing,
	what are they ?

	What is
		their meaning ?
	What are they
		describing ?
	Where are they
		coming from ?


(Chapter Two)

	Voices and symbols.
		Images.
		Thoughts.
		Spells.

	One might call them
	as one wishes.
	But is one aware
		of them ?
	Or is one
		one with them ?

	Can the distinction
	be made
		and seen ?
	Can one see
		beyond one's
		five senses ?
	
	Can one notice
		the subtle
		movement
			of life ?


(Chapter Three)

	There is sadness,
		grief,
			struggle,
				fight,
					anger,
				pain,
			suffering,
		fear,
			oh yes, fear,
		conflict
	in one's mind.

	And one's mind
		is everyone's mind.
	One mind.
	
	One can accept
	or one can refuse
		to look at
			oneself.
	Psychological battle
	between
		one's self
	and
		one's life.


(Chapter Four)

	What is
		this energy
			that is felt,
			that is power,
			that is joy,
			that is left
		inside
	one's being ?

	What is the energy
		that is present
			when one has
			no more energy
		to live
		or do
	anything ?

	What is the energy
		that brings
			enjoyment
		in the torrent
	of depression ?


(Chapter Five)

	Importance,
		this mighty word,
	is the difference
		between
			what one does
		and 
			what one does not.

	Importance
	is the difference
		between
			what the world is
		and
			what the world is not.

	It makes
	all the difference
		to see
		the importance
	of giving
	importance.


(Chapter Six)

	What is the role
	of a poet ?
	
	What is 
	that world
		in which
	the poet
		will have
	his role ?
	
	Is it simple ?
		Is the world
			simple ?
	Is it easy ?
		Is the world
			easy ?
	
	Simple and easy...
	such weird words
		to describe
			a world.
	
	Why do we 
	see it
		this way ?
	Why do we
	fail
		to comprehend
			the complexity
			and austerity
			of 
				what we call
			world ?

	Is it 
	that one
		intentionally
	ignores
	what one
		does not like
			seeing ?
	Is it 
	pain
		and fear
			of pain
	that one
	tries 
		to avoid ?
	
	So what is
	the role
		of a poet ?


(Chapter Seven)

	Stories...

	As long as
	one remembers
		there are stories.
	All one remembers
		are stories.

	Stories and characters...
		inextricably linked.
	What is the story
		one tells
			of oneself ?
	What is the character
		one plays
			in one's life ?
	Is it
		the hero ?
	Is 
		it 
			the
				HERO ?
	Then what is
	one's life ?


(Chapter Eight)

	The joy 
		of being.

	The joy
		of being.

	BEING !

	Does one feel 
		that joy ?
	Or is one
		caught
		in routine,
		in monotony,
		in repeating
			one's days,
			one's years,
			one's life choices ?

	Does one
		love
			the world ?
	Or does one
		ignore it ?

	Does one
		love
			one's life ?
	Or does one
		ignore it ?

	One shall
	BE
		the hero
			of one's story,
		a story of beauty,
	beauty
		of living.


(Chapter Nine)

	Words...
	Symbols...
	Spells...
		spoken
		by voices
			inside
			one's mind.
	Thoughts.

	One can listen.

	They enchant
		one's life.
	They create
		one's life.
	Can one
	see them ?
	Can one
	choose them ?

	Fear...
		of making
			the wrong
				choices.
	Learning
	and growing...
		making
			the right
				choices.

	One can choose
		the spells
			one uses
			on oneself.
	Lets choose
		wisely !


(Chapter Ten)

	That energy
		of being,
			of oneness,
				of nothingness...
	Can one
	feel it ?

	Can one
	die
		one moment
	and be reborn
		the next moment ?

	Can one gather
	energy
		out of nothing ?

	Can one feel
		the exuberance
			hidden
		in the space
		between things ?

	If one does,
	what is one
		afraid of ?

	Can one be
	a hero
		beyond time ?
	One shall be
		such a hero.


(Chapter Eleven)

	We need
	better spells.

	We need
	better stories.

	We need
	to create
		beauty.

	Better armors.
	Better weapons.
	Better warriors.
	Better emotions.

	We need
		to fight
			better.

	Better wizards.
	Better solutions
		for a better
			world.

	Lets enjoy
	the battle
		between
	old
		and
	new !

	Lets enjoy
		being !


(Chapter Twelve)

	So...
	what is
	the role
		of a poet
	in a world
		of magic ?

	Someone has to
		write
		the spells,
	don't they ?

	Symbols
		of life,
			of growth,
				of learning,
			of healing,
		of being.

	Symbols
		of one
		and all of us,
	the whole
		humanity.

	One epic
		battle
			of transcendence.
			
	One story
		of beauty,
	one poetry.

	Whole
		Epic
			Poetry.
	Wholepicoetry.

	Lets begin !

 

If you knew
	how powerful
the word is,
	you would be 
more careful.
You are 
	playing 
	with fire,
a fire
	that burns
beyond time.

It feels
	so unreal,
yet,
	so true,
	so subtle,
yet,
	so obvious.

The magic 
	is real !
Misunderstood.

What is meaning ?
	Answer !
	And watch your answer screaming:
		Incomplete !
	But take a seat !
	And try to complete
		that answer !
What is meaning ?

What is it pointing to ?
	Every action that you do.
	Every moment that you face.
	Every object, single space.
	Every other, single you.
What is it pointing to ?

Could it be... ?
	Could everything signify...
		Me ?
	But what is me ?
	Or what is I ?
	What is the eye
		that can see ?
	Is it me ?
Could it be... ?

Me ?

 

While visiting a village museum:

taking the same steps
exploring the world again
the cycle of life
discovering the same paths
building new upon the old

(2 September 2018)

While thinking about learning:

beauty comes through change
continuous change and growth
world of multitudes
every human, every life
such a complex abundance

(25 August 2018)

While thinking about imagination:

our body doesn't know
what is thought and what is not
imagination
through internet we now share
limitless experience

(3 August 2018)

While inquiring into the theory of A-field:

where is knowledge stored
inside or outside of brain
organic wifi
knowledge, dreams, intuition
are accessed in the same way

(21 July 2018)

While analyzing the theory of A-field:

infinite knowledge
locally accessed through brain
theory of mind
states of consciousness translate
to brain configurations

(19 July 2018)

While reading a book on scientific paradigms:

old theories fall
as new theories emerge
conscious believer
between knowledge and chaos
there lies fear and resentment

(17 July 2018)

While thinking about the structure of reality:

how one sees oneself
how one sees the outside world
paradigms of mind
one understands them, but still
one forgets and is confused

(14 July 2018)

 

 

The it plays the I.
		Oh! Marvelous acting !
It starts with a lie.
		A play of reacting
	to myself.

I am. I want. I do.
		Is it right ? Is it me ?
Two perspectives. Both true.
		I see and I agree
	with myself.

Distinction from the whole.
		Signify me, my world !
The I must have this role.
		Life will grow and unfold
	out of myself.

Many levels of thought.
		All signifiers, I see !
One makes sense, one does not.
		It is all about me
	and myself.

We, the I, are the world.

	Perfect as it is,
		in full complexity,
	from all its degrees,
		with same intensity
	our world emerges. 

	Lacking the power,
		as naively desired,
	while perceived as sour,
		with all limits required
	our life emerges.

And here we are !
And here I am !

	I see ourselves as everything else.
	We think of myself as nothing else.
	How true I both are !

	From different levels, different dimensions,
	from different minds and different perceptions,
	we, I, see the world...
	But what do we see ?

	Do I see thought, do I see emotion ?
	Do I see senses, or the full motion 
		of my whole perception ?
	Do I see its direction ?

We, the I, can die.
I, as we, will not.

	There is no trace of doubt
		the finite will die. 
	The question is about
		who, what is the I.

	Body, soul, perception.
	Infinite intention
		of being.
	Am I not ?

	Matter or energy.
	Spirit or memory.
	Process or nobody.
	Or pure infinity.

	Every thought and every feeling.
	Everything that is revealing.
	Everything that will be not.
	Everything that we forgot.
	Every thing.

In the end,
	one question will remain:
		What is our intention ? 
	What will I contain ? 

There I see 
	my world.
There I see 
	my self.
One and the same.
My life. My game.
I shall play
	one way,
	my way,
	with intention.

What is my intention ?
What do I want to see ?
In my world, what kind of me,
with intention, should I be ?
Is it a me of destruction ?
Or is it a me of creation ?
My world, my stage, has set.
My role, my life, has yet
	to be played,
	with intention.

Do I not fear death ?
On my last breath...
	What is that which dies ?
The me or the world ?
	What should I believe ?
The me or the world ?

It's a game of perception.
My world. My intention.
My life. My direction.

I am the world.
We walk together.
Now and forever.

Observe...
Manifest...
Moments passed.

Observe...
Manifest...
Minutes passed.

Observe...
Manifest...
Hours passed.

Observe...
Manifest...
Months passed.

Observe...
Manifest...
Decades passed.

Observe...
Manifest...
Lifetimes passed.

I am
Still observing...
Still manifesting...
Still here.

No more words to say
			      to say
			      to say.

No more ink to lay
			 to lay
			 to lay.

On paper.
In rhyme
     rhyme
     rhyme.

Tired.
Silent.
Quiet.

But why
	why
	why ?