I see nirvana,
In the angle of white snow of late winter.
I feel nirvana,
In the supernatural warmth of a baby's smile;
In the sponge like curiosity of a child's eyes;
In his free and easy grasp of love.
I sense nirvana;
In a congress of Human souls;
All committed and devoted to each other and their Earth.
I grasp nirvana;
In the three forms of Human love;
Eros, Filia, and Agape;
All of which are essential for Human survival.
I imbibe nirvana;
In the knowledge of mankind;
In all its dimension;
And in all its detail.
And finally,
I am seized by nirvana;
In a death which comes;
In a form of God given;
Peaceful;
Painless;
Slumber...
Showing posts with label soul. Show all posts
Showing posts with label soul. Show all posts
Monday, February 23, 2009
"Her Voice" by Bobby Torpey
Her voice was an instrument of cold, hard eloquence.
And every time she sang, the air carried it with the plaintive dirge of unfulfilled promise.
Her lineage was a long and proud one;
Her name had, for many generations, been her symbol of dignity, passion and beauty.
The days of heroic song ended with her.
For though her larynx would make the notes, her soul could not make the music.
She possessed not the gift, but merely the skill.
God never used her as his trumpet.
She couldn't move minds or stir souls.
Therefore she became, through no fault of her own, the object of scorn and derision.
And her name fell into disrepute.
And her large, preordained, audience shrank to nothing, and she lived alone;
And she died alone...
And every time she sang, the air carried it with the plaintive dirge of unfulfilled promise.
Her lineage was a long and proud one;
Her name had, for many generations, been her symbol of dignity, passion and beauty.
The days of heroic song ended with her.
For though her larynx would make the notes, her soul could not make the music.
She possessed not the gift, but merely the skill.
God never used her as his trumpet.
She couldn't move minds or stir souls.
Therefore she became, through no fault of her own, the object of scorn and derision.
And her name fell into disrepute.
And her large, preordained, audience shrank to nothing, and she lived alone;
And she died alone...
"The Spirit of Rebirth" by Bobby Torpey
The well is dry temporarily.
The plain is barren, briefly.
Just as the momentary drought
Of imaginative faculty
Has rendered my mind
A desert of ideas.
The blood is spilled, wastefully.
The bodies are strewn, eternally.
For youth is wealth, and wealth is finite.
And vanity remains a brainless creature.
It learns not.
It is spent;
It is here.
Some of tehem bleed more than others,
And the well is not bottomless.
But for the will of Man,
And the spirit of rebirth.
The plain is barren, briefly.
Just as the momentary drought
Of imaginative faculty
Has rendered my mind
A desert of ideas.
The blood is spilled, wastefully.
The bodies are strewn, eternally.
For youth is wealth, and wealth is finite.
And vanity remains a brainless creature.
It learns not.
It is spent;
It is here.
Some of tehem bleed more than others,
And the well is not bottomless.
But for the will of Man,
And the spirit of rebirth.
"Freely" by Bobby Torpey
Just freely associating non-freedom,
Just freely believing unbelievers.
Just freely hating lovers,
Of the love;
Of the Lord;
Of the in love;
Of the unloved.
Hate love, love hating;
Hate hating, love loving;
Lover hating hate love loving;
Hater loved hated love making.
Just freely live;
Dying.
Just freely die;
Living.
Just freely associating,
Die livers living,
Or live dyers dying,
Or dead lived die
To live and die,
To love and to hate,
These are real in our hearts,
And nothing else.
Quiet offend, people alive;
Live lives, quiet dead.
And a great few lovers
Are haters of love, and lovers of hate.
Right to write,
Night to write in the moonlight;
Of the sky and the Heavens.
Right to non-right;
Non-right to light;
Of the darkness in the Earth;
And the Hell of suffering.
Mad Leroy in the moonlight.
Spewing of the guts;
Playing in the heart;
Laying out a deal;
Spying of the mind;
Betraying out the soul;
Dealing good for the evil.
Lover of the hater.
Joker of the stealer.
Liar of the truther.
Chooser of the beginner.
Hater of the lover.
Just freely believing unbelievers.
Just freely hating lovers,
Of the love;
Of the Lord;
Of the in love;
Of the unloved.
Hate love, love hating;
Hate hating, love loving;
Lover hating hate love loving;
Hater loved hated love making.
Just freely live;
Dying.
Just freely die;
Living.
Just freely associating,
Die livers living,
Or live dyers dying,
Or dead lived die
To live and die,
To love and to hate,
These are real in our hearts,
And nothing else.
Quiet offend, people alive;
Live lives, quiet dead.
And a great few lovers
Are haters of love, and lovers of hate.
Right to write,
Night to write in the moonlight;
Of the sky and the Heavens.
Right to non-right;
Non-right to light;
Of the darkness in the Earth;
And the Hell of suffering.
Mad Leroy in the moonlight.
Spewing of the guts;
Playing in the heart;
Laying out a deal;
Spying of the mind;
Betraying out the soul;
Dealing good for the evil.
Lover of the hater.
Joker of the stealer.
Liar of the truther.
Chooser of the beginner.
Hater of the lover.
"God's Song" By Bobby Torpey
The priestess in the chapel
And her trembling hands;
And her enchanted eyes;
And her enraptured soul;
And the sight of her weakened body
As it sank to the floor...
And the sight of stunned onlookers seeing
In their eyes, a victim;
But in her own eyes,
In her own soul,
Her being was drawn
To a more liberating vision;
it was the presence of the lord...
The law was never passed,
The sin was never committed,
But, somehow, all the Earth seems locked
In hatred's squalid Dance of Death.
No one was saved,
No one was found.
But our savior is already within us.
He dwealeth in silence;
Awaiting the sound.
He stayeth in secret;
Losing himself,
In order to be found.
He stays in the womb of our souls,
Awaiting the birth of our hearts...
And her trembling hands;
And her enchanted eyes;
And her enraptured soul;
And the sight of her weakened body
As it sank to the floor...
And the sight of stunned onlookers seeing
In their eyes, a victim;
But in her own eyes,
In her own soul,
Her being was drawn
To a more liberating vision;
it was the presence of the lord...
The law was never passed,
The sin was never committed,
But, somehow, all the Earth seems locked
In hatred's squalid Dance of Death.
No one was saved,
No one was found.
But our savior is already within us.
He dwealeth in silence;
Awaiting the sound.
He stayeth in secret;
Losing himself,
In order to be found.
He stays in the womb of our souls,
Awaiting the birth of our hearts...
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Laughter, By Bobby Torpey
"Doctor, my eyes cannot see the sky
Is this the price for having learned not to cry..."
~Jackson Browne~
Laughter is one of the first freedoms. So is crying.
The liberation and release borne on wings of expression.
Only through the free reign of emotion can we give birth to the human soul.
Only the emancipation of the heart can give rise to the myriad manifestation of human glory.
Children must be made to feel, to sense, to express, to touch and to revel.
In this climate, true life can begin.
In this climate of all that is wondrously human;
All art, all science, all games, all charity, all community
All family, all hope.
I only hope that i haven't unwittingly killed off my own feeling center....
This was written approximately 10 years ago as a first draft, and never expanded...
Keep Dreaming ;)
Is this the price for having learned not to cry..."
~Jackson Browne~
Laughter is one of the first freedoms. So is crying.
The liberation and release borne on wings of expression.
Only through the free reign of emotion can we give birth to the human soul.
Only the emancipation of the heart can give rise to the myriad manifestation of human glory.
Children must be made to feel, to sense, to express, to touch and to revel.
In this climate, true life can begin.
In this climate of all that is wondrously human;
All art, all science, all games, all charity, all community
All family, all hope.
I only hope that i haven't unwittingly killed off my own feeling center....
This was written approximately 10 years ago as a first draft, and never expanded...
Keep Dreaming ;)
Sunday, January 25, 2009
The Souls of the Children
The face of today, the path of tomorrow
Our children will suffer for the ideas we follow.
We believe we are right, we are holy and just
We believe we must fight and fight we must
For our children are not our own
They are a product of self
They are given to the world
Not just put on a shelf
They are sacred and holy, our future fortold
But we ruin our future
For the lies that we've told
Change will come soon, for it has been seen
By the chosen few diciples, they will intervine
To make the soul whole and one living being
Consciousness is coming
It will erase all bad that has been.
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