Who Holds The Gold

Who Holds The Gold

In obedience to GOD
Most times I wind up
Just offending people
It depends a lot
On who decides what obedience is
And who holds the gold

That’s why it’s important
To humble ourselves
Before the Creator
Of all creation
You may find you need
To take a break sometime
As you sell what you got
And you buy what’s sold

The Epitome Of Love

The Epitome Of Love

The soul is neither young nor old
Good or bad
Male or female
White or black
Happy or sad

Yet is individually unique
In an unnamable
Remarkable way
That only GOD can see
And those that GOD allows to see
Through the eyes of love

One of the reasons i believe
In reincarnation
Is because of all those times
I find myself
Saying to myself

“Give me a do over
With a few more of the facts
With a couple extra details
With a liberal sprinkling of lessons learned,
And i can do much better”

And the irish named it a mulligan or a murphy
Or something
Some kind of law –
Seems as though
When GOD made us the namers
The Irish took it to heart

We have to experience all things
And it takes approximately 60,000,000 lifetimes
Because one of the major differences
Between the consciousness
Of a human and that of a chimpanzee
Is that a human
Can not only think of GOD
But has at least the capacity
To both realize and transcend GOD
And to deeply love GOD

Something a chimp
As it’s soul now stands
Can’t do
Not meaning the soul of humans
And that of a chimpanzees
Are not ultimately one and the same anyway
GOD manifested into the experience
Of itself becoming GOD –
The epitome of love

As is often somehow stated:
True love is no romance
Of flowers and candy
True love requires
Our hearts be broken thoroughly
Then resurrected back up again
In the name of the Lord

Carried Away

Carried Away

Every now and then
I let myself get carried away
I get a little delusional
And imagine people still love me

If I hadn’t imagined GOD
To go on
Without having this love
Would have been hopeless

And sometimes
I even get to imagine
How esteemed I am in your eyes

After all
It’s not so much to be loved anyway
As it is to have
Someone to love

GOD’s Face

GOD’s Face

Every individual contains
A unique aspect of GOD’s love

It’s up to us
To find it
Cultivate it
And express it

All unhappiness springs
From the struggle
Or inability to express love

Most of us are desensitized
And hardened
By the deception
Of illusion and delusion
And can only feel emotional love
If that

Numbed to life
Numbed to GOD
Numbed to each other
Trying to feel GOD
Through the facilities
And limitations of the 5 senses
Invents GOD
Dramatizes GOD
And Kills GOD

Our brain
Even with all it’s capacity
Serves to modulate primarily
By the fear of not existing
And its many forms of death
Rather than reveal pure reality

If our consciousness was
Not filtered with
The brain’s modulation
We would see GOD’s face
As it really IS

Much too much beauty
For us to bear

Prove I’m Not A Robot

Prove I’m Not A Robot

I’m frequently being asked
To prove I’m not a robot
Even just to log into my own email now
And so surreptitiously began
Back in the background distance
No one noticed
The way things always appeared
To always begin to happen
In those days from nowhere spun
The robot wars of long ago
Prior history
Having misremembered the old adage
Somewhere entombed
In the fog of algorithms
“You got your good robots
And you got your bad robots”
An ID and password apparently
Are no longer enough
You have to now be able to
Distinguish yourself from being a robot
Almost like a super clever chimpanzee might
The pictures that have fire hydrants
Or like a dog
Searching for the proper parking meters
We’re lucky to even see
Yeah, prove to me you’re not
A program written
Without any access
To common human courtesy
Shouldn’t it be
The other way around?
Shouldn’t the robots
Have to prove we’re not human
To answer one impossible random question
Something a robot
Neither good nor bad
Ever wants to hear

Why should we do all the work
Endlessly under suspicion
Shift option delete escape

Program ending…

A Sense Of Darkness

A Sense Of Darkness


In this archetypical mansion
There is plenty more room
On the web
For the climb
Up archetypical towers
Down hollywood and vine
Where there is no now
But change
Rushing up and down
The kundalini spine

And you want it with flowers
And you fake it
With a razor blade of lies
It makes a nice tool
Has a harvard business school like
Litany of
Overwhelming trust in power and control
The path a serial sociopath might take
Who wants the darkness darker
With all the hunger that it takes


O cause of causes

Object of our life

Fate of all fates

Architect of destiny

May we be blessed
With the precious darshan
Of your abundant magnanimity

May we give up
The sense of “mine” and “yours”
The sense of our differences
The sense of darkness
And begin to celebrate
Our one soul’s unity
In love’s most precious light

Violet’s Delight

Violet’s Delight

Nothing is forever but consciousness
I heard it in a love song
Romanced and danced and entranced
Just how does one decline
The keys to the city
Of inner treasures?

Are we the tools
Or are we the wise
To kiss the ring
To throw away the jewels
To never smell the flowers
Or cast roses
Or blow kisses like liars
Laying dollars at the feet
Of “The Nothing”
But the truth diamonds lightning
Deep into the nonexistent wires
Through the crux of everything

You love the birds and the shore
And the air and the land
And the moon soaked star drenched
Deep violet flowers

And like a fool
I let you show me
Some of the many
Wondrously addictive adventures
Radiating out from within
Your violet’s delight

Fist (Final)


Unpack my gloves
Lace the ties
I made mistakes
I didn’t think were mistakes at the time
I said things
That should have never been said
I was silent
When I should have been outspoken
I was cloudy
When I thought I was bright
I used good-bye
As my secret deadly weapon
Worse than any fist
Across the face



We imagine we have forever
In this body
In this lifetime
We happily prefer
To conveniently disremember
All the analytics and statistics
Relative to the 100% possibility
Of our someday dying
Often up to the very last
Breath breathed
Still reflecting
Our gross ego
Burying ourselves in ourselves
With the many illusory things
That clutter up
An otherwise clueless life
Foregoing the real jewels
And hidden treasures
For all those transitory trinkets
Of what’s fleeting
Here today gone tomorrow
In the prisons we build
In all the love
That we think, wish
And dream we make
Too much of
The same old story
We finally dive
Off the platform of surrender
Into another mainline lifetime
Ocean of one truth
One conception
One victory
One resurrection
One answer
Innumerable exemplifications
One death
And one life through generations
Incarnation by incarnation
Poco y poco
The kid gloves come off
The blood of the lamb
Passing through another avenue in time
Searching for the lost ambrosial treasure
Searching the nectar
As the lotus blossom slowly opens
With the radiance of divine mercy
Without shame or reservation
For fear of some devastating failure
Or a selfish pride we cling to
Having waited in line
At imagination station
So as to hit the mark
Spot on dime
Dead nuts
Without volition
Or reflection
As is tradition
As if we were just actors on a stage
With permanent masks
Trying to disguise
The same hidden fear
Spawned by true believers
As to our intrinsic irrelevance
And our apparently vast insignificance

Or to reveal a bejeweled
Beloved splender
Holding divine office incognito
In the heart
Of the prison mind