and how did it evolve?
Can consciousness
exist apart from
a brain generating it?
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The human quest
takes the form oftruth-seeking,which can beidentified as utility,autonomy andsolidarity, simplicityand authenticity,things requiring aninstitutional, moraland social infrastructurefor their realization.
Give me, O Lord of the universe
to attain enlightenment.Give me the unavoidablemotivation of great compassionfor all sentient beings.Let all fall away then,that I am freedfrom the attachmentto all the illusions.Give me the longingto be completely free.
Inspiration has its place.
that comes from theoutside is synthetic.It won’t last for long.It has a shortlifewhen it comes to deep,life-changing self-talk.It may be helpful,even necessary at times,but it’s not enough.You need faithin a greater powerwho cares for you.
It is the dance,
of divinity within the heart.The dancer forgets herself.She is one with the divine.oh! ! ! how lofty and nobleare these moments of dancing.(Graphic: Grace Reed saved to Dancing through life.)
Only those who can
as themselves havethe strength to do so,but again not fromthemselves, but from God.
Sitting in our deepest centre
but also we care for all souls.Each experience is a separatespoke of the wheel.They are unique spokes.All these spokes meet inthe common centre of the hub.Into that centre, we comeand reconcile ourselveswith all who came into our liveswith positive or negative experiences.That is the purity of forgiveness.
…..will be again!
winter follows autumn,
…spring will return.
page upon page,
…step follows step,
..and still we dont know,
not to touch the fire!
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my father, good man,
i’ve followed his path!
love is the part of me that dies,
the lip crusted with obscurity,the finger gnarled in the oak.the glance that parts the clouds,the broom forgotten on the porch.the single parent cooking macaroni,the dog curled at the foot of the bed.the rent receipt in the ashtray,grass that needs to be mowed.the same jeans the third day,dirty laundry, and shoes left by the door.the book…
the scriptures i hallow…
the chant of fresh turned earth.the grey echo of emptinessin abandoned farmhouses.the beat of darkness,of the homeless streets.the scent of freedom,caught behind prison bars.the cat’s claw, the robin’s egg,hardened desire, and fertile wetness.the needle broken, the spicket rusted,the candle half burned down.the hunger bowl filled,the silence when all gunfire stops,the sound of dirt on the…
birds of prey
from my bones tillthey were bare…and that which had echoedthe pounding waves,and had held the wind…bare bones, and empty…no longer an echo,no longer a cup…the sound, the waves, the wind…all empty!from emptiness we come,to emptiness we return!
when i die,
this body,and take the ashesto the streetdown in front ofthe housing projects,where people liveday to day,moment to moment,just trying to survive…or you can take themto the countries ravagedby starvation,and pour them outon the side of the roadwhere families are dying…or you can take themto any street cornerin the world, where youngboys and girls are sold…
i work at a job where i am in constant
people…. and i’ve noticed over the lastseveral years that they come in one by one,wanting to talk about personal problems…why?because no one listens anymore!people are dying for the need of a listener,for ears that dont judge,that accept them for being human,that wont tell them what to do,that wont make them feel guilty…just for someone to…