Found Within Silence

The lateral non-mind, Spirit invades and determines, in its quiet and peaceful way, entry to a side door accepted, and the world becomes anew, in a place where poets sing and angels dwell, and the only place where truth can be is in the silence, and even within the silence, questions arise, and how is your broken heart? And why don't you confront it in your need? And have you defined your need? And is it really something that you need? Or is your need, something that you don't necessarily need? Is it the distraction, the deviation, taking you, or trying to, from yourself? And a return to the silence, and the inquisition, for silence is not the answer in itself, so you settle yourself into a place within the silence, trying to find the rightful place, that place, the homely place, the place that fits with you, and then when you discover, you emerge, and then the silence becomes a gift, given to you by itself, and you find that all that you have had to do, has to have been, is to have found your place within it.

Voices of Silence

Voices of silence speaking within heads, looking beyond the face for a greater understanding, the hidden truth, the secret, dwelling in the quietest of places, naked in itself, asking for only its own accompaniment, and the obvious is gone to rest, and the dream surfaces, dream brought out of sleep, awakened by need, and the day merges with the night, and yesterday with today and tomorrow, and one soul with another, and the death, with the life, collective consciousness, has its point to prove, and it means to prove it, and the changing sky and feeling, creating the oneness of the all, and now there is no difference, no black no white, no race, no religion, just the reality of truth.

By the Royal Canal

Stalemate, and motion eases the self from the real. It refuses the tears and its soul is urgent somehow. Faces of the city, the ravaged and the torn, drinking by the Royal Canal, on the edge of sane, and the frustrated language and feeling, crazy in its anger, in its discomfort. All the world is a cruel place, until, you find that kind place of love, a gentle and a simple love, not the accepted love of lovers, but the love within interconnection, of friendship, and of care. Seems to me sometimes, that like finds like, in a desperation, in a loneliness, in a helplessness, in a fanatical need. And it is very difficult to see love within the drinkers on the Royal Canal, but theres is love just the same. And the sun escapes to places like Dalkey and Kiliney apparently, where quality is apparently increased, and simple sentences and words of art align, there is anger in the madness, and everyone, whether rich or poor, has the same spotlight thrust upon them.

A Mexican Thing

So she says to me: 'You don't smile so often, do you'? and then she says; 'But I like how you look.' Perhaps, its a Mexican thing.