Life 'as it Happens' on Facebook

Documenting Life as it Happens on Facebook. I'm beginning to wonder about this commentating on ourselves. Seems so Un-Buddhist somehow

At One With the Silence

I looked out of my window, the birds were feasting on my bread, and the Spring was in action. Little sound was in the air and the immediate world was one of calm and loving natuere. I looked at the repetition of my thoughts and wondered why. It seems that some things can never be left behind, that they have no past, or they dwell in a lengthy presence. I wonder what makes these 'some things' so different, so enduring and what makes them seem to possess a different quality of life. The gloves are off and I am at one with the silence.

Easter 1916

Rembering Connolly and Pearse and McDermott and Plunkett and Clarke and Ceannt and McDonagh and Easter 1916. Spent a poignant moment outside the GPO reading the note on a wreath that read: 'For Those Who Died in Vain, for our Freedom, Now Lost.' I thought of the tens of thousands of people now living in this city and calling it home who were oblivious to its past, and I thought of betrayal, but I also thought of hope and of change and how, well, that was nearly a hundred years ago now, and I also thought if the Union flag was still flying above the GPO in 2010 would things be much different by the sacrifice of these brave men.

Drunken Dreams

Drunken dreams make me suspicious of me, and I wake up into the day trying not to deny myself, I walk out in the open hoping that the truth will guide me and I can operate as the one I was before and the one that I am most used to.

Unity

The day is full of the nighttime and the nighttime is full of the light. The night and the day have no distinction. One looks with the eyes of the other and blushes. There is suggestion of eternity, but eternity hides its head behind the curtain. The Two of Cups and The Emperor and The Empress question themselves and one another, until they each arrive at the understanding that they each must give themselves to unity. Diversity goes to sleep. A shared breath gives life to this little world within the world.

Refusing the Past

Walking into my head, she remains the same, even though she swears to have added weight. The cornucopia she sends to me, the question mark she blows to me, her hair, those eyes, the darkness of them and the spirit. The writing is on the wall, but I needn't read it, she is outside of my care, my memory will take care of me. There was flying in the air a brief conversation with an Asian, she was headed for the north but the vixen was got the details wrong, and the sugar gave her fat and sweetness. The night was restless, it wouldn't let me sleep, like it had more important things to give to me. I questioned how this could be so, I awoke more tired that I had been when i had retired, and i had retired very early.

The Difference in Dream

The Psychic and the psychical dream. The subliminal and the semi-conscious it seems. What can be 'known' and what must remain its mystery, except perhaps, unto the soul

Look Into my Eyes, Life

Look into my eyes life. Tell me what it is that is going on with you? Have you no conscience at all? and are you working on delusion? Remember when I promised to be true to you and obey your very wishes? Well, it seems that there was confusion in the air at the time, there was a kind of sleep and sleep is no beholder of time, and I wonder if time really is a beholder of Life.

Kaleidescopic Dream

Kaleidescopic dream, merging colours, asking for understanding, clarity, sanity. The crazy ship riding the horse around the edge of the crescent moon, life is given to someone who's awareness is not of me. The guilt is eased by the mysterious fantasy. The outskirts or inskirts of my life I wonder selfishly? Understanding is open ended. I smile a smile for the dreamer in the way that he is usually so real for me. We are as one, the dreamer and I, but a space exists somehow between us. The mind explodes/implodes. Unity is beguiling, challenging. The picture isn't understood or even seen fully. My vision shall increase as I increase the strength of my search.

Boomerang Girl

Boomerang girl, in the hurricane wind, magnetised and alive, daring and obsolete. Boomerang girl, who are you trying to fool? Didn't you read the news? haven't you noticed the years? Am I the picture of one who needs replaced? Am I the dream of the reality you saw in me? Are you yet in a dream? Has life made you empty, has it stolen away your heart? When you smile do you smile? and when you love do you love? Or the cold I see in you, the coldness of indifference and unlonging? How are you today Boomerang Girl and who have you become? Are you your own nightmare come true? Has your idea of love proved to be an idea of deception and spite? Deluded Boomering Girl and your nose in the air......

The Pussy-Whipped Marionette

The Pussy-Whipped Marionette, manipulated within his imprisonment, until the tugs at his person, that once could be felt can no longer be perceived. The soft and golden of her voice are demonic in their perversity. She has become the Goddess of her soul, although to perhaps deny this however unconsiously, she may look to a greater God, to a popular God in an apparently unselfish way. The Pussy-Whipped Marionette wears the haunted eyes of the moribund, his life, barely in touch with living, and his heart can no longer feel. There is no longer, longing, he is frozen in his lifetime, and goes ignored by the eyes of love, which he is unable to recognise anyway. The Pussy-Whipped Marionette, this morning is the same new day.