ariya-sacca

The egg lies hidden, Inside an active volcano, Warmed by hot lava, Its shell a glossy black, Reflecting the red light. It has lain dormant, For thousands of years, Waiting for a call, Across time and space. When it comes, It vibrates the shell, A musical note sounds, Filling the space, With love and longing. Becoming louder and louder, Until the volcano rumbles, And a crack appears, With a sound like thunder, Within the crack a claw, Breaking the shell to pieces. The baby dragon emerges, Its body covered, In iridescent scales, As hard as iron. Slowly it unfurls its wings, Then raising its head high, It opens star-filled eyes, First light.

The one that cries, At the alien beauty, In a predatory fly. The one that is moved, By the polyphony, Of a plowing song. The one that is lost, In the fresh smell, Of wild lavender. The one who heals, Filling the heart, With forgiveness. The one who sings, In a rich strong voice, Of love eternal. The one who dreams, Of a solitary tree, At the end of infinity.

In the war between the petal and the thorn, I ask you friend, which side are you on? In the space formed by each musical note, Are you the gnashing teeth or the wailing throat? In the dance between a star and a black hole, Are you a dark shadow or an enlightened soul? In the poetry we form of moments in time, Are you the hidden meaning or a simple rhyme?

That is what my son calls me, Even if I do not look Chinese, [Though my wife claims I have an Asian air], The name has become ingrained, Like a well-worn suit, It feels like a refuge of sorts. When my mind swirls in storms, I can choose to be him, "Yes, I am your Papa Chino!" I say, And a peace washes over me. I do not have to be more than this... At least for this moment in time. I smile and laugh, For my heart is full.

Let your pain be mine, So I may sing it in a bass voice, As my plow cuts your body, Under the hot unyielding sky. For my children cry out, Hungry for a piece of bread. Tight skin and swollen bellies, Pleading hands grasping air, Knowing only the emptiness, That grows inside them. To be born and then to die, In voiceless, ignominious misery. But the land grows barren, The angry sun brings drought, Or torrential rain brings flood, The irregular becoming regular, Ancient cycles breaking apart, Like a broken-down carousel. Would that my sun hands, Could turn into ice, And cool your fevered brow...

Oh ye of little faith, So weak yet strong, With spirit unbroken, By religion's tongue. A life full of doubt, With nothing sacred, Facing the bitter end, All alone and naked. You say I am here, To the uncaring void, Knowing that in time, You will be destroyed. Yet you stand tall, Like the heroes of old, Though you may suffer, You will not fold. Your faith is your own, Pulsing in your veins, Forged by your joys, Tempered in your pains.

Let me plant divine seeds, Upon the rich soil of your eyes. Water them with the tears, You shed when your soul speaks. May their roots grow deep, Binding broken pieces together. Becoming a part of the puzzle, That is the mystery of you. I know the pain they cause, As they grow in your wounds. But I believe in your strength, For you are my garden of glories. Let the fruits of our love grow, Filling your soul with wild magic. For we will reap what we sow, So let it be wondrous and pure.

The red planet calls to man, Barren and lifeless it howls, In a voice as dry as a corpse's, Rising from a grave of dust. Perhaps it remembers a time, When water flowed in its veins, Forming rivers, lakes and oceans, Inhabited by our imaginations. Now, only memories remain, Trapped in ancient sediments, Waiting to be discovered, By Earth's intrepid explorers. Some have heard the call, Ready to sacrifice themselves, To bring life back to the dead, Living at the edge of the possible. I give a salute to the dreamers, That hope to break the shell, And venture forth into the dark, Spreading the light of consciousness.

It starts with an electric differential, A gradient of ions across membranes, Created through molecular pumps, Waiting for the signal to open the gates, A sum of thousands of connections, Until an activation threshold is reached, And a wave of depolarization occurs, Traveling at speeds up to 268 miles/hour, 100 billion neurons firing in parallel, Each neuron influencing thousands, For a total of 100 trillion synapses, Constantly being created and destroyed. Within this storm of activity we emerge, Creating models and testing predictions, Constantly adapting to our environment, Existing in a precarious dynamic balance, Between meaningless noise and order, It truly is such a magnificent symphony, Each time forming ever evolving songs, That we sing to the chorus of our beings, I am in awe of the delicate beauty, That exists in each ephemeral thought, Thank you for letting me experience, The depth of feelings that exists in you.

It is so much easier, isn't it? To destroy than to heal. Take a piece out of our soft bodies, And watch them bleed and die. Blow the foundations of a building, And see it crash to the ground. Look for the weakness in a system, Then attack it without remorse, Until nothing but pieces remain. In truth, healing is an act of creation, It involves a divine spark Lighting a fire within someone, Allowing them to heal from within. Perhaps I can be that spark for you...

Remember what you have been taught Forget all that you’ve thought There’s going to be nothing Before you but changes Is that good or bad? Happy or sad? Who’s to say? But it’s certainly going To rearrange things For there's a force, an upheaval near, It sweeps through life, both far and near. A torrent of change, relentless and strong, Forging a path where old paths went wrong. Is it good or bad, this shifting tide? Will it bring joy or sorrow to reside? Such questions remain unanswered, Change always wears a cryptic smile. Yet it holds the power to find new ways, Break down the walls of a familiar rage. It will challenge our notions forever more Unveiling truths, we never thought before Pondering on this scene... I can't help but sense a hidden machine. The promise of change, a glittering allure, Yet I, ever cautious, remain unsure. Will it bring happiness, pain or pleasure Such is the mystery when change unfolds. But beware, all of ill-gotten dreams that lead only to endless

looking back on reflections past and who I was within each cast whenever the question was asked “who is it you see in the glass?” who was the boy that picked up the pen who bore his soul, laid his heart open who had no place in these plagues of men where has he gone, and where has he been who was the boy that bore that first wound who felt the weight and this scope of doom who fell to fires and far too soon are these the words inscribed on his tomb “who is it you see in the glass?” whenever the question is asked looking back on reflections cast and who I was in the days passed who was the boy that first dug this grave who knew he was too far gone to save who couldn't grow despite penance paid and what kind of storms must he have braved looking back on reflections cast believer and iconoclast a contradiction of the last who is it you see in the glass who was the boy, and where has he been who tasted joy and gave it the pen whose heart destroyed him time and again could his words

The silence is a heavy weight, It presses down upon my soul. I try to shake it off, but it's too late. It's a part of me, now, whole. I walk through empty streets, alone, The only sound is my heartbeat. I see the faces of those who've gone, And hear their voices echo sweet. But all around me, there's a hush, A silence that can't be broken. It's like the world has taken a pause, And all that's left is unspoken. I try to find some meaning here, In this vast void of sound. But all I find is a deep fear, A fear that I'm not found. I've seen the wonders of the earth, From highest peaks to deepest seas. But nothing satisfies my worth, No matter where I please. I search for something undefined, Some truth that lies beyond my reach. A love that's pure, a love that's blind, A love that's mine, to keep, to teach. But all I find is empty space, And echoes of my own despair. I'm lost within this endless race, A wanderer, beyond compare. In the silence, I hear the whispers of my doubts. They