About Joseph

Stepping into the Canvas is about taking the first steps into the Canvas of Life. It is said that God is the creator and nature is His Canvas. In a world of technologies, distractions and light-speed evolution, we are left to remain in the dark. Truth is laid before us, falsely, by our collective whole. You are invited to step out of the ordinary and into the extraordinary. We are not meant to be suppressed and controlled, fearful and miserable, alone and scared, hateful and destructive. No, instead we are meant to be free. Free to Love unconditionally, creating the life we were meant to enjoy. Instead of divide and conquer, we shall come together as one. My intent is to share my thoughts in this blog, so that it provokes others into a self-discovery of themselves. While I have found happiness in my life, my hopes are to charge my viewers to see a different side to their current situation. It is said there is a spiritual solution to every opportunity, why not give it a try. I am a Father, Husband, Friend and Brother, a Healer, a Teacher, and a Student. Enjoy studying energy works, self-realization, Love in Action, and just the nuts and bolts of how things tick. Please feel free to look around and Share away! Much Love to you and Peace Profound...Joseph

Carried Charge of How to Write One Song


Carried Charge of How to Write One Song

Seasoned musician echoing request

Image taken by author

Who am I to think
— singer-songwriter
dropping healing beats
having to translate
vibratory sounds
— birthing from sacred songs
charged by a request
for something spiritual?

From a messenger unaware of carried charge — how to write one song — gifted energy of something yielding greater returns by a seasoned musician requesting a personal touch to an already intense set of collective beats. I am left wondering why me?

Still working
on perfecting
— written words
untranslated from open skies
to heartfelt knowing
all that was ever
authored — recorded tracks
— hanging out at the barricaded mind
fear of self-expressing
penning my own
translating into something greater.

World’s expansive sounds — unfolding laundries of tainted — soiled heartbeats riddled by Ritalin’s potential echoing submissive song — pausing to gather the fabric to weave a sacred tune. Interlaced with wounds self-inflicting repeating tales — caught up in self-talk and self-denial — gratitude paints a different canvas within my soul.

Accepting this call
— forgotten words
bi-tonal exhausted
— throat-singing taking
seat in the back
to something
heartfelt, changing
outlooks and outcomes
— forward leading
— driver’s seat
buckled in for journeys unknown.

~ Ani Po


A crazy taste of reality, this song pairs nicely with the message carried tune. Please listen and ponder the song and the personal written words on this page.


Thank you J.D. Harms and the whole Scrittura family, for the prompting of digging deeper into inner-understandings of self and expressing these words.

The above image does not match the words on this page but is worthy of a similar thought when standing at the top of a mountain in Tipon, overlooking the Garden of Wirachocha. While pondering a recent request for writing a new song for the Mofo Bros, a family approached, playing the mandolin and singing a heartfelt song. Joining in dance with strangers, becoming familiar and familial with another, I knew at that moment to challenge myself once again and write a song. Song to come, not yet translated into words, but as I know with writing poetry, it forms when it is time to release.


Much gratitude for those who take time to read, ponder, and allow the inner workings of self to come forward. Grateful for the feedback, love shared, and, more importantly, the Dance with Inspiration. Deep Peace.

Joseph Lieungh

Photo by Javardh on Unsplash

Crossing a Wooden Bridge


Crossing a Wooden Bridge

From present to past and future returns

Image taken by author

Present are we — breathing life into the dead carcasses of walking dead — we remain until a mule spattering disgust kicks us on the painted canvas we are attempting to hang for all to see. Chop wood, carry water — always the go-to internal response — with the villagers trying to knock our vessel into emptied broken pieces.

Breathe again — stepping onto the broken bridge — cautiously walking into the past — the origin of fleeting thoughts. Aged and worn are the timbers held with rusty nails — piercing the flesh with unspoken words — reaching to heart-centered beginnings like a sliver caught under the first few layers of flesh — painful remains of a battle with peace and tranquility — crossing a wooden bridge to past and future returns.

Like cheap perfume existing on our minds — offensive firstly — then permeating into a fieldless blossom of heart-smelt knowing of truth in the cheapest of storylines to the finest of china serving up a loving heart-song for all to hear — bringing us to our favorite tune — emitting true-self with every kissing of steps upon the mother birthing us all.

No bells and whistles — cliché as we speak — our truth sounds like a recorded message from the ancients — as it was in the beginning. Creative or destructive tongues-speaking perceptual understanding of how the world spins into existence — returning to healing sounds of aviator songs and tasteful blossoms forbidden fruit — savoring every cherry — sour or sweetest of symphonies singing through.

Thickened sauce — simmering centuries of thought — adding a little more seasoning to a bland flavor of souls. Gelatinous touch — heaviness in an airy pairing of pain and suffering — transmuted words like changing one’s clothes from morning to the afternoon of our days.

Nearly burnt by simmering thought — saved by the timer set to our heart’s calling and added spice of a secret recipe — freely given to all who wish to dance with the burner’s boiling effects. Like canvas’ abstract approach — Picasso-like in every step we take — infused with love and joy in all the surrounding misery.

~ Ani Po


Immense gratitude for Promptly Written, the Promptliciousness of Ravyne Hawke. Marcus aka Gregory Maidman, Christine Graves, Rose Malana and all those contributing time in reading and writing thoughts.

Today’s piece was in response to Christine Graves prompt on Sensing the Story and this is where my mind took me.

Sensing the Story
Use all your senses
Sight: A wooden bridge
Scent: Cheap perfume
Sound: Bells and whistles
Taste: Cherry
Touch: Gelatinous


The above picture was taken near the Inka trail. While not wooden, per se, it does bridge the past and future, while present we remain, bridging the gap of past, present and future tense.


Much gratitude for those who take time to read, ponder, and allow the inner workings of self to come forward. Grateful for the feedback, love shared, and, more importantly, the Dance with Inspiration. Deep Peace.

Joseph Lieungh

Photo by Javardh on Unsplash