But not here
Observing the collective — those fighting in the streets for rights — to be heard, like squawking crows calling murderous friends to the seen. As a friend speaks — people are dying to be heard — like little children begging for parental attention.
Silently whispering — heart songs sacred tune — for the beggars asking for something other than coin. The monetary illusion of filling voided presence of self-inflicting precarious belief-ridden reality — emptiness remains.
Like Oljita’s ability to wander freely into worlds — not subscribing to the ordinary — living extraordinary. Stepping in — like a ghost undetected by those afraid of what cannot be seen — choosing to remain present while the busy bees continue begging for attention.
Ani Kuni set to the loop-pedals beat — crying out to father-mother, creative winds — save me from the pain of my brothers and sisters’ happenstance misfortune rhythms. Forward moving — stepping out of past to present — looking to present-future tense — absent are they who have not found the present.
Like a ghost, we came, hence a ghost, we return — observing the collective whole — self-inclusive vibratory thought forever. Present are we — in this place but not of it.
Here — but not here.
~ Ani Po
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.
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