Thoughts Becoming: Outside Looking In

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Calcimining Canvas, white-washed recreating Steps within, directional or spatial resolution obscuring thoughts, splatter paint, misled realities of once before. Becoming not as they say, who they prefer, what they believed to be correct, scientific proof seekers not in this reality.

Myopia lashing out, monomania telling truths, flip-side sort of, megalodon, prehistoric beliefs notwithstanding visionary cause translucency, transparently abrupt stopping in one’s tracks. Dangerous as one torts, sounding loud and clear, yet mastery falls deaf to ancient story-lines.

The daily grind, stopping sticks thrown, spinning no longer, screeching halt striking the walking dead, afflicted by collective, self-inflicting sounding alarms, crying out pains misery, incandescent short-circuits flickering soul-bleeding thoughts. As taught by the mountains, Breathing in wind-filling eupnea unknowing, transcribed impossible knowing, genuinely understanding what may be. Breathing out daily occurrence, releasing puffs of smoke-filled, screened, and unfiltered raw sense of who we are, letting it all go.

Day in and day out, cliche as it is, begin again, death returning given daily birth, we are what we see, feel, believe to be true. Yes, dangerous as it may be, our reality remains as ‘it is’ simple notions in belief. Chemically induce, trance-like experience, foggiest in the least, present being, not for all to see yet for all to be.

Stepping into the Canvas, painted innermost being calls, wishing me to be, embodied soul lost within Great Mystery, in wonder wandering, sea to sea, envisioned heaven to self-endemic hell, and everywhere in between. Traveler time-transcending thought, the essence of self, physicality of being, no longer bound by the box once enclosed, free as the spirited bird, soaring higher than vulture’s navigational sun.

Through the eyes of the beholder,
xenophobic withstanding,
rose-colored glasses and prismatic,
mysterious sounds from far off and away,
an ancient tongue is spoken,
hearing heartfelt songs of ancients,
trusting it to be true,
traveling fearlessly,
freely to where we are called to be.

Move! I said fucking move! And the mountain moved. Exaggerated thought or possible for all? It matters not that one believes, just that one moves the fucking mountain!

~ Ani Po

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Photo by Cécile Brasseur on Unsplash

In answering the what does my world look like reposing thought laying to rest, in attempts to gather a weekly song, tune collectively shared, transmuting yet again, call to action on daily returns. Self-inflicted, accepted as much, offering another perspective if you will, voicing my opinions or venting my soul, words transpiring at free will.

Slight exaggeration, understatement of the year, embodiment of chameleon’s skin, changing, ever-changing colors, varying thoughts like farts in the wind. Cannot explain it, merely felt up like prom undetected, mysterious and/or recluse, henceforth beginning as it was in the end.

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

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Photo by Javardh on Unsplash