All life is precious
Each mortal soul deserves love Kindness leads the way
[ americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan ]
americanifesto.com | updated Tuesday, Thursday, Sunday
Showing posts with label soul. Show all posts
Showing posts with label soul. Show all posts
20 September 2018
08 June 2018
14 December 2017
dreamstate writing 14 Dec 2017
I was in a throng of other people all queueing for to meet a powerful goddess. Beyond the sunken earthen trench in which we stood waiting lay snow on frozen ground. Set into the walls of the trench every few meters were crude cubbyholes fashioned out of unfinished pine logs, some of which I recognized as places I’ve slept rough. To our right and stretching above us reached a tall building clad in dark marble panels. As we stepped forward to be received we passed by a number of glass-doored rooms recently emptied of their inhabitants.
When it was finally my turn to be judged, the goddess swirled around me, prodding at my various bits and weighing my soul against Truth. From her back and the top of her head appeared to rise glimmering tendrils of an infinite, invisible energy. In the room with us were dozens of watching people, the formerly queueing multitudes. The goddess noted my progress in many areas, challenging me to defend my case to become bodhisattva. I pointed out the steps I’ve made toward living a life of virtue and compassion but was found lacking, and shown the door.
I returned briefly to consciousness (discovering there a full and pressing bladder), then fell back asleep. The dreaming continued in a vast subterranean room (which, too, was paneled with slabs of dark marble) where I and a number of others were searching for a propellered flying boat that had been lost at sea. Analyzing satellite photographs and old maps we were scouring the wind-swept seas. From time to time I would also put my ear to a staticky handheld radio, hoping to detect a clue. Out of the white noise lept a single word, one which caused excitement yet confusion among the dozen-odd people individuals there: America.
[ americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan ]
When it was finally my turn to be judged, the goddess swirled around me, prodding at my various bits and weighing my soul against Truth. From her back and the top of her head appeared to rise glimmering tendrils of an infinite, invisible energy. In the room with us were dozens of watching people, the formerly queueing multitudes. The goddess noted my progress in many areas, challenging me to defend my case to become bodhisattva. I pointed out the steps I’ve made toward living a life of virtue and compassion but was found lacking, and shown the door.
I returned briefly to consciousness (discovering there a full and pressing bladder), then fell back asleep. The dreaming continued in a vast subterranean room (which, too, was paneled with slabs of dark marble) where I and a number of others were searching for a propellered flying boat that had been lost at sea. Analyzing satellite photographs and old maps we were scouring the wind-swept seas. From time to time I would also put my ear to a staticky handheld radio, hoping to detect a clue. Out of the white noise lept a single word, one which caused excitement yet confusion among the dozen-odd people individuals there: America.
[ americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan ]
03 April 2017
one drop more
The bladder was dry. No matter how much he twisted or squeezed it, he could not wring from it even one drop more.
Frustrated, he took a seat upon the dusty soil, carefully tucking his legs into half lotus, or Sanpan, the closest he could get to full lotus, or Shuang Pan. In his lap sat the empty bladder.
In concentric circles all around him, multitudes of people clamored for a drink. In pairs they came, in dozens and in scores, each person drawn to the promise of relief from thirst by forces their minds could but poorly comprehend. Within him also lived parched and starving friends, tender souls he’d neglected over decades. For many years he’d chosen to let the bladder pour out into the dust, onto the sandy soil.
He felt the bladder grow heavier, a slight shift in weight. With tremendous effort he overcame the desire to please those clamoring without and drank from the bladder himself, not to quench his own thirst but to nourish the friends within. The first few sips went to them, and they slept, finally, their needs for once met.
But then his mind got involved. Greed blossomed, and he drank to appease his mortal body. Of a sudden, the bladder was dry... and he could wring not one drop more from it.
americanifesto / JPR / whorphan / 場黑麥
Frustrated, he took a seat upon the dusty soil, carefully tucking his legs into half lotus, or Sanpan, the closest he could get to full lotus, or Shuang Pan. In his lap sat the empty bladder.
In concentric circles all around him, multitudes of people clamored for a drink. In pairs they came, in dozens and in scores, each person drawn to the promise of relief from thirst by forces their minds could but poorly comprehend. Within him also lived parched and starving friends, tender souls he’d neglected over decades. For many years he’d chosen to let the bladder pour out into the dust, onto the sandy soil.
He felt the bladder grow heavier, a slight shift in weight. With tremendous effort he overcame the desire to please those clamoring without and drank from the bladder himself, not to quench his own thirst but to nourish the friends within. The first few sips went to them, and they slept, finally, their needs for once met.
But then his mind got involved. Greed blossomed, and he drank to appease his mortal body. Of a sudden, the bladder was dry... and he could wring not one drop more from it.
americanifesto / JPR / whorphan / 場黑麥
14 January 2012
encylopediamericanifesto entry - phaltweary II
Persons suffering from phaltweariness tend to make calls,
whoops, war-whoops, cat-calls, hoots, whistles, hollers, brays, and shouts
loudly and often. Making loud noises with the speaking organ saves lives –
absent a car's horn, uttering a piercing blast of blood-curdling gibberish is a
proper way for a cyclist to signal to a nearby motor-vehicle operator that he
is about to be cut off mercilessly. As to the general appearance of a peedubser
(phaltweariness sufferer):
His sun-dazzled eyes will dance with a light of their own,
especially at night; his phaltburnt lips will be cracked and fissured; his dry
tongue will grate across the roof of his mouth; and from his throat will issue forth
a cry so foul, so loathsome, as to make the even the most wicked human among us
tremble with abject loathing.
The peedubzer will sound a signature call regardless of
audience, circumstance, or location – although she war-whoops to signal lane
changes and close calls alike, by yelling she loosens briefly the fetters upon
her soul, her vitality radiant and pure, with every joyous breath celebrating
life's fleeting tumble.
Spes Mea In Ratio Est – 場黑麥 John Paul Roggenkamp
20 December 2011
on LA, briefly
I love LA. My fluids suffuse her soils, yet she always provides spoils. Too easily she drags me in, enticing me with perfect asses, teasing me with furtive glances, breaking my heart a thousand times a day, my own insecurities and fears amplified against the foul tympanum of her heaving cracked pavement. Within her envelope I walk and wander gladly, casting about clumsily for the dim remnants of tenacious glory, my eyes grating like those of a madman, my soul zigzagging between high elation and base surrender. She knows me as would my mother, yet she denies me all but that which I might truly obtain.
Bear with me, courageous readers. I am not yet over my culture shock, and shall resume my regular posting schedule when it has abated.
Sincerely, JP
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)