death

Poem – Beneath the Surface, On the Edge

A follow-up to a previous post – Beneath the Surface

What lies beneath the surface,
the playground of ancient times,
lands ruled by survival,
raw and primal,
we forever live on some edge
with a defensive posture
ready to protect at all costs.

That slippery edge of snow and ice
straddling deep valleys,
like the string holding a life together,
a tether anchoring to some reality.

Poem – Transformation

I watch the sun rise from
distant cold moving water.

White-capped waves emerge from the horizon
and over time they will arrive at my feet

standing on the rock strewn shoreline
covered in clear ice.

I imagine staying here through the passing months
when the deep winter takes hold of this

land and my body becomes one with the
water and the earth and from this

connection I am transformed back to
my birth state when I emerged from the horizon.

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Poem – Birth

In the beginning we come into this space
as innocent beings fumbling around
the empty fields stretching forever.

We stare in wonder and with amazement
as to the endless possibilities
and the control we have of our life.

Then something changes and the field
begins to fill with objects and obstacles
and where there was no path, forks in the road.

How we navigate this field and
how far reaching our sphere of influence
determines the lanterns brightness when we return.

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Copyright (c) 2014-2016 Twisted Root Photography

Where the Path Leads

We encounter paths and options at every turn and we are stopped by fear and indecision.

The ability to choose a direction and move forward and not look back is a gift.

But when we stand at the crossroad with multiple unknown horizons our life stops and becomes stagnant and we become lost.

Steeped in the questions and scenarios constantly being played in the mind we lose our place and fall off the path we worked so hard to create and follow.

We may not realize until years later what impact a choice made and the path it led down.

There is great power in having the choice and taking control of this life and we will realize that the path we tread through the valley of death and to the mountain top is the definition of life and with our choice it is what we desire to become.

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Poem – Across the Field

Across the field
I see the same
material we are made of
born of the stars out there.

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Victoria Woollaston @ in5d.com – Quantum Physics – Death Is An Illusion

Higher Density Blog

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by Victoria Woollaston,

http://in5d.com/quantum-physics-proves-that-death-is-an-illusion/

Is death an illusion?

Most scientists would probably say that the concept of an afterlife is either nonsense, or at the very least unprovable.

Yet one expert claims he has evidence to confirm an existence beyond the grave – and it lies in quantum physics.

Professor Robert Lanza claims the theory of biocentrism teaches that death as we know it is an illusion created by our consciousness.

‘We think life is just the activity of carbon and an admixture of molecules – we live a while and then rot into the ground,’ said the scientist on his website.

Lanza, from Wake Forest University School of Medicine in North Carolina, continued that as humans we believe in death because ‘we’ve been taught we die’, or more specifically, our consciousness associates life with bodies and we know that bodies die.

His theory of biocentrism, however, explains…

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Dogs of Summer #1

Summer is not quite here, but that does not deter the sun, warmth, and life within the forest. The well-worn path lined with decades of growth, birth, and death is never lonely, is always filled with the voice of the forest. With a gentle touch and respect we spend our time free of the city, free of industry. We ditch thinking and revert to instincts and run free.

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Dog’s Path

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Sisters Taking a Break

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A Quiet Home

 

Poem – Vow

I fear not the process, the natural end of this time
here as I prepare for the next. I only fear the method
and I vow to meet it’s messenger on my
field with sword in hand beneath the white petals.

Poem – Extremes of Death

The open field is not empty
as the ground is littered with
remains of the day
remains of the fallen.

Boulders serve as markers
as crude tombstones and
in some cases a reminder
of brutality and cruelty.

We stumbled across fresh
bones and the skull of a deer
carelessly left and scattered
the remains complete and disconnected.

What drives behavior
to extremes of death?

Poem – Voice with no Voice

The last drag taken slowly
the cigarette fading
beneath the black sky
free of clouds and moon.

The last puff of smoke
masks the face of an unknown
man desiring anonymity
as he watches from a distance.

He cannot bring himself to
emerge from the shadows
as the pain courses through
his body and his limbs will not move.

He tries to ask a question
to nothing in particular
but his lips will not move
his voice has no voice.

He can only watch as
he falls into the river.