Melancholia I by Albrecht Dürer Brave acts make a difference, love heals, compassion annihilates suffering, sincerity leads to all hearts, and benevolence crosses all borders. (Tilted Rotten Sky, Rayka Rush) Freedom is the highest human expression of existence. It is a profound sense of autonomy, a feeling that we are the masters of our future paths. In the Western culture, art is the highest expression of inner freedom. It is a similar experience as breaking the ego shell in Buddhism, or getting in touch with the world of spirits relevant for Shamanism. Freedom is not what is outside of us, but within, and it is the finest expression of life that manifests who we are. Any mastery, knowledge, true activism, sincere endeavors, compassion constitute the art of being human. Let's create new freedom realities! This blog is an addition to the new growing mind awareness: expressing ourselves through arts, essays, prose, or discussing topics with an attempt to bring some interdisciplinary and alternative approaches to expand the knowledge and our consciousness. This includes the “new science” that moved from the traditional mechanistic picture of the world to the interdependent world of energies. Welcome to the Pathless Streams of Freedom Presence blog, read and comment poetry, essays, and follow our inspiring sources offered with this interactive blog.

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Resistance to “Road Movie” Soliloquy

I. “Mata Hari” Focus camera on my lustrous bare skin, Don’t hesitate, strip “Mata Hari,” Make the end treacherous; Could you, please be, fast? I am cold. Playing dead in a minimal Amazonian suit for hours! Finish the last scene! Cut it now, that’s it! Don’t wait, decide on this close-up; You’ll see, this is…

BoreasJohn William Waterhouse403565_10150685378592051_1319744865_n

The Wall of Sound

I hand myself over to you, transcribed into the sound of hypnotic whisper, promising heavens, and astral flights. It takes moments to take off into planes of light, a gravity free delirium calls, I weightlessly entered through a translucent wall. In this place, words are blown by a current of the cosmic wind, debris of…

Mona Lisa Upside-down

Hanging October Over Misplaced Re[a]d

Late night flooded solemn walk. Crunchy coded steep steps stretch wind strings flying red amidst leafy Fall colored tunes scaling spiral red nautilus shell stanza; halting October hangs above dark spot in tasteless pause of silence, still between blank right whiteouts words burn those salty tears in RED pyre of meaning lost in gored holes…


The Glass Bead Game: A Poem by Hermann Hesse

We are ready to receive in reverence the music of the masters, the symphonies of the spheres, and invoke in sacred celebrations the ancient holy spirits of the blessed ages. We let ourselves be exalted by magic, sacred secrets that capture life’s wild, stormy vigor, to transform it into revealing symbols. Like stellar constellations those…