Pathless Streams of Freedom Presence
Brave acts make a difference, love heals, compassion annihilates suffering, sincerity leads to all hearts, and benevolence crosses all borders.
Read poetry, prose, essays and article posts through the synesthetic experience: blend together visual, music, and poetic expressions and enjoy a blog that enhances intermediality and intertextuality in a unique style!
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.
Now when thou be one with Earth and its Spirit, Freed from Albion island full of sly plots, Cans’t thou hear nature song and spear it Shaken soul, so sorrow turns blank page, naughts And buds new thoughts to spring tied orphan verses Amidst aerial birds, rippling...read more
Ohh iPhone Apple, fire naked screens give me light beer, chips, and pretty scenes; I don’t like no art I rather follow a juicy conspiracy or news from some twisted lemon cult. Oh, gosh, shorten those chic country-song rhymes So I can remember simple, old...read more
Old memories sift through the snow bounded cabin, early night whiteouts, and stiff coldness of this Sylvester night. The ending still hurts; never goes away. All New Years Eves, Sylvester nights, crack the dawn with the same wonder and wide opened eyes repeating the...read more
“We are to the gods as flies are to wanton boys. They kill us for their sport.” William Shakespeare Morals: Always Protect Your Family It hit us at two a.m. in the dark of the night. The freight train rumble woke me and I sat up in bed. “Tornado,” I yelled and...read more