Meditation opens seldom glimpsed areas of our subconscious. When that happens, extraordinary thoughts and awareness come to us with seeming spontaneity. We realize truths that were opaque to us before; we perceive events that were previously too distant. But no one ever became superhuman because of meditation. They only opened their own latent potential. Everything is locked inside of us and need only be opened That is why it is said that heaven is within us.
In the same way, the pains and the struggles of the past sometimes haunt us with astounding vehemence. Problems and conflicts are difficult to exorcise. Although we may practice spirituality and move on to new endeavors and relationships, past hurts still come back in our memories and dreams. These are not demons from another world, nor are they karmic manifestations of previous lives; they are scars in our subconscious. No matter how diligently we try to make progress, there still are pains that curse us day after day. This is why it is said that hell is within us.
We ourselves are the battleground for good and evil. There is no need to look beyond our world. Everything to be understood is within us. All that must be transcended–the pains and scars of the past–is within us. All the power of transcendence is also within us. Tap into it and you tap into the divine itself.
The clouds jutted upward like mountains from the flatland rolling at the horizon in shades of lavender, smokey-blue, and silver- white. Birches huddled together like naked ladies in the wind.
Gaea adorned herself in a soft-blue gown of billowing chiffon for the dance of new beginnings. Gifting mortals who have the power to look deeply with a glimpse of clarity.
The sun kissed her face of many colours. Nourishing her wounds and scars as well as her abundant bounty.
It is in her nature to be fiercely harsh and even destructive, yet she is also known to shield and nurture all of life. Thus, she weaves magic under hard, crusted furrows touched by winter’s frosty tears.
“If we’re wrapping ourselves up to conceal any vulnerability, whatever happens to us has to go through all those extra layers. Sometimes love doesn’t even reach where we truly live.”
― Alexandra Katehakis
“To write poetry, like sincere poetry, it is like performing heart surgery on yourself without anesthesia…in public…You are peeling back layers. You are dissecting yourself…You do not know what they [the audience] is going to do when you reach into yourself and rip out your organs to be displayed”
― Amir Sulaiman
Up and away for life! be fleet!- The frost-king ties my fumbling feet, Sings in my ears, my hands are stones, Curdles the blood to the marble bones, Tugs at the heart-strings, numbs the sense, And hems in life with narrowing fence. Well, in this broad bed lie and sleep,- The punctual stars will vigil keep,- Embalmed by purifying cold; The winds shall sing their dead-march old, The snow is no ignoble shroud, The moon thy mourner, and the cloud.