The circumstances, including my body and my parents, whom I may curse, are my soul's own choice and I do not understand this because I have forgotten.
quote by James Hillman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As Plotinus tells us, we elected the body, the parents, the place, and the circumstances that suited the soul and that, as the myth says, belongs to its necessity.
quote by James Hillman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Chose…
Before you were born into this body,
You had many life decisions to make.
Where on Earth do I want to live?
Who will I choose for parents?
Of what race and ethnicity will they be?
What religion?
What soul issues will I work with?
What experiences will I choose?
That done, you stored choices into soul memory.
After a body was conceived by your parents;
You entered;
Felt the warmth of their blood.
Felt the density of becoming matter.
Felt the downward pull of gravity.
Your mind was empty, indeed a clean slate…
Yet guided by a knowing soul.
You made a choice to be here, so why do you complain?
Rejoice Beloved,
Live life for life itself!
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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Something That I Can't Do
how i wish i can imitate
the flow of water in my life
that choice of taking the path
of least resistance
how i wish i can have the language
of the rain
that which assuages pain
that which satisfies the thirst
of grass
that which jives with the slow pacing
of the stones
i can't.
i am already born with the language of
my parents
it is the language that i know
the only language of my body and soul
i have to like it
there is no other sound
no other choice
except to speak it
again and
again.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Morning Flash
it comes as a flash.
A body.
At first it is just lines and curves.
There is no minding at all
about anything else.
Then follows the scent that
compliments
its newly acquired
existence
its desirability enhanced
by the warmth
of morning hues
by the window of the house.
The scent brings in some
memories of
youth
some places of the heart
like a grassy hill
and an
abandoned hut
faraway.
After a while it is not just
the body
but the tongue
and palms.
The mind starts to creep in
like a cloud
and sunshine from
the south.
IT demands something more
It is not just these memories
and feelings
those touches of hues
and colors and
scents
and eventually taste.
And then the movement.
It coils around you
This psyche
This soul and then you go deeper
into a form
of regret.
This is not the body that you like
But the lines and curves
of some long forgotten
circumstances that want to be
repeated
too often
but can never be
Because there is only one body
one soul
and it is not there
anymore.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Little Is Gone (But Not Forgotten)
I walked the line of self-destruction,
and self-mutilation,
my insanity was legendary,
and my madness took over my body and soul,
and than you walked into my life,
with a bright little smile,
and so curious,
you loved every minute of your life,
your friends,
your school,
and your teachers,
but know I look at the empty chair,
and I wonder what could have been,
what kind of life that you could of had,
if you hadn't felt the way that you did,
Chorus: My Little Girl IS Gone,
But Not Forgotten,
My Little Girl Is Gone,
But Not Forgotten,
My Little Girl Is Gone,
But Not Forgotten
Me you and your mother,
spent each day living life to the fullest,
unaware of the demons in your pretty little skull,
unaware of the hate that you had for this world,
the hate that you had for yourself,
that was destroying your mind,
body spirit and soul,
and destroying the love that you had for us,
I couldn't imagine,
life without you with us here,
in this life,
But what are we to do,
It’s so hard and so sad,
its like we can't move on,
Daddy has grown insane,
and Mommy's not far behind him,
Chorus: My Little Girl Is Gone,
But Not Forgotten,
My Little Girl Is Gone,
But Not Forgotten,
My Little Girl Is Gone,
But Not Forgotten,
The pain will never go away,
and I'll never dry my tears,
that rolls down my cheeks when I think of you,
that void in my heart and soul will always be there,
where you used to rest,
the part of me that can never be repaired,
I'll always have you in my heart,
in my body,
and in my soul.,
Life Fades,
but that doesn’t mean love has to,
Little Girl,
you'll always be in my heart,
my body and my soul,
but mostly you will always have a safe home,
in my heart,
I'd never think I'd feel like this,
strange to be like this,
strange to feel this alone,
but you know,
we will cross paths once more,
in the great beyond,
Chorus: My Little Girl Is Gone,
But Not Forgotten,
My Little Girl Is Gone,
But Not Forgotten,
My Little Girl Is Gone,
But Not Forgotten,
She’s always going to be our little girl,
she’s always going to be our little angel,
she’s always going to be our little Sarah,
she’s always going to rest in our hearts,
Mommy and me will get by,
Well be looking for you up in heaven,
when we finally get there,
were going to be looking for you, Babygirl,
We'll be looking for our little angel..
Chorus: My Little Girl Is Gone,
But Not Forgotten,
My Little Girl Is Gone,
But Not Forgotten,
My Little Girl Is Gone,
But Not Forgotten,
Little girl,
you'll never be forgotten,
mommy and daddy still love you,
and will always love you,
poem by Robert Rumery
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Proud Parents
What you read about in books isn't enough.
You must do to truly learn.
The action in which you earn.
A higher knowledge.
A higher calling.
Help is needed but only dire circumstances.
But still you need to experience these circumstances.
To understand the risk involved.
Cause one day even if you had a life jacket.
It might dissolve.
All on your own.
Knowing not what to do.
The wrong answer for kids to say is they don't have a clue.
Sometimes it might be hard to get through.
But it shouldn't stop you.
Proud parents are those who can let go without second guessing themselves if they did right by their own kids.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Understand
Soul, you must understand
how this body sleeps with you.
Soul, you must remember
it has separate manners with you.
Soul, learn the sensual pleasures
of this body, its twists and turns,
its crooked ways, its perverted ways,
its insatiability, even its evil ways,
Soul, you have all the patience,
when the body is rested before its
time is over, Soul, awaken it,
shake it, let it shed off its dusts
of errors, its stains of lusts,
wash it with fasting, and repentance
Soul, be wise, and kind enough to
save this Body, until it rusts and
to dust it shall return, and Soul
when you go up there, Forget.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Soul Please Understand
Soul, you must understand
how this body sleeps with you.
Soul, you must remember
it has separate manners with you.
Soul, learn the sensual pleasures
of this body, its twists and turns,
its crooked ways, its perverted ways,
its insatiability, even its evil ways,
Soul, you have all the patience,
when the body is rested before its
time is over, Soul, awaken it,
shake it, let it shed off its dusts
of errors, its stains of lusts,
wash it with fasting, and repentance
Soul, be wise, and kind enough to
save this Body, until it rusts and
to dust it shall return, and Soul
when you go up there, Forget.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Soul and the body.
As long as the soul
Loves the body
There sticks fortitude.
Pain could be borne
For pleasure to follow.
Once the soul deserts
The body, it is dead.
Where is the fortitude?
Where is the pain?
Where is the pleasure?
Soul is forgotten.
You, the soul,
I, the body.
Be they together
25.08.99
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Soul’s relation to body
I love you; who is ‘I’- soul or body?
I won over your heart; you stole my heart.
Heart- do we mean the corporal one?
Soul, the fire, catches the body, the wood.
Soul to soul and body to body, no love sparks.
Soul in body loves soul in body.
Souls or bodies exclusively love not.
Soul and body are not like air and balloon.
Soul and body is like heat and body.
3.01.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Pleasing The Body
in pleasing the body
you imply that the soul cries,
what choice do i have
when this body dies?
in pleasing the soul
the body must suffer?
tell me how to please both
please hand me the broth.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Valediction Of The Body For The Soul
I am the body, and you are the soul. I let you in. You are my guest.
Inside my body, you feel what i feel.You know what i know.
What you like i too must like.
What you disgust I too must disgust.
We have become one. Ideally, we go. I go where you go.
I let you stand on my feet
I let you touch the persons and things that you love
Through my Hands.
I am the body and you are the Soul. Inside me
You are my guest. They say that you are more important.
Holier. More wise. Filled with Understanding,
As I let you stay, I have become of lesser importance
To those who worship you, through me.
I am the body, and I have become secondary
to Your importance. But you are just my guest. I have let you in.
Now I demand that you too must respect my flesh,
My bones, My blood. I bleed. You don't. I feel the pain
You don't. I now demand that you too My Soul
Must understand my simple needs. My need for warmth
and Desire.
I am the Body and You are the Soul. I demand respect
and understanding otherwise I may use my power
to Oust You. I still have the power to put an end
To this Body and it is you who must leave.
You must understand me. When I end the life of this Body
As I very well know I can, then you Leave.
I will be left. I may rot. I may turn to Dust. But I have done
what is within my Power.
Respect my little lusts. That is my compromise with You.
Have a little understanding to my confusions.
Bear with Me too. Be my Guest. Be the Good One.
My Soul, My friend, My companion.I am your Faithful Body.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Death is a divorce
Death is a divorce.
The soul and the body are separated.
The soul escapes; the body decays.
Who is the cause: the soul or the body?
‘It is the body’, accuses the soul,
‘As it went unfit.’ ‘It is the soul’
Reprimands the body, ‘which found me stale.’
Who is the male: the soul or the body?
‘Male is the body’ complains the soul,
‘In whose home I entered as a bride.’
‘Male is the soul’ retorts the body,
‘Who deserted me to seek the other.’
Death is the divorce,
Where both separate.
11.02.2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Morning in the Burned House
In the burned house I am eating breakfast.
You understand: there is no house, there is no breakfast,
yet here I am.
The spoon which was melted scrapes against
the bowl which was melted also.
No one else is around.
Where have they gone to, brother and sister,
mother and father? Off along the shore,
perhaps. Their clothes are still on the hangers,
their dishes piled beside the sink,
which is beside the woodstove
with its grate and sooty kettle,
every detail clear,
tin cup and rippled mirror.
The day is bright and songless,
the lake is blue, the forest watchful.
In the east a bank of cloud
rises up silently like dark bread.
I can see the swirls in the oilcloth,
I can see the flaws in the glass,
those flares where the sun hits them.
I can't see my own arms and legs
or know if this is a trap or blessing,
finding myself back here, where everything
in this house has long been over,
kettle and mirror, spoon and bowl,
including my own body,
including the body I had then,
including the body I have now
as I sit at this morning table, alone and happy,
bare child's feet on the scorched floorboards
(I can almost see)
in my burning clothes, the thin green shorts
and grubby yellow T-shirt
holding my cindery, non-existent,
radiant flesh. Incandescent.
poem by Margaret Atwood
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Prayers of parents make a peaceful heaven to a home
Prayers of parents make a peaceful heaven to a home
The children who neglect their parents will be cursed,
The Nature makes such children’s house a hellish dome,
They are lucky children who are blessed by their parents,
It is said that there is a heaven under the legs of mother,
The children love or not to their mother but she loves all,
She embraces good or bad children but she can’t smother,
Mother is habituated to pray to God for all their happiness,
A few children won’t love their parents but love their wives,
In old age parents are in need of only their children’s love,
Who devote God, adore parents will be happy in their lives,
Love of parents always comes to children from the sky above,
God bless those children who are blessed by their parents,
And God curse those children who are cursed by their parents.
poem by INDIA Mazid S Kazi
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For literature sake.
When the body ages, does the soul do?
When the body gets wounds, does the soul suffer?
Are body and soul like sac and air?
Not so obviously.
Are body and soul like flesh and heat?
Might be.
Does not soul die when body dies, then?
Heart is not the seat of emotion, but brain.
Soul is not distinct to be treated so.
Yet soul is distinct for literature sake.
18.02.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Forgetting Something So Important
why am i here?
must i have forgotten
the reason why
am i
here? am i destined
for something
greater
than my mind?
or my heart?
have i forgotten that
i have a soul?
a spirit engraved
within the
shiny metal of
my body,
a name, a brand,
a status
why am i here?
have i forgotten You
who have placed
me here?
have i forgotten
that love is always the
reason for my
being here
in this misery
shall love continue to be
my guide and cure?
how can i ever forget
the floor of
my existence
the love without
a ceiling?
the house of love
that never falls
the beams that never
break
the Host that knows
everything
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Soul in a syllogism
Soul is explained in a syllogism.
Soul does not exit the body at death.
It hasn't entered the body at birth
As the child came from the parents live seeds.
So there is no exit as there was no entry..
06.08.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Parents don't understand kids and kids don't understand parents. My parents were divorced when I was really young and I went to live with my dad.
quote by Mark Hoppus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Between This Body And This Soul
my body thirsts for water
my soul thirsts for another
my soul immersed my soul entwined
my body grows my soul static as a thought
i shift from one channel to another
body to soul, soul to body,
the body's nature to sin
the soul's quest to heaven
God is in between.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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