Opening The Door Of Existence
Opening the door of existence
I entered non-tense balanced
Satisfied and content
Coming to the mother
Feminine mystique I am feminine
And I live and live in the moment.
Opening the door of existence
I read history I read fables
That are one and the same
Coming to the mother
I forget to put questions
Relating to the very existence.
Opening the door of existence
I became more elemental more natural
Without having corners
Coming to the mother
I enjoyed like birds rivers
And trees and resent and future.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Related quotes
Buddhist Lesson # 2
enlightment,
the act of opening,
like a rosebud,
like a mother,
opening the door...
like a child
opening a present,
like a woman
opening to a man....
opening...
all the hidden chambers,
every door to every
secret kingdom of the soul.....
opening the box that holds
your secret thoughts, desires....
opening...
the door of the cage,
letting the winged breath fly....
opening....
your heart to itself,
and to all hearts beating....
opening....
the vault of conceptions,
the entrance to the tomb
of past lives and memories....
opening...
your hands to the world
as if it were your neighbor,
and you, it's home!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Mother, You Are Only Mother
MOTHER, YOU ARE ONLY MOTHER
Mother, you are only mother,
because of you,
i got thoughts and rituals,
because of you,
i got my face, my existence and my prestige,
mother, you are neither goddess nor god,
mother, you are not away from these,
mother, you are my soul,
you are within me,
mother, you aren`t a materialistic thing,
you are omnipresent earth,
you are a firm foundation,
mother, you are away from words,
mother, you are life
poem by Dr. Ram Sharma
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The mother and the artist
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of wonderfully emollient freshness; every
unfurling instant of impregnably magnificent existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of spellbindingly undefeated innocence; every
unfurling instant of symbiotically pristine existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of timelessly unconquerable truth; every unfurling
instant of bounteously magnanimous existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of unfathomably unfettered creativity; every
unfurling instant of timelessly burgeoning existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of royally triumphant resplendence; every
unfurling instant of unconquerably majestic existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of eternally exhilarating vivaciousness; every
unfurling instant of redolently insuperable existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of unbelievably ameliorating optimism; every
unfurling instant of marvelously benign existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of brilliantly liberated camaraderie; every
unfurling instant of iridescently inscrutable existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of unshakably virgin righteousness; every
unfurling instant of beautifully untainted existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of uninhibitedly heavenly frolic; every unfurling
instant of tantalizingly sensuous existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of compassionately humanitarian friendship; every
unfurling instant of magically mitigating existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of miraculously everlasting freshness; every
unfurling instant of invincibly coalescing existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of pricelessly ubiquitous oneness; every unfurling
instant of robustly blessed existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of unbreakably Omnipotent desire; every unfurling
instant of victoriously effulgent existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of unceasingly reinvigorating fantasy; every
unfurling minute of poignantly charismatic existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of insurmountably intrepid enchantment; every
unfurling minute of rhapsodically unhindered existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of Omnisciently tranquil serenity; every unfurling
instant of endlessly bestowing existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of perpetually fragrant breath; every unfurling
instant of Omnipresently benevolent existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of Immortally ardent love; every unfurling instant
of limitlessly fructifying existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of fantastically alleviating poetry; every
unfurling instant of boundlessly splendid existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of fabulously effervescent tanginess; every
unfurling instant of spiritually uplifting existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of unlimitedly enlightening Sunshine; every
unfurling instant of infallibly luminescent existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of immaculately godly melody; every unfurling
instant of amiably melanging existence,
Because. And Only Because. A Mother is; has and shall for times immemorial
remain the Greatest Sculptor of every organism on this astoundingly
multiplying Universe; A Mother is the Greatest Artist….
poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Loud Is The Cry Of War
Loud is the cry of war
Many people shall it smite
Opening up death's dark door
Our people shaken to the core
As we feel our enemies bite
Loud is the cry of war
Many soldiers now implore
If this battle was worth the fight
Opening up death's dark door
Many hearts lie broken and torn
An Endless number of sleepless nights
Loud is the cry of war
Crowded will be heaven's shore
As the dead now take their heavenly flight
Opening up death's dark door
Although we won, we lost much more
As empty cries echo through the night
Opening up death's dark door
Loud is the cry of was
poem by Cat Winder
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On My Own Terms
relating to you must be
on my own terms says the sun to the moon
we don't see each other
neither shall you expect me
to dance your night away
we know the terms of our existence
the closing and the opening
of doors
in such a manner
that when you open i close
what is there
or perhaps that for me to live
so must you die.
it is sad, indeed overwhelmingly
tragic,
nature's laws, our terms of engagement
darkness and light
life and death
you and i.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ignorant people see life as either existence or non-existence, but wise men see it beyond both existence and non-existence to something that transcends them both; this is an observation of the Middle Way.
quote by Lucius Annaeus Seneca
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The closing of a door can bring blessed privacy and comfort - the opening, terror. Conversely, the closing of a door can be a sad and final thing - the opening a wonderfully joyous moment.
quote by Andy Rooney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What a mother should be
A mother is the one who loves you
A mother puts no drug above you
A mother will never make you cry
A mother will never make you want to die
A mother will help you fight your fears
A mother will help you stop your tears
A mother will keep you safe and sound
A mother will never let you down
A mother will daily say I love you
A mother won’t say I hate you
A mother won’t wish you were dead
A mother won’t forget what you said
A mother won’t close the door
A mother won’t let you be poor
Now I ask you, do you have a mother?
Cause’ I don’t, so don’t bother.
poem by Carlisa Smith
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The Dew Drops Mist
Whatever it is that you've been told...
As the dew drops mist,
Each morning that unfolds...
Mother Nature to this is committed.
To all things that exist.
And even you and I...
We are caught up the mix.
Whatever the season that comes to leave,
We may have our differences and do not agree.
But,
Nonstop Mother Nature shows...
Everything that lives,
She assists its growth.
And you and I can do what we like.
In between the fussing, cussing and fights.
You and I can decide to hide or be seen...
But mother Nature is there!
And always on the ecene.
It doesn't matter if we chit chat or scatter.
Upon this existence the dew drops mist.
It doesn't matter if we scatter without chatter.
Upon this existence the dew drops mist.
And,
We can be a little rich or poor.
Or never answer a knock on our doors.
It doesn't matter if we chit chat or scatter.
Upon this existence the dew drops mist.
Whatever the season that comes to leave,
We may have our differences and do not agree.
But,
Nonstop Mother Nature shows...
Upon this existence the dew drops mist.
Every morning when you're yawning and it's dawn,
On this existence the dew drops mist.
It doesn't matter in your life what's going on,
'Cause...
In this existence the dew drops mist.
Whatever it is that you've been told...
As the dew drops mist,
Each morning that unfolds...
Mother Nature to this is committed.
To all things that exist.
And even you and I...
We are caught up the mix.
So,
Every morning when you're yawning and it's dawn,
On this existence the dew drops mist.
It doesn't matter in your life what's going on,
'Cause...
In this existence the dew drops mist.
Whatever the season that comes to leave,
We may have our differences and do not agree.
But,
Nonstop Mother Nature shows it and knows...
Upon this existence the dew drops mist.
Whatever the season that comes to leave,
We may have our differences and do not agree.
But,
Nonstop Mother Nature shows it and knows...
Upon this existence the dew drops mist.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I'm Still Waiting
Somewhere a door is opening
Somewhere a door is closing
Somewhere somebody dies
Somewhere a newborn baby cries
Maybe the love has gone
But there's still a heart that's beating
Though the clouds have come
Maybe the sun will come out
The storm is coming back
Maybe you'll be coming back
'Coz I'm still waiting
Baby well I'm still waiting
Mmmna mmmna mmmna mmmnamm
Baby well I'm still waiting
Somewhere a door is opening
Maybe the love has gone
But there's still a heart that's beating
Though the clouds have come
Maybe the sun will come out
Maybe you'll be coming back
'Coz there's still a heart that's beating
Though the clouds have come
Maybe the sun will come out
Maybe you'll be coming back
There's still a heart that's beating
Maybe the sun will come out
They say the storm will be coming back
Maybe you'll be coming back 'Coz I'm still waiting
Mmmna mmmna mmmna mmmna
Baby well I'm still waiting
Ooh I'm waiting
Mmmmmmmmoooh
YAYAYAYAYAYA!
Oh I'm waiting
Oh
song performed by by Kate Bush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Journey
I am looking for a past
I can rely on
in order to look to death
with equanimity.
What was given me:
my mother’s largeness
to protect me,
my father’s regularity
in coming home from work
at night, his opening the door
silently and smiling,
pleased to be back
and the lights on
in all the rooms
through which I could run
freely or sit at ease
at table and do my homework
undisturbed: love arranged
as order directed at the next day.
Going to bed was a journey.
poem by David Ignatow
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Have a wall to draw on.
You don’t feel that you live
If no one knows that you live.
Others must know what you wear,
How you live and what you flaunt.
Being is the corporal’s existence.
Being known is the ego’s existence.
People around you are the wall
On which you draw about yourself.
25.05.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The most mysterious feminine factor, the existence that we men, we don't know. It's woman. It's feminine. That's what the sword is about. That's the symbolic meaning of the sword.
quote by Ang Lee
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Summer Lay Asleep...
Summer lay asleep
curled up in itself
dreaming that it
actually was
although it was only
another door
I opened
into my self
in search of a self
door after door
(this was the summer of 1964)
but when memory
had finally
tracked me down
it found
I had become
someone else
who no longer existed
under stars that persisted
like questions
in this summer sky
and how I...
and even God
thought I was dead
or at least
doubted my existence.
poem by Dónall Dempsey
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Multiple Geometry Of Mother Universe
geometry of universe
geometry of time
geometry of existence
geometry three planes of existence
geometry merging into fourth dimensions
geometry merging into river ripple flows
geometry merging into vast time rivers
“multiple geometry of the universe”
left to right codex fashion cult reading
warmth comfort security sex producing
earth mother mother goddess imaging
life perpetual time lies in multiple body offering
worship mystery procreation timeless sustaining
hunter gatherers blooms into agriculture growing
female procreativity breasts vulva timeless mother nurturing
mystic ample swelling bellies milk-filled breasts comforting
curves pattern fat distribution legs hips buttocks emphasizing
time ripples societies into ethnic industrialization feminisms
check out the boots the personality the cloak liberations
corporate clones iron ladies lack shaman valued adortaions
how far feminine lines delve age unbelievable abstractions
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Dancing with burning madness
Dreams hold me together
dreams of days and nights
spent as one being;
giving ecstacy new names
giving madness new names
giving pleasure
with madness creeping into you
forcing you to forget everything.
You even call names of Gods you know
wondering, these pleasures are real
you cannot believe
as they are greater than
you ever imagined.
Eating each bit of me
with wildness of a mad animal
drinking even sweat of me
as if more sweeter than honey
You pace up and down on me
with your hands, legs,
lips, teeth, breasts, hips.
with your breath going
fast faster fastest
wild animal in you
coming up.
Your eyes are half closed
eye balls rolling up and down
you forget your existence
as a shy, always acting human being.
You think of nothing
only feel wild urges
coming out as wild
with pleasure zones each opening up
making you a bundle of
feelings with all colours
coming in different shapes.
Your whole body
reaching madness
with mind dancing
up and down
and all sides.
poem by Thomas Viruvelil
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The Ripening
I picture you,
opening the door,
walking up the orchard rows,
in the caramel of evening light.
A giant's shadow peers at you
from in between the trees,
trudging silently with you
as you lift the sun-warm fruit,
cup in one work-seasoned hand
an apple, rich and scarlet ripe.
I picture you,
opening your door,
treading the dew drenched grass,
the raucous song of wattle birds
spritzing the crisp dawn air.
Your hands busied at the basket
gently placing, one by one,
harvest fixed by darkness chill,
all glossy, sweet and unblemished.
I picture you,
opening my door,
singing to the hallway ceilings,
eyes creased deep in blissful smile,
tide of sunshine flooding in with you,
the giant heralding you in silence
as you tenderly bestow
your joyous gift for all seasons,
proud and precious gems of autumn.
poem by Maggie Munro
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Birth Energy
I am opening
I am opening up
Birth energy
Be my teacher
Birth energy
Heal my fears
Teach me trust
Teach me compassion
Walk me into the darkness
And into your light
Birth energy
You are woman
Birth energy
Within the man
Ever constant
Ever changing
Let your winds blow
Rock me in your storm
Let the bough break
Let me fall
Into your arms
It is you I trust
When I say
Im trusting love
Invocation:
I stand among the sisters of the moon
I am held by the creator of the world
I am opening
I am unbounded
I am luminous
I am powerful
I surrender to this power
Life and newness are continued and
Renewed through me
You are the ocean
I ride upon your waves
I am opening
I am blown apart by your caress
I surrender to you
I embrace you
I am ready now to sing the moon
To be her voice
I am the singer
And life is her song
I sing creation
I sing joy and pain
Beginning and ending
Giving and taking
Existence
Goddess
I embrace you
I am opening
I am opening up
song performed by by Kenny Loggins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Earth
why do i have such a
warm affinity to mother earth?
it's because it is so much older
every day of its age can
hold a cell of my body
in the air for all to see
only if i can stretch that far
every of its men if if alive again
can hold hand to hand round
the earth 20,000 times
i am the smallest germ
crawling through the
history of its pages
a trillionth of a second
of its time
if you have a line long as
the equator i cannot fill in
the dot of its existence
an ant running on the wall of
the tallest building in Dubai
and if the the whole existence
of earth is the time you need to
read from A to Z
i am a trillionth of the tiniest nerves
that help you see, think, and
open your mouth, navigate your tongue
in the ocean of registers before
hitting port with the sonal signal A
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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She Sinful Or Wild
All or nothing at all
her father had said
and it seemed right
until she met Harpoon
and he seemed her
Mr Right the one she
had been waiting for
the one she'd dreamed
about but then it all
went wrong and he
became Mr Wrong
and oh yes that was
the downfall that was
the way to her deep
depression and that
episode in the bath
when she tried to
drown herself as her
mother had before her
and she discovered her
as a child coming home
from school and the
door was ajar and when
she went in there was
her mother with her
wrists slit and blood
and her mother drowned
and dead and now sitting
there in her mother's
chair her father some
place her husband poking
some other and all or
nothing at all seemed all
there was left apart from
the few books on the shelf
the Bill Burroughs her mother
had read and left and that
Bukowski book she'd found
in some second shop and the
battered Bible which her
father had beat her about
the head and backside with
as a child when her father
had been boozing or she
had been sinful or wild.
poem by Terry Collett
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