Heat Of Feelings - Life's Vertices (Revised)
Life becomes senseless without dreams - the one
thing left, testing ideals by doing the opposite,
discovering alternatives that do not work, breaking
every rule to determine meaning
Pain for long-term gain is the only way to live happily;
humanity the sole religious authority whose embedded
ideals are fine as long as we're not forced to follow
teachings - I dream about miracles, read how
Quantum physics explains all forms of spiritualism,
how consciousness creates physical phenomena
supposedly only perceived, how a wise mind can
present inherently beautiful ideas conceptually
Cynicism kills optimism by abstract abhorrence; life's
value rides upon rays of insight colouring the world
with tinctures of feelings and emotions, created
intrigues, but won't change inner traits
Musing as I climb life's vertices, falling into ravines of
self-pity and failed self-esteem, trapped in the doldrums
of hum-drum routines eating my brain-circuits - only a
variety of constructed, carefully protected ideals
to keep me going….
[ORIGINAL: ]
Heat of Feelings
One thing left: the ideal tested by doing the
opposite, discovering alternative does not
work, breaking every rule to determine
meaning - life becomes senseless
without dreams
Sacrifice for long-term gain the only way to live
happily, humanity is the only religious authority
I love the ideals embedded therein as long as
we are not forced to follow their teaching, I
dream about
Miracles, read how quantum physics explains all
forms of spiritualism, how consciousness creates
physical phenomena supposedly only perceived,
a wise mind presents inherently beautiful ideas
wonderfully
A cynic destroys idealism by employing abhorrent
concepts; life's value depends upon light of insight
colouring the world with the heat of feelings and
emotions create intrigues but can't change
inner traits
Musing as I climb life's steep mountain, falling into
ravines of self-pity and fears of no self-esteem,
caught in the doldrums caused by never-ending
hum-drum routines which sabotage all my
brain-circuits
Only a variety of constructed, carefully protected
ideals to keep me going…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Related quotes
Life-Giving Spark (Revised)
Creating meaning for ourselves is a sublime
experience, the young are instructed to believe
life is meaningful, yet cannot feel it that way,
we only learn through experience
If we don’t learn to create meaning we will
suffer senseless phenomena instead of life;
some exult in depressive sensationalism as
it is more exciting than unfounded optimism
Most prefer the pain of rebellion to resignation, yet
as long as we create our own meaning, those who
indulge in the macabre by seeking suffering in
depressing intrigues, cannot touch us
Since life seems meaningless a quest is needed
to make sense of existence; I learnt meaning was
not hanging around just waiting to be found but
existed only in feelings
Mixing life’s ingredients like ancient alchemists
produces results, adding our own passion as the
life-giving spark, attaching ideals to beautiful scenes;
I honour these visions in my dreams
Pay homage to origins by cherishing favourite
stories and authors, find new perspectives and
unexpected aspects in the same, well-known
material whenever I look again…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Existing As Ideals
Dreams need no corporeality, a
dream fulfilled becomes one-
dimensional reality without
power to draw desire and
passion through us
I love dreams as ideas, romance
as mirage, an image in the mind:
therein lies its power, a vision to
be filed for later use when it fails
to entice
Materialisation shrinks infinite
dimensions of enchanting
vision, I cherish dreams
until threadbare,
I love
Ethereal ideals as Quixotic
schemes fighting windmills:
idea reigns supreme, reality
is but weak reflection of
grand ideals
Lamenting impossibility of love
means we miss the joy of
illusion and dreams
inspirational only
if unexplained
We live life in little routines
while existing as ideals
within a holographic
universe…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Artist Oath
If to become a high minded, well respected
adult is to abandon the divine ideal
of universal kinship and good will in order to
maintain personal security,
I'll spend the entirety of my life
an irresponsible child of ignorance.
I'll run barefoot through the woods,
ignoring dinner bells,
oblivious to the darkening curfew hour of the street lamps
If profit and sales determine the merit of an artist
I shall forever define myself as dilettante
a dabbler, a hobbyist.
an amateur doing what he loves
in order to maintain personal sanity
After all, the purpose of an artist isn't
influence or profit,
it isn't to strike admiration or awe.
the aim isn't avant garde expression of emotion
or presenting a revolutionary idea that will change the world.
Art is simple encouragement,
no more than a smile,
encouraging people
to live out the ideals we all carry and know
in the most sure fire depths of our hearts to be true.
The ideals we forget lose abandon or are just too
afraid to act upon in life.
The ideals of 'the weak the senseless the naïve the eccentric
the quixotic the queer the fairy dusted bullshit'.
– its all just maya anyway
– were else can one live out ideals if not in dream?
poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
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Ice-Cold Preservation [REVISED]
PRESERVATION
Life is a marathon, not a short sprint,
spiritualists teach cold hearts are only
frozen in this universe without room for
high ideals & unconditional love chosen
when humanity dreamed noble ideals
Ice-cold life is preservation, has frozen
resolve to stay ethically true to dreams;
almost no amount of heat can melt
feelings frosted within us when we
were small
But joy is ice-covered only, underneath
is warmth & love, we're NOT made of
stone, by retaining an icy state we can
strive to live with integrity, try to be
true to our words
Though frozen we've the best intentions
which shall be realised at a future date -
in existence of a different sphere
[ORIGINAL: ]
ICE-COLD PRESERVATION
I see life as a marathon, not a short sprint,
spirituals teach cold hearts are only frozen
in this universe without room for the high
ideals and unconditional love chosen when
humanity dreamed of noble ideals
Being ice-cold is preservation, life requires
an ice-cold resolve to remain true to ideals
and dreams; almost no amount of heat can
melt the feelings frosted within us
when we were small
But our joy is only frozen, underneath all is
warmth and love, we are NOT made of stone,
by remaining in the frozen state we can strive
to live with integrity, trying to be true
to our words
Though frozen, we have the best of intentions
which shall be realised at a future date - in
a different sphere of existence
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Joy & Pain We Caused
Chapter nine: Cataclysm - reading with
bated breath, too many facts to take in,
storyline developing, who can ever prove
one hypothesis more true than another -
only matters that conjecture is presented
coherently
The single criterion is the quality of ideals
formulated by a civilisation; though attempts
to carry out dreams demeaned by avaricious
minds; wonderful that people of integrity still
chase ideals, wondering how these dreams
came into being
I think relativity - time & space interwoven,
divine supernatural intervention as natural
law in manifestation - a conscious energy,
aware of all simultaneously, scattered clues
picked up by receptive minds - I love all
forms of ideals
From the Mabhabarata's advice on living a
moral life - Buddha's reverie under a tree -
a Hindu revering a pantheon of gods; glad
to be introduced to many religions in all
their beauty; quantum physics explains
infinite possibility
Anything can be made true by faith, no more
angry, jealous gods - but benevolent energy
providing abundantly, free choice determines
what we accomplish, in life after death we
experience all the joy and pain we caused
unto others - and
That is quite enough…
Act of God - Tutankhamun, Moses & The Myth of Atlantis -
The True Story of The Greatest Cataclysm to shape
Civilisation - Graham Phillips, Pan Books,1998
p.207 - 298
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Well We Might
There once was time to sit and spin
The dream without, the light within
When young ideals like creed and rote
Would wreathe their blue tobacco smoke.
When wine was certain at each sip
When answers leapt at every lip,
Such were the days, when we all knew
If we were asked, what we would do.
But life began to call us in
And time, as such, has grown so thin,
We rush to do the things we must
While dreams, ideals, are things of dust.
And soon we turn our backs on them
Those shadows that were once young men
Who never dreamt hypocrisy
Would spill their dreams, philosophy;
And rule them with a rod of steel
And teach them well how not to feel,
And lead them blindly through their days –
They spare no thought for younger ways.
And where that dream, ideal, that once
Was held to spell deliverance?
Well we might ask, and well we might;
It’s life, not death, puts out the light.
26 September 1986
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Strangely Substantial
I live with the Discworld view that everything, reality
and idea, comes into existence when created by
imagination, continuing in narrative
All-That-Is is the product of thought processes, everybody
interacts within temporary illusions brought about and
maintained by intersubjective consensus
It works as long as we remain in physical bodies to keep
these illusions alive; energy, intelligent and aware,
manifests freely, flowing towards everything
We are as unreal as the legends and myths we create, all
things are only as relevant and applicable as we choose
to make them; we are as strangely substantial
As the thoughts and ideas in our heads - I base my dreams
on the following elements: Delight in Manifestation, Joy in
Variety, Wisdom as Reason and Love as Respect
My life is woven of the visions and ideals by which we
transcend spacetime in blissful spirals of infinitely
continuing improvement…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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NoW iS tHe TIME!
To eliminate oppression
To end injustice that has been accepted for so long
To stop inequity
And to put all this unfairness where it belongs
To cause a change
To be known for something good
But the term “virtue” is now a problem
Since the whole aspect of the meaning today is misunderstood
To make a difference in this world
That is firing up every second that pasts
We better think of a reasonable solution
Because time is running by too fast
Life with no justice
Is like life without a heart
Life with no integrity
Is like feelings and emotions falling apart
How could we live everyday
When we know others are suffering from torture and pain
How do we eat, sleep, and continue with our daily lives
And how can we withstand living in our shame
I believe this is the right time to stand
and let success dropp form every effortful sweat
because when time is over and the world has gone to an end
we could feel triumphant and no reason to ever regret.
poem by Marria Attar
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Unlock The Portal
The mind, a portal through which inner
being perceives, programmed by per-
sonal experience, teaching and
brainwashing techniques -
Modern human beings enjoy a market-
place of ideas, absorb principles and
ideals, pragmatists decree truth to be
useful application
Brains react to chemicals with sensation,
pain or elation - spiritual guru's recom-
mend using feelings as mental meters
of our level of creation
Instinctual pleasure is termed good while
pain is bad, disrespect causes pain while
creativity delights, if all needs could
be met without losing self-esteem
A new world would come into being without
victims and victimisers as these roles would
disappear - my mind portal is contaminated
by chemicals; my thoughts cannot lift off
From physical, wish I could wave a wand and
feel different - capable, energetic, affectionate
and loving - but my brain only registers a
feeling of apprehension
Imprisoned within a programmed view of reality
which leaves no room for me, trying to disappear
not working; you look at me with an
expression of exasperation
Please let me change, please, please give me a
different perspective, give me a warm loving heart
in place of the cold stone created by allergy,
please unlock the portal which leads to
Freedom And Love...
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Our Own Discoveries
In lofty circles of great believers
Miracle Plays, Jesus dying, Paul
singing praise songs in jail; those
without gift of faith cannot exceed
Their limitations, though admiring
the strengthening effect of faith
on integrity - not experiencing
the effect themselves
Faith an ideal, we admire people
who accomplish big things, read
and dream about these - writing
poems afterwards, sharing
Lack of spiritual gifts, content in
discovering reality provides little
evidence of things we admire-
wonderful, we feel the same
We help each other uncover the
fallacies and accept ideals can't
be realised in our universe - a
few content with dreams only
Making peace with this, others still
furious discovering non-existence
feeling justly cheated because
great expectations of
false illusions had been promoted -
enticement just showed how great
life could have been, now seems
more sordid in comparison
Experience shatters, disappointment
in impossible ideals voiced in pain -
we are strengthened by objecting
to the deceptions
That have been perpetrated - enabling
us to face our own discoveries…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Angel Conversations (Revised)
Ideals like shining stars beckoning, urging
me to evolve, to overcome limited concepts
binding all in manacles strangling the spirit
until we all turn into machines; feelings
lost in deep pools of lonely hollowness
Ideals fill my space with creativity - turn
my eyes inwards to contemplate vistas of
endless consciousness: mine is to feel love
unconditional, for concepts embodied by
another who needs nothing from me;
from whom I need nothing except
honoured awareness of their wonderful
being, a joy conferred by existence as
beacons of independent thought and
insight, finding comfort in reflection
that someone so admirable has
crossed my path to show me where
to look for beauty and wisdom - thank
you for showing me today; for being there
more masterful than a guru, being more
accessible than the sun I love so much,
more personal than an Angel holding
conversations on the Internet
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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But the egoist has no ideals, for the knowledge that his ideals are only his ideals, frees him from their domination. He acts for his own interest, not for the interest of ideals.
quote by John Buchanan Robinson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Don't Call Me Bitch
Drifting, dribbling, dreadfulness…
Feelings or ideals which pull…
You away…
From the realities of your life…
Keeping you from reciprocating…
Or reclaiming truth of self…
Become! Rebellious concerning…
Self…
Let your love from within…
Broadcast to you…
You are very special…
You are woman…
A gift…A queen…
A reckoning force in this world…
This world call man’s…
To rebuff…
It is a woman’s world as well…
Recant those or that which…
Does not cater to a woman’s…
Self esteem…
Stop being invisible…
But be invincible…
Project your inner self…
As God created you…
To help maintain a balance on this earth.
'Behold, I send you out as sheep in the midst of wolves; so be wise as serpents and innocent as doves.' Matthew,10: 16.
poem by whisperkwane Lamb
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Ongoing Storyline
Karma and Reincarnation, wonderful, so much
experienced and accomplished when exploring
and living life from various perspectives, karma
translates energy from lifetime to lifetime in an
ongoing storyline, fusing several lives together
through transition material creating a structure
that has long-term sense
My experience does not agree with the theories
and ideas of religion and fiction, being human is
a limiting experience for a spirit who knows it is
filled with love and connected to the universe,
yet cannot feel or explain it, life has meaning
as a series of signpost events with issues to
solve and lessons to learn
In a progression that derives sense from the
perspective of highest purpose; I love such
moments of sparkling insight that transcend
physical reality & gain access to a different
realm of heightened consciousness which
is pure bliss; existential crisis is infinitely
valuable to reveal these jewels
By blowing the chaff of human experience
away: when I feel so ill I cannot read or
think and nothing makes sense, only
theories on karma and reincarnation
remain valid and uplifting - while the
world and intellectualism lose all
its power to touch my mind
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Life
I was lying on my bed, about to loose myself in the world of dreams, but couldn't. I started to wonder the meaning of universe, the exact meaning of life. I thought for about an hour, why I am alive? Why everyone's living their life? I came to a conclusion, what if this life is just a training course, and if you fail in one life to complete the training, you live another physical life. The point is to recognize that every thing you do, and that every action you take, is an action of the mind, not your true spirit. To try to 'train your spirit' is the main motto you'r alive. Emotions, love, hate, sadness are actions of the spirit not destiny. The unexplained questions in life, are actions of the spirit. Time is an illusion, created by the minds. Before this life, there were other challenges, and after this one, there will be more, and then we will face the ultimate prize, heaven. But not as we see it. It would be a domain where there is no one to hate, and everyone would love and respect each other. There would be no time to kill, because the illusion of time would be gone. We would witness unlimited new emotions, and it would be the most wonderful thing ever! So thats what I thought, lying in my bed, looking at the ceiling.
poem by Nikhil Chandwani
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You're a Beautiful Dream Come True
It's so, it's so
so hard to say,
and I feel, I feel,
feel like I'm lost in this maze,
life will never be the same
this is when things change.
This song, this song,
explains how I feel,
and life, and life,
life seems too good to be true,
when I look at your eyes,
I find my way.
It's so plain to see,
my whole world's complete with you,
cause baby you're beautiful,
you're a beautiful dream come true.
And as time goes by,
I'm falling more and more for you,
cause girl you're beautiful,
you're a beautiful dream come true.
With you, with you,
nothing else really matters,
and I know, I know,
I know deep inside,
that you feel the same,
so let's make the change.
Let go, let go,
let go of your past now,
when I'cant, I'cant,
cant find my way,
I'll look at your face,
and my heart says.
It's so plain to see,
my whole world's complete with you,
cause baby you're beautiful,
you're a beautiful dream come true.
And as time goes by,
I'm falling more and more for you,
cause girl you're beautiful,
you're a beautiful dream come true.
It's so plain to see,
my whole world's complete with you,
cause baby you're beautiful,
you're a beautiful dream come true.
And as time goes by,
I'm falling more and more for you,
cause girl you're beautiful,
you're a beautiful dream come true.
Yea, you're a beautiful dream come true.
poem by Juan Carrasquillo Jr
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Invalidate.
The truth is like democracy
An ideal we aspire to
But it seems we can't agree.
Nor are we ever likely to.
What's true for me is not for you
What you believe I can't accept.
We hold opposing points of view.
Each one deserving of respect.
We tend to see democracy.
As rule by the majority.
Subjected to close scrutiny
It proves to be a fallacy.
Someone must wield authority.
Though sadly there are very few.
Who have the capability
and even fewer willing to.
Assume responsibility.
So we make do with second best.
But is that true democracy.
I have to say I'm not impressed.
By Ideals which I don't believe.
That we cannot possibly achieve.
One truth and true democracy.
As long as men think differently.
To tell the truth I find it odd
That men who claim to speak for God.
Can hold so many different views
Infinite in variety.
The being who created me
Saw fit to set me free.
No priest has the authority
To take away my liberty.
Wednesday,30 May 2012
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Leave Judgemental Values
Leave judgemental values far behind
Inner feelings changes ring to free
The links which let '[s]he thinks' melt into 'We',
Trust soul which whole would be in heart AND mind.
Light touch, much worthy magic may unwind,
Expanding outwards opportunity,
Mocking blind conformity to see
Inside to widen scope but not to blind.
Dreams evolve, anticipate, remind
Need independent mind to enth degree
Ideas, ideals refute rule by decree,
Guard from lip-service, context pre-designed.
Hold convictions high, spurn compromise,
To learn to learn, not follow others’ lies.
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Help Me
I love David, but he lives so far away from me. In
fact, he lives in his own world and I know that he
doesn't know me. I saw his picture in a book. I know
I'm not existent for ‘im, but I love ‘im so much. He's
existent for me. I want to meet ‘im to make this love
become real, but I read all his books and I know that
I have no chance. Even so, I still want to do this. I must
hide my intentions, firstly. Yes, I know what I have to do.
I'll send ‘im a letter writing that I want to meet ‘im for
a different reason. I‘ll lie. He will believe me. It ‘ll be an
ideal lie. Slowly, I can become his ideal woman. In time, I hope
that he'll fall in love with me. Apparently, the feelings of
love will come from ‘im, and I'll be that person needing
time to think about this. My thoughts will ne'er be an open
book for ‘im, because my little lie can fail. I can play this game
all my life ne'er letting ‘im discover the naked truth. I can hide
my consciousness. It is easy for me to do this, but I don't know
if I can lie about myself all life. Probably, I'll become an old
woman lying herself to survive. I don't know how many years
I can keep my consciousness in this sad ontological duality
Between being myself and being someone else in his eyes, at
the same time. I know that it ain't good what I'm doing, but
I'm desperately in love with ‘im. I remember that Descartes
wrote that ''we perceive ideas as objects''. Even I'm so
desperately in love with ‘im, I cannot accept this love to
become the object of my lie. Moreover, I cannot deny myself,
even I love my writer so much. My mother told me once that
she thinks that love belongs only to human beings. She said
that love is God becoming feelings inside of us. I remember
that I replied that love is in itself, because even God loves us.
I told her about Cusanus, who wrote that 'the world is not God
but is not anything other than God'. ''Much more than love, God
is truth, she said, because He is ''the fullness of being'." Yes'', I said,
‘'He is uncreated and creates, He gives being out o' nothing after
negating His antithetical nothingness''. I was so happy in that
moment being with God and waiting for a miracle to happen. Now,
those beautiful words seemingly lost their meaning for me. I can
see myself in the future, a very sad woman.I don't want my
consciousness to become a negation. I'm afraid o' this, while being
aware that my love is dying in self. If I wouldn't have Eckhart in my mind,
probably I'd have more courage.I love David and I'm so unhappy!
poem by Marieta Maglas
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0204 Every Dog Will Have His Night
The prick of tears around the eye when reading poetry
is reassuring - that despite what happened
this morning, yesterday, in childhood,
in your last life, whatever -
you're still human.
Philip Levine - whose poems prick my eyes
so often that I'd like to think him
to be the heart of America
or ought to be,
reckons that man is the only animal
that has visionary power.
But I wonder. Can't do more than that; but wonder nevertheless:
my dog,
who lays him down on the hearth at night
with a sigh that shakes his whole body,
as if he's not planning to do anything between sleep and wake,
twitches his hind legs in dream;
and I, unimaginatively, assume he's chasing rabbits -
too intense a twitching for just some playful thrown ball:
does he catch them, or like in my dreams,
get further and further away, the harder he tries?
But psychologists of the human mind
reckon that dreams are the sewage farms
of emotion: cleansing the mind of fears
(and, it seems, for an astonishingly high percentage of Britons,
having a very friendly afternoon tea with the Queen...) .
Which suggests that those chases of failure or perhaps ideal success
that my dog dreams, cleanse emotions too
- and who can doubt, seeing his dog hang his head in shame,
with that strange straightness of the neck like human spine
which can touch his master's heart like nothing else,
who can doubt that dogs have emotions? -
imply that dogs could have ideals
(and am I God, or just
the leader of his pack - how do I, then, measure up?) .
And if they have emotions, and ideals, then
should we not enquire of them more closely
what is dreamt of in their philosophy?
My dog, haunched here beside me,
looks up at me with liquid brown eyes
brimming with faith, hope, and love;
trusting that I'll make the right decision about all this.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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