No matter where I go, there I am, at the center of my universe, with every vector of possibility extending outward to infinity and beyond. When I can settle and still the turmoil of my soul, I can see the heavens in my own being. I know the sun does not truly rise in the sky, nor is the horizon the edge of the world, yet I live as though I believe the earth is flat and this is all there is to my being. It is a lie that the past creates the present and the present creates the future, when memories of the future can inform the present and change my very perception of the past I thought I knew. I can live tomorrow’s dream today if only I choose to look beyond the veil and accept that I am a wizard, rather than a human bound by fate. I am the relationship between nowhere and now here because I have localized eternity to this point in time and choose to focus on this present.
@Home Studio – 143rd poem of the year
Chopra, Deepak. The Way of the Wizard: Twenty Spiritual Lessons for Creating the Life You Want. New York, United States of America, Harmony Books, 1995, pp.109-115.
Runner ups for the Eternity photos to accompany my poem:
Photograph I took from inside Buddha Hall at The Writing Barn on 5/5/24.
The oak trees stand guard, keeping bothersome reality at bay, ensuring sanctuary for these tireless artists of word and story, providing respite from judgment long enough for imagination to begin the process of creative unfolding, for that is the only way the art is born fresh and raw, unfiltered. Yes, the work of shaping, peeling, whittling away the excess will be done to perfect and sculpt the mass into something more palatable, but the first bloody moments of pain and relief, joy and confusion, brilliant bursts of kaleidoscopic invention spilled out into the universe deserve to be protected. The oak trees understand their assignment and take their oaths very seriously, and for their loyalty, I am grateful.
@The Writing Barn: Buddha Hall – 126th poem of the year
Photograph I took in Buddha Hall at The Writing Barn on 5/5/24.
There always seems to be someone who hates, whose resentment fills their soul until nothing else can fit and the surrounding world must pay. Everyone who endures suffering must decide whether to heal or hurt, a weighty choice, for it affects the fate of your trajectory henceforward. In matters of the heart, as in matters of state, humanity should remain centered in our judgment, and the resulting actions must be measured carefully to create the least harm to all involved.
@The Writing Barn: Buddha Hall (after watching Dawn of the Planet of the Apes at Greg’s house with Greg and his family, Debbie, Celinda, and David on 5/4/24) – 125th poem of the year
Reeves, Matt, et al. Dawn of the Planet of the Apes 20th Century Fox, 2014.
My anger used to be the kind that exploded like an overheated pressure cooker. I think it’s because I used to care; it hurt to feel like a last resort afterthought. Now my anger is the kind that pools in a dirty puddle and breeds mosquitos. I think that’s because my will to care has turned stagnate, a film formed on the surface like old milk.
Rebekah Marshall @Home Studio on 4/29/24 @ 9:39pm – 119th poem of the year
rebekahjmarshall 