Poetry: Stepping Forward


Photo taken at Mottisfont, UK

Moving, causing pain that will never leave my mind.
Forever apart of me, it will never disappear from sight.
The subconscious, the eye behind the eyelid, watches endlessly.
A motion I do not desire, forward, I urge to not move.

Change, away from the same, away from the safety.
Each day propels me to alter myself, a tiresome effort with little payoff.
Expectations lead me to doubt, my wants crumble at my feet.
Recapturing the pieces of a broken heart, with no substances can put back together.

Shifting, the numbness of my arm, I’ve laid too long.
Struggling against the temptation to ease the agony, resistance—my friend.
A heavy body I push to keep still, yet, the weight of emotions escalates.
Awareness of my lack of awareness, the darkness is where I reside.

Ahead, the unknown waiting for, frozen in my foot steps.
Gripped by the fear of stepping forward, I paralyze my own limbs in a coma.
Daring not to dream, I don’t want my prize.
My own light, my own shadows, I walk the line of al-oneness.

True Stories: A Milkshake


Disclaimer: The following story happened a year ago in NYC.

For some reason after watching a T.V. show, I wanted to have a milkshake. After countless stomach pains I got from having milkshakes in the past, I was a bit reluctant about the idea of going through the discomfort. However, I still wanted to experience the sensation of sipping on a strawberry shake through a straw while watching more shows on Netflix. I decided to take a trip to Burger King, which was right across the street from where I lived.

Standing in line, all I thought about was the agony I was going to feel after drinking it. I questioned myself: Why in the hell am I getting this if I all I’m going to do is suffer after? As I was about to turn around and leave, I remember a experiment that Dr. Masaru Emoto did involving how thoughts, words and music change the molecular structure of water in both positive and negative ways; I wanted my milkshake to have as much positivity as possible so my stomach wouldn’t suffer. Since the people making the milkshake were behind the counter and did not have enough time to attach words to the cup or play music, I’d have to get positivity into it from a different angle. I figured if I got the people preparing the milkshake to do so with a positive intention then I could get what I wanted. But, how exactly could I do that?

Approaching the counter, still not sure about what to do, I asked for my milkshake but then proceeded to ask: “Can you put some extra love in it please?” The woman behind the counter looked me straight in the eyes and said, “What’s love?” I made a bewildered face and said, “You don’t know what love is?!” The woman snickered and looked over to another woman at the drive-thru window. She called out to her and the woman looked back at her. “Do we have love here?” she asked jokingly. The people behind me started to laugh, I tried to keep a serious face as I was determined to get love into my milkshake. The woman by the drive-thru said “I don’t know what that is.” The woman behind the counter laughed out loud, then walked off to find another person in the back. She continued to ask if there was any love in the store and everyone replied questioningly. Everyone behind the counter was smiling, their faces revealing a bit of confusion. I thought to myself, I must be the craziest person to ask such a thing; my arm pits filled with sweat.

From all the smiling and lighter movements the people behind the counter were making, I wasn’t exactly sure if I achieved what I wanted— but they sure couldn’t stop talking about it. I stood there the entire time it took for my milkshake to get into my hands, sarcastic remarks flapping around the room, like a sea lion at sea-world. Even other customers had joined in and were joking about how they wanted love in their food too.

It wasn’t until later, drinking my milkshake at home and watching my T.V. shows that I realised that it did taste a lot better. Also, after a few days I noticed I didn’t have the usual harsh stomachache like I always did. I wonder if it paid off doing what I did. Or maybe, it was all in my head.

The Healing Pond


Photo taken in Southampton

Laying on my back on the sofa, I allow the muscles in my hips, shoulders and thighs to melt into the surface of the cushions; my legs sway a little as they naturally stop in their place. The tension behind my eyes are released, the feeling of peace reverberates to the centre of my body. Rising and falling, the air in my chest flows instinctively— slowly inhale, slowly exhale. My fingers slide apart into the sofa, the palms of my hands become soft as of a lovers graze. A gentle breeze, from no where, runs up my arm as the conjoined quiver slides down my spine; a large exhale.

As I sink deeper into myself, I begin to visualise a small pond surrounded by firm palm trees; the lines in their trunks are profound and distinct. The water is forming soft ripples, gliding along the surface, as if being combed by the wind. I walk slowly towards the pond and look down into it; blue light emanating from the bottom. My curiosity takes control as I try to get a clearer look at what’s there— diving into the water. Bubbles of all sizes form around my body, a bleak grey steam dissolves off my skin into the water, I’m rotating my arms to propel me into the depths of the pond.

Plunging through the mist, the blue light becomes more refine, revealing a cluster of very large clear quartz crystals— covering the entire floor of the pond, their pointed tips facing up towards me. I float in suspension, bewildered by the amount of crystals before me. The energy they emit sends tingles throughout my body. The vibration leaving me paralysed, my body starts to drift. Losing my poise, my back is pointed towards the crystals. The blue light beginning to enter the pores of my left arm, seeping into my cells, causing them to glow white. Lines of white light extend to my heart as it circulates through my body; the incandescent light encased my entire being.

Starting from my feet going up, my body becomes fragmented. Tiny balls form as they start to vibrate faster and faster and clash into each other vigorously. From where my head used to be, a crystallized head starts to form. My crystal-quartz-transparent-human-body floats in the middle of the pond, glowing yellow aura a few inches away from me, as I attempt to move my finger tips.

I breathe steadily as I move my toes and stretch my arms. I am recreated in higher vibration; my body feeling smooth and silky against the sofa. I slowly open my eyes and bring myself back to my reality, ready to share this new energy with the world.

Solitary Breach


Taken at Glastonbury Tor, UK

Many of my recent blogs have talked about new discoveries I’ve made about myself — there’s much more to come — however, this blog will reveal a belief I’ve had for a long time that has now been shattered and was the catalyst for a whole new course of experiences.  A few nights ago, my wife and I had a small discussion that triggered an ancient, deep wound. A wound that I dare not touch in the company of other people and, if left unchecked, would scare even a lion; at least I think it would.

My wife felt disappointed and sad as a result of circumstances with one of her friends and for some reason I was plunged into depths of the past to the time when my father first went was into prison. The memories encapsulated with the force of a Mike Tyson blow in the first round. Tears flooded out of my eyes faster than I could control them; anger, rage, body heat, muscle tension at the flip of a switch! My wife immediately grabbed me and held me in her arms, in my mind I couldn’t believe what had just happened to me. At the same time, I remembered when I was a child, standing in front of a large iron barred door, watching my father be taken back to the prison complex; my mother and baby sister standing next to me as I roared with tears of despair. To watch my father be taken away and not being able to do anything about it was self-implosive.

                *           *           *

I cried hard; telling my wife that I wouldn’t wish on anyone the kind of loss I felt when my father was taken away. To feel, not only the loss of the person you love most, but like your entire world has been thrown up in the air— at only the age of five or six. In many ways I question what would feel worse: To feel the pain of loss through death or the pain of loss of having someone you simply can’t touch, see or talk to anymore?

I stopped crying for a while, my wife and I got some dinner and, before I could sit down, the grips of sadness and gloom grabbed my heart, their reflexes as quick as if you were trying to catch an object before it could smash to the ground; tears, yet again, streamed out as I crouched over my chair, tear drops slamming onto the seat cover. I knew at this point I had to pay attention to this and give myself empathy. My wife asked me what she could do to ease my sadness, but I explained to her that simply being present with me was enough. I told her a specific memory I had at age sixteen:

A number of my family members came with my mother, sister and me to visit my father in prison.  Everything was fine and the visit was great, we talked, laughed and I listened to father reminiscing with my aunt and mother.  At the end of the visit, I watched my father closely as he walked away. It was then the sadness boiled up and I began to cry uncontrollably.  My aunt held me as snot filled tears flew all over my face.  I wept all the way back to the car and sobbed some more on the two hour drive back home.

As I was telling my wife this story, I saw this pain coming from a treasure box and I began to visualize that box being absorbed/integrated into my heart space. Revealed to me, was a lot of anger being kept in the box, due to not having my father around. I learned a few weeks ago that anger was the result of a need not having been met — a need for my father to be present in my life.

                    *           *           *

After a while of talking about my feelings as they were occurring, I felt much better and we went back to what my wife was talking about prior to my volcanic-emotional melt down. I felt a deep seeded connection with my wife that night and a huge release in my heart as well— great timing. The biggest revelation is that I no longer have to carry this pain alone, nor feel like I have to. The old way of thinking was that I had to do everything by myself, that way I wouldn’t feel disappointed and let down, something I took very seriously when it comes to my emotions. However, now, it’s very important to rely on others and share the metaphorical monkey we carry on our shoulders. I can truly say I’ve finally found someone in my life that is helping me to open the door of trust; a door which is no longer a door, but a steady flow of energy to all those who are around me.

Suspected Beauty (Originally made 5-Nov-2014)

Suspected Beauty

Photo Taken in Southampton, England 

I don’t know about you, but I tend to think when I see a beautiful woman that she’s utterly perfect in every way, only to later be disappointed that something about her personality isn’t as “perfect” as I imagined. I first noticed this at age 24 when living in Germany, after chasing a woman down for six months because I thought she was the one for me. At times in life, after we’ve jumped head first into things, we hit rough patches and think “This isn’t what I want anymore,” when in fact, certain things are needed to be learned first.

I always think if I know enough of what I don’t want in a partner then I will get even closer to what I do what. This then would give me better focus on the kinds of people that show up in my life, in other words, it would give birth to the right woman appearing in my reality. At the same time I used to look at “beautiful woman” and try to tuck what I didn’t like about them under the metaphorical rug we have that’ covers a ton of dirt.

Upon wondering —this irresistible thought of beautiful women being perfect— I concluded it must come from our lovely news, movies, music and fashion viewpoints. If you watch carefully, you would notice that in the media nearly all the women presented have a distinct “beautiful” look to them, which over years of constant exposure become ingrained into the subconscious. The billboard to the frail mind “only beautiful women are acceptable!” A slap in the face for becoming brainwashed, this way of manipulation, and to then, with great distress, try to reverse the process of 15 to 20 years of programming, it’s the equivalent of parting the Red Sea. How would I think if I saw women for who they truly are instead of based on their physical appearance?

After learning so much about myself, and reverting some of the old mental programming, I can see much deeper into people than I could in the past. Just by watching how a person speaks or how they move their hands when conveying an idea shows a intense impression of beauty. The elegance in natural behaviors and mannerisms is so captivating that a camera cannot fully capture it —yet it can almost be tasted. I will have to thank the old patterns of thinking for it has helped me reach this new pinnacle of vision.