Tags
Boundaries, Choice, Courage, Empowerment, Freedom, Hope, Human Experience, Independence, Inner Strength, Light And Shadow, Paradox, Perseverance, Personal Growth, Purpose, Reflection, Resilience, Responsibility, Self Discovery, Transformation, Wisdom
Freedom is a wildfire racing through the corridors confined,
Consuming what once held us, leaving fertile ash behind.
But what is freedom—just the blaze that breaks us free,
Or the tender shoot that rises toward what yet may be?
It is not the freedom to wound, nor the right to turn away,
Nor the chase of false dreams guiding us to stray.
Freedom is not chaos, nor comfort of the known,
But the quiet resolve to walk a path alone.
To be unbound is not to drift on tides with no return,
Nor to cast away the lessons we still must learn.
True freedom moves with wisdom’s silent, steady hand,
And anchors us with purpose in life’s ever-shifting sand.
We seek it in stillness, in the wild and boundless air,
In the boldness to speak and the grace to truly care.
Yet freedom is not captured in the boldest, bravest cry,
But in the steady flame that burns and will not die.
It is not the absence of every constraint,
Nor the mask of perfection, nor the pose of a saint.
Freedom is the wisdom to bend when the world demands,
And the purpose to hold firm when storms assail where we stand.
Some believe freedom is the right to roam as we please,
But wisdom knows it is more than a life lived in ease.
It is the burden of choosing, the shaping of soul,
The fire that tempers us, forging the whole.
Freedom is not granted, nor swiftly attained,
But the work of a lifetime, endlessly sustained.
It’s the courage to question, the honor to forgive,
The valor to transform, the will to truly live.
It is not a treasure claimed by sword or decree,
But a journey inward, unfolding quietly.
To be free is to walk with both shadow and light,
To embrace the uncertain, and draw strength from the fight.
Let us hold freedom close when the world turns cold,
A beacon of hope more precious than gold.
For though shadows may gather and silence may fall,
Freedom still rises—the fiercest flame of all.
When All Illusions Fall
13 Friday Jun 2025
Tags
Buddhism, Collapse of Industrial Civilization, Harmony Within, Inner Journey, Inner Peace, Meaning of Life, Meditative Verse, Personal Transformation, Quiet Reflection, Seeking Truth, Self Discovery, Taoism
Beyond the chase for gold or fame,
A deeper thirst, without a name—
Not sated by the world’s applause,
But found in quiet, sacred pause.
A pearl lies hidden, veiled from sight,
Within the soul’s unending night;
To find its glow, we dive within,
Where transformation must begin.
The world distracts with noise and light,
But clues appear in fleeting sight—
A song, a tree, a lover’s face,
Hints of a deeper, sacred place.
The body’s cells, with purpose aligned,
Reveal the unity we seek to find.
Each serves the whole, each knows its place,
Selfless, bonded, woven grace.
No cell withholds, no cell denies,
They live the truth that underlies—
That giving, joining, letting be,
Is nature’s path to harmony.
We think the outer world alone is real,
But all we touch and taste and feel,
Is born within the mind’s domain—
A dance of signals, joy and pain.
The world is in us, not outside,
The dreamer and the dream collide;
All boundaries blur, all forms dissolve,
As inner worlds and stars revolve.
What you are seeking, you already hold—
The silent witness, gentle yet bold.
No far-off journey, no prize to win,
The treasure stirs in silence, deep within.
But shadows linger, doubts arise,
A silent ache behind the eyes.
We wander lost through tangled thought,
Afraid the pearl we seek is naught.
Yet in the hush where longing breaks,
A deeper knowing softly wakes.
Through every trial, wound, and scar,
We find how near we truly are.
Release the chase, the maps, the strife,
The restless search through outer life;
In stillness, meet the self that stays
When all illusions fall away.
Pain may come, but suffering’s chain
Is forged by mind, in false terrain.
We cling to stories, regrets, and fears,
Confined within our phantom years.
Let feelings pass like streams that flow,
Let truth unwind what isn’t so;
In presence, suffering fades to air—
The real remains, the false laid bare.
A root runs deep, where questions burn,
Threading through chambers as mysteries churn.
It drinks the rains of joy and ache,
And blossoms quietly when you wake.
Ask, and the answer floods your days;
Knock, and the door reveals the ways.
You are the mystery you seek—
The root, the flower, the voice unique.
Collapse of Industrial Civilization 