Prayer is Wealth

Prayer is wealth. Often we think of how little we have, how we haven’t arrived or amassed the millions or billions others already have by a certain age. Well it arrives this evening, a different kind of wealth… prayer. Prayer is this untapped resource of wealth often overlooked. But if we just shift our perspective and imagine tonight how all of us have the potential to pray for others, endlessly, because we have the inherent capability to pray, meditate, or keep someone in our thoughts… elevate them in our minds as we dare to connect to the Highest; to have their best interest in heart, to wish them all that is good on this earth. How much more wealthy can we still want to be if we have the power of prayer within our reach?

when the nothingness swallows me
up and waves engulf me inside its
inevitable chasm pushing me down
towards lifelessness, i wish for
one good thought to fish me out of
my drown, one prayer to reach my
hand and rescue me from the cold
waters; restore me to the sanity
and hope that only contemplation
can revive… that prayer is best
when the seed takes root from the heart

Be Yourself

Each one of us is a uniquely programmed human being, the construct of a great Artist. We are God’s masterpieces here on earth, each one with a peculiar design that sets us apart from the rest. Some taught us to repress those inherent characteristics, but it is that which we repress that will set us free. The idea of being ourselves, please take it to heart. Be yourself, own all your talents and flaws because we are like a puzzle, each piece equally important in bringing forth the bigger picture of our true selves.

it is when i make Him smile…
i please, in His vision i try
to obey the truth of my spirit,
let the world possess me for
my talents; this individuality
deserves expression, not shame
nor confinement inside a drawer
where dreams can never shine;
and i shall suffocate altogether,
unable to express what i came
to say in the first place: in
this lifetime… only i am love

To What Purpose

We are lost ones, no doubt.  Without purpose, we roam earth in circles as though in limbo.  In search of purpose, I arrive not at myself, but rather what I can do for others. The reason why nothing works is because I’ve asked the wrong questions about my own direction. Rather than asking what I can do to better myself, I needed to ask what I needed to do to better the world around me. How can I contribute to the universe with my God-given talents? When I removed the focus away from myself, only then did purpose become a little less cloudy.

to what purpose
may i be used?
when readiness
persists upon
days sans rain
or shine; and
drafty rooms
with soot on
windows make
impossible to
diffuse light
from inside. how
can i breach this
shadow hanging
over the world’s
shoulders when it
is only i against
those great beasts
of the night? what
sword must i
brandish to intimidate
fear into submission?
how will i be used
when i stumble
before greatness
and i fall before i
can answer the call?
is it too late or is
this the beginning
of it all?

The Cleanliness is All

The cleanliness is all. In Hamlet, I know, it says “the readiness is all.” But readiness coupled with cleanliness seem to be the perfect combination to upstart one’s spiritual journey. It’s the new year, month 2 into it, and there’s this need to just flush everything that still remains of the last year or maybe the past. It now becomes more important than ever, to shed all that cocoon we’ve hidden ourselves in, because of an urging need to become like butterflies. To morph into the beings we need to be in order to take flight towards the path of a fantastic change. To not be attached because change is constant. And it is the cleanliness, the cleansing that we must participate in, whether physical, emotional or spiritual, which will open us to a new idea that has always been there in front of eyes which coincidentally happens to be the mirror to our truth.

i’ll sweep it all up,
what a mess i am inside
all the clutter, all that
remains of my past, in
between the crevices of
a wall i did not know i
built, but here they
are towering over me,
fencing me up without
sun to see into the day…
in your eyes where i see
more of myself than i do
before this mirror, this
false reflection of hope
i long to break, tear down,
and sweep away if it means
to gather forth the
universe into my heart

Truth

There’s a truth in all of us. This is the one we’re not quite proud of, a persistent thing that won’t disappear even though we’ve hidden it in the farthest and coldest recesses of our minds. We ignore it and yet it creeps in front of us like a contender who adamantly refuses to surrender the fight even though they are beaten and bleeding, broken and smashed beyond recognition. But we recognize it because it is our truth.

At some point, you correlate stagnancy and stillness, which the world has inched around you, with this truth. There’s a point when we exhaust the battle and we give in to accepting this truth. Understanding this truth, embracing it, is probably one of the greatest thing we can do for ourselves because that moment of surrender seems to be the pass to moving forward, for the world to suddenly open up and rejoice in the individual we are meant to be… the truth that one must be.

truth is the indigenous love,
the first occupiers repressed,
forgotten, depressed because
it is primary; and primitive often
castes doubts and distorts the image
in the mirror before me, of who and
what i need to be, instead, my
mission thwarted by reclusivity;
i downplayed the meaning, even
thought impossibility, but the god
inside refuses and stands up for me.
in faith, this occurs naturally;
truth reincarnates out of necessity

poison in my glass

Recently, the word “Flint” has been grabbing my eye. One picture I came across was this grand, white water tower with the word FLINT spelled in black bold letters across it. It is a city in Michigan whose primary water source was switched over to the Flint River, which is more of a toxic dump than river. People persistently complained about the water, its uncanny color, its awful taste, but to no avail… no one believed. And it would be many months down the road when officials will finally listen because experts have found lead in Flint’s water, which courses through the veins of children. And this made me furious and sad at the same time so I chose to reflect on this tragic incident through various poems written in poeticalsounds.com

poetical sounds

investigate into these waters…
it is blue, red and clear on good
days; but good days run low like
toilet paper on the market shelves
and all i’m asking is you take a look
because the water seems not from any
spring or lake i know whose color
sometimes mime faint Tang or Jaritos.
no, this liquid mimics sangria i don’t
want to imbibe for the first time.
the tint arouses suspicion and still
insist it is all fresh from tap.
when yesterday’s pipes have been
gurgling blood and each sanguine drop
fills my mouth… the pain is worth a
scream, but you refuse to hear and i’ve
gone for days without a drink; by now,
thirst taunts me, but what can i do
when there is no alternative but
the orange poison in my glass

View original post