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This page is a compilation of selected poems in "The Miracle Inside My mind!"


To be or not
To be?
To realize
what you are
and believe in it.

     The future is a great mystery. We always worry about the future, yet the future never comes. The only thing that exists is: now, now, now and more now. I’ve got to stop listening to emotions and allowing them to control what I think.
     It seems that your life (P.D. Ouspensky) is made up of many, many small experiences and happenings. Looking at your life for only a moment is like looking at a drop of water! When you look at it under a microscope, you see that it is made up of much more. You are the culmination of your mundane everyday decisions. It’s not always the “big” decisions you make that are important. Sometimes it’s the many small decisions.
God is real,
but I make a fake
and it destroys me.

     I do not want to live in ignorance. While here or there, I want to know my thoughts. I do not want a house whose color I don’t even know. El mundo, a conspiracy, conducted by my thoughts, against myself.

There is a great
conspiracy in the world,
and it’s conducted
by me,
against myself.

        The future is a juicy peach,
        but the future holds the death of all.
        The future says I’m lucky,
        I’ve got my entire life ahead of me,  
        —it speaks enviously, with great expectations,
        but the future makes no promises, and expects so much.

The sarcastic weight of the future sits confidently on my shoulders, not knowing which door to open, nor having all the keys, but understanding that self doubt and fear follow like stalkers, and the only definite thing is cold uncertainty.
The future looks bright today,
although I know,
the world is to decay.
The future looks bright today,
although I know,
Satan is coming to play.
     Thoughts are like objects. You should be careful before you discard them. Examine them. Look at the fine print!
        Thoughts are splendid when taken as an art.
        This thought is absurd when it is not.

Fission yourself a picture,
so if you fail,
do not blame your actions,
but your thoughts.
Ignorance? Well, well, you
spit on your soul, and say that
you’ve raised it up!
Fling a feather
              in the sun, and I’m
                     off and away…in time.
Lying on my bed, I close my eyes. I feel the future.
I feel a rush of exhilaration. It’s like a rush of cool,
fresh air! It’s me, it’s me. I’ve done it.
I’ve done the impossible. These are mind-controlling thoughts. I can’t stop thinking them. They’re driving my mind. They sit in me, anchored like an immovable object.
“Yes, yes,” I think. “I did it, I did it, I did it.”
Every phrase, “I did it,” is like my chin bouncing again
and again on an asphalt road. The thoughts feel good as long as I don’t think about them, if I’m satisfied
they’re pleasurable; discontent, wandering,
impatient, they bite.
I think of a girl. She’s young. She’s old. She’s
beautiful and ugly. I reach out, long for her. She’s
everything and I hate her. I turn away. I’m drawn
to the furnace. I won’t look away. No, I look into
it and experience the heat. When I close my eyes,
I travel quickly. Every land is present, all seen, all
experienced. Everything is okay.

Step away, avoid this and that and go sideways.
Who am I today? I open my eyes. The ceiling above my bed confines me. THERE IS LESS SPACE IN THE ROOM THAN IN MY MIND. I CLOSE MY EYES AND THE WORLD OPENS UP. The sky is bright and breathtaking. I look down upon the brown world. I remember the room and remember the limits; there are competing forces, but the forces are one. 

The irony follows. Wherever I go, whomever I’m with.
Okay, forget it. Turn direction.
It’s time to focus on the outer world. Maybe I can escape.  Oh God, I hope I tell you right!

My emotions are like clouds in the sky—
they blow in and out of my life.
To say one’s my piece,
yet one’s piece isn’t a part of the whole.
To laugh when you’re actually crying.
What a liar!
        Who is there is my darkened corner?
        Is it my lover?
        Who else could it be?
        For who else could bring me so low?

        Who is there in my highest palace?
        Is it my lover?
        Who else could it be?
        For who else could bring me so high?

        What else could make me feel so
        low, yet make me feel so high? For in my
        lowness I’m seeking solace from my lack of
        highness. My lack of my loved one.

        How do I express the dreams I see tonight?
        How do I express the stars above tonight?
        How do I express the tears I shed tonight?
        Willowing whispers tonight—in that I may
        see tonight, greater dreams than I once
        dreamt—greater hope than I once hoped.
        Greater stars tonight, I hope I see.

        What dam within can stop this feeling
        within? What strength within can make
        me feel no more? I don’t know. I wish there was
        a strength. But it seems if there is, it
        never shows. Never helps. Never gives.

        The river flows—this retched thing of my
        pitiful self. This power I cannot control, this
        feeling that is mine—my love for those who
        don’t love me. My care for those who don’t care for
        me. How can I stop loving? It hurts so bad. It
        takes all my mind—it gives nothing back—it never does.

My virtue seems
to be a valley in
the dark—it’s there
but I can’t see it.

I see it, and
Satan fears,
and Satan spreads
this fear on me like butter.
Thoughts are
splendid when
taken as an art.
But of course,
this one is absurd,
when it is not.

I pray to God,
or of course,
I should become God…
which of course
is a bad thought.
Rather, think as
God would, and hope
for the best.
     …Seon and the Fountain walked far up into the mountain. They walked to the snow covered peak, and reached the rim of the volcano. They looked down, and saw the burning lava, stirring with intensity.
     The Fountain spoke: “To love is to teach love.”
Your innermost self doesn’t talk with words,
but with actions in the outer world.

Like a river always coming and always going,
my love is always giving and always taking.
Like the thorns of the bush,
so beautiful until
the touch.

I’d leave you standing in the sadness of yourself.
Your blunt words, your careless actions-
your conceit, your vanity, your stupidity.
But leaving you, I’d leave a part of myself.

I’d run from you when your heart is filled
with vanity and discontent.
But running from you would be running
from myself. Running from my feelings of you
that are as common as rain in the winter.

When you screech, I say not, “Oh what
A terrible person,” I say, “Ouch,” my love has
hurt me. When you limp, I say not, “Oh,
she is so ignorant.” I say, “I must walk slower.”
Words only pass away—
But my feelings are here to stay—
You and I and here tomorrow—
The wind swept breezes
—soaking up sorrow.
Let me take you here and now, you are my lover.
But tomorrow shall come and I shall say never.

Let me tear, a tear
over wind swept morrow.
Let me cry, a cry
over our lonely sorrow.
Kiss a penny in the wind
—and say good-bye.

Words will pass away
and so will morrow
 —but my love for you will live in morrow
and in dust and in night.

The tough rolling carriage
rolling away
shall leave me here.
I cry
upon this carriage day.
I shall love forever.

When all is gone, and passed
away, my love for you
shall linger on. Further
than death, as long as time. Forever
your presence (my love that is real)
shall linger here.
As the air I breathed, as the soil I touched,
you will be here.
Real thought is a release, a fresh flowing stream! A breath of fresh air!
Real thought is thought
unlike any other. Real thought is here, not there or then, or tomorrow.
I’m thinking right. I’m thinking beautiful!
           The quick flowing river consumes               
         the weak. It doesn’t care who you                     
are, or from where you come. It sweeps
you up as a matter of routine.
Unstable. It’s my friend, my savior,
the knight in shining armor. Without
instability, there would be death. Falling
toward stone rocks is not a time for stability.
Better to be shifty, dynamic,
swift on the feet! Predictability leads
to vulnerability. Change at the cost of
instability is a small price to pay.
Traveling through space and time…
Consciousness dangles amongst confident meteors.
The answers to the questions, placed in the
wrong mail slots, scattered across the floor
the disarray is difficult to organize as I step
up to the plate. Thoughts are scrambled, information
hazy…The questions are straightforward, the answers
are found in the maze.

Time is disjointed. Space is disarrayed. Ten feet is
no longer ten feet. Ten feet is six inches, twelve feet,
changing each moment. Time is a moment and an hour.
Time drifts, and jolts to a stop.

     I must never confront something out of me, in an attempt to fulfill something in me.
I’m not sure what’s going on.

Once so sure, once so simple, once so clear…
I’ve returned to the room of darkness.
Brought back like a hunted down slave,
and thrown into the cell. My wrists and ankles
shackled. I lay in darkness, and attempt to
break free once more.
The pressure was extreme,
battle lines were drawn,
I was the loser.
        An act has no meaning without the thought behind it.
        An act is morally hollow,
         it does not sprout virtue.
        An act is an object like a rock,
        a pebble or boulder.
        Its only meaning is the one associated with it,
        without the meaning we give the object,
        it is meaningless.
        Feelings were present
        to hide other feelings;
        pleasing my mother, obeying “God”
        created the mass.
        And now I stand at the doorway.
        I call “God” out.
        I call “Mother” out.
        I say, stop it! You will smother me no more.
        I will come out and disobey and do what I please.
        I am not a slave.
        It’s better to be mischievous and disobedient,
        dynamic and young,
        than stunted and muted and obedient.
        Virtue for the sake of reward is not virtue, but chains.
            I hate you.
            You are the one who
            notices my fault.
            You are the one who exposes
            the secrets.
            …Look at the way you dress!
            Look at the way you walk
            and talk and play and laugh.
            You are too familiar. You are me.
            To become the pain is to become myself.
            I can withstand the pain.
            It’s only when I push it aside
            and look in the mirror
            that I can’t stand the pain…
It’s a bottomless pit of emotion.
Consciousness is so deep.
The depth of my consciousness
will in the end consume the fire.
            The part of me I always hated,
            is me.
            I’m the one that thinks stupid things,
            that makes wrong conclusions,
            gets scared because he’s alone.
            It’s my fault.
            I tried to stop being scared,
            but I couldn’t.
            I couldn’t stop being me.
            My victory is the ability to
            feel pain.
            For at least in doing so I can
            say goodbye to it…
 May 25, 1978

     I’m lucky to the deepest soul. I’m dissipating my past. I’m calling subconscious feelings what they are—and these feelings, entangled in my motives and actions, are becoming memory.
     God is everywhere, like a mirror that can never be covered! God is here and there! God is now and then! God is today and tomorrow! Breathe, and smell God. Touch, and touch God! Hear, and hear God! Taste, and taste God! The moment is God; rejoice in the moment, because the moment is God! What is “I am?” “I am” is a mirror image of God!
     To search for God is to look deep inside. One cannot truly know oneself, without knowing God. Living without God is a type of self-estrangement.
     “But,” said Moses to God, “when I go to the Israelites and say to them, ‘The God of your fathers has sent me to you,’ if they ask me, ‘What is his name?’ what am I to tell them?” God replied, “I am who am.” Then he added, “This is what you shall tell the Israelites: I AM sent me to you.” Exodus 3:13 to 3:14

            Like a fingerprint,
            a snowflake,
            a person— 
            each moment is unique.
            Live it, experience it, embrace it,
            the moment will never come again…
    The tree in the backyard is talking to me. It shows
    me a photo of a man with dark, olive colored skin.
    The face is old. Long wrinkles flow down from his eyes.
    He is balding. “This is you,” says the tree.

    I’m floating underwater. I hear a micro-phonic voice.
    The voice flows through me. It is understood that I will learn.
    I slowly emerge up through the water. I see the air.
    I see the clouds. Ten feet from the surface.
    I begin to feel a burning pain. I can hold my breath no longer.
    I hear a loud noise, like a vibrating motor.
    I’m awaking…but then, I stop. I’m suspended in myself.
    The vibrating motor buzzes back and forth on my forehead.
    I can’t breath. This goes on for a few minutes, maybe longer.
    I then awake. I’m very tired. There is a depressing feeling,
    it’s like sand paper rubbing against my forehead.
            Oh God, I know you are there.
            I know your hurt is not
            hurt, but love and consciousness. Help
            me to absorb this pain, so that
            I may become more like you.
            Help me to find peace.



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Email: lam@themiracleinsidemymind.com