Like a scent
The winter of the soul rises
The white snow of life
The sweet coldness of solitude
In the obscurity of silence
Multicoloured butterflies
The joy of being
Suffering runs amongst the people
The noise of injustice is let loose
The shadow of pain Is with us
Life amongst the children runs
The light of young people who in obscure strokes
Condition our selves to a life
Of reparations
And forgive our selves
In just one instant
Standing up
Face to our selves
Karma is not a condemnation
But a condition
The opportunity to visit anew
The forgotten corners
The lost keys
A space and time to confront one’s self
A foal that fights the harness and tames itself
Both at the same time
Conscious that the reign is not a torture
Nor the seat a suffering
and the weight of one’s self: a joy
Life is...
Life
Buds that sprout
In spite of the winter
In spite of the summer
In spite of the odds
And grow pink in spring
We are
We grow amongst our selves
Like peal and fruit at the same time
Soil and manure
And what was karma becomes destiny
What was suffering becomes firm earth
Being is
And when it is, we Are
There is no other Being
Than what Is
It is not I who is
Because when I am,
It Is
But this is just another way of saying I Am or
We Are
If we could understand it like that
My deepest being
is not “mine”
It is ours
In that dimension
We are One
Without it
We are not
I is the karma
We
The destiny
But don’t think about us when you remember your self
When you remember yourself, don’t think
Thought is not a key to that dimension
Consciousness is not a thought but an attribute of being
We are so childish,
such teenagers while convinced that the mind can be
When it is only the reigns of karma
The ink that inscribes it
A tool
Not the source of life
Don’t think about Us
Or make a religion of Us
Even if all religions are about that connection
Be
Us
in the human within
We are not a thought
We cannot “think” our selves
We have to “be” our selves
Live our selves out
“Make” ourselves
Its what we Are in our Acts what expresses our consciousness
Acts what sculpt it
Not what we think
the mind is a slave to the king in power,
the will on the throne
The joy and the inspiration that come from the mind comes from the exterior
From within it's the will that inspires
Each human being is a Sun and there are many already out there
We Are
That
That we call human
And that we treat with such contempt while making a line at the
theatre, the bank or refer to “the tourists” "the masses" and those in the barricades that we offer so easily to death without thinking
Not the American, the Russian or the Latin, the European or the Arab, the African, the Asian or the primitive from the Amazones but the American, Russian, Latin, European, Arab, African, Asian and the primitive from the Amazones
We are
One human being
A life filled with lives
Cells in Earth’s skin
Atoms in the heart of the Universe
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