Every fact is a dream made visible, so I invite you to live as though your dream were already a fact! I am convinced that every dream (desire), good, bad or indifferent, I have dared to live in the now, has gradually and unnoticed blossomed into fact in my life.

Can you imagine? Imagine what it would feel like if you were handed a million dollars, or that your oncologist told you that all your tumors in your body have disappeared and there are no more cancer cells ravaging your body. How would you respond? Would you do cartwheels on your front lawn, or perhaps call your family and friends and share in your good fortune?

In algebra for instance, what is fact on one side of the equation must also equate on the other side, right? For example 3+5 = 16 divided by 2 and, 16 divided by 2 = 3+5. So is it reasonable to assume that if receiving a million dollars, or being told you are cancer-free = doing cartwheels on your front lawn + calling all your family and friends, you must also assume that the reverse is equally as true? Therefore I say this: “Start doing cartwheels on your front lawn + call all your family and friends, in consciousness, or as an “Imagineer” and the million dollars, or being told you are cancer-free will be your new reality.”

Whatever state you occupy becomes your reality. Remain faithful to it, and you will discover that the state has its own way of externalizing itself. You must, however, give the desired state occupancy.

How do you occupy a state? By asking yourself how you would feel, what you would see, hear, taste, touch, and smell, if your dream were real. Take time to set the stage. Being the star of your production, place yourself center stage, then allow a friend to enter and see you in your new state. Write the script – the words he would say when he sees you (when I say he, I also mean she, for there’s only one character in the play and that is YOU!). Remember, everything you see, feel, touch, hear, taste and smell here and now, is you ‘pushed out’.  There are no ‘others’.  Apparent others are simply a reflection of you. This is the shadow world, and it exists in your own wonderful imagination! Clothe yourself with the reality of the state you have just created in your imagination. You need not ask anyone’s permission or help, but moving into the new state in your imagination, simply remain there until you feel its reality. (“And, behold, I send the promise of my Father upon you: but tarry ye in the city of Jerusalem, until ye be endued with power from on high.” – Luke 24:49) ).  In Strong’s Exhaustive Concordance of the Bible  the word ‘Jerusalem’, or ‘Shalam’, means ‘to be at peace’, so I suggest that you remain at peace as the play unfolds.

The tendency, for those who begin to use their imagination in a conscious way, is to ‘doubt’ I liken that to a man who plants a seed in his garden and every so often he digs it out to see if it’s growing. Absurd as this may sound, this is what we do when we imagine something better for ourselves, or others  (although praying for others often bears quicker results simply because we have the tendency to believe that others are more worthy of good fortune than we are). We are always saying, with the tongue of the mind, “Is it happening yet? Or, “Shoot, this is taking longer than I thought”. And, as tendency would have it, we simply return to our old state, until we have learned the lesson.

There are references to these tendencies in the bible, and precisely what happens when we support these so-called impulses. I call tendencies ‘habit energy’; automatic impulses that are re-awakened when we give into our old perceptions, or images of ourselves.

For instance, in the book of Job – 3:25 Job says: ‘For the thing which I greatly feared is come upon me, and that which I was afraid of is come unto me’, and further on, Job – 42:10  - “And the Lord restored the fortunes of Job, when he had prayed for his friends. And the Lord gave Job twice as much as he had before.”

This is very good news indeed for those who have difficulty in receiving for themselves; for, like Job, your reward will come from praying for others. In the end it doesn’t matter because as I mentioned before, there is only you ‘pushed out’. Whenever you pray for an apparent ‘other’, you are in fact praying for yourself.

And, should you decide to return to your old state, you will fulfill this prophecy: “But Lot’s wife, behind him, looked back, and she became a pillar of salt.” Genesis 19:26. Salt is a preservative, and when you look back at your old state of ‘being’ and choose to remain there, you are preserved in that state until you fulfill the law.

The law is simple: YOU NEVER BECOME, YOU ALWAYS ARE. For instance, when you introduce yourself to someone, you never say: “Hello my name will be John, or Sally”, you always invariably say: “Hello, my name is John, or Sally.”

You may not know WHO, WHAT, WHY, and WHERE you are, but you can never deny that YOU ARE.

In my next blog I will introduce you to who you really are, and together, AS ONE, we will bring the children of Africa out of bondage into Freedom.

Always In Love – KozRon

Photo - Adi Da Samraj

Transcendental poetry originates in the heart of the seer-poet and awakens in the heart of the reader. Therefore, transcendental poetry is not for thinkers. It attempts to silence the thinker so the heart’s yearning, the heart’s call, can be heard and felt at the same time.

The seer-poet communicates the past, the present and the future simultaneously. Each word penned to paper is a living entity, an expression of freshly released energy, a bolt of enlightening life-force if you wish, linking the Divine, the seer-poet, his words, and the reader together in a light-stringed web of understanding, passion and love.

The seer-poet knows he cannot beat his own heart, so he shares his energy (life-force) using verse, describing every event and circumstance that make up his humble existence. He lives in love and gratitude  and forever praises the Light that lives him. In return,  as Grace would have it, each vowel and consonant becomes a bolt of Light Supreme that draws the reader to the word. That is the nature of the Light-Giving Cycle. It’s like using a lit candle to light another one, and so on, and so forth.

To the seer-poet then, his work is neither epic, tragic, or comedic; it’s simply ECSTATIC! Although his poems do imitate life, they also imitate the Divine, Da (the Giver). How can the reader be captivated by mere words, void of Life Supreme, no matter how cleverly they may rhyme, are metered, or are in tune with the flute of the shadow goddess. If the heart is not touched, the reader may as well cast a blind eye to the page.

Transcendental poetry attracts those who are vulnerable, those who are suffering a total positive disillusionment with conditional existence. To the seer-poet, his work is not to make the reader feel good, or  bad; it’s intended purely to make the heart feel without limitation. True Ecstasy transcends limitation, therefore transcendental poetry transcends mere words.

Always in Love – KozRon

Sweet, sweet children

Of Africa, beautiful Africa

Breathed down from above

Living light

Danced down with Love

Dance down the Light…

Listen, hear

As the soulful bones

Of your ancestors

Drum on the living skin

Of the wild antelope

With thunderous frenzy

Dance down the Light…

Repaint the scorched landscape

Of the mighty Sudan

With the brush strokes

Of your ivory smiles

Birth your freedom, dance

Savour the gifts

Of the Great Nile

Dance down the Light…

Sweet, sweet children

Of Africa, beautiful Africa

Your dance is the key

Feel the wonder, the mystery

So DANCE!

Light-stringed puppets reflected
Against a dark canvas,
Domain of she, the goddess of night supreme,
Cloaked in the guise of Love,
Bright Light’s eternal consort in this play of ‘other’.

Her brush breathes life into
The seed of every yielding fruit,
Every savoury herb, here,
Amid the sweet grasses of Eden
Lying asunder under her fertile sky of dark.

And so it is that Bright Light, being without form,
Gathers the dust of the earth
And shapes man, womb-man,
The apple and the serpent
From His shapeless void – birthing souls;
Souls lured by the rhythm of Love’s four winds,
Their hearts being danced upon by the
Bright Light that summoned them.

And Bright Light,
Being prior to the mind of mortal man,
Seeing only Itself reflected
Upon the surface of her moist canvas,
Sees that it’s all good.

Now, a great flood of desire is made to stir
In the immaculate womb of the night goddess,
There, under space’s firmament of sensual longing
Drawing Bright Light within herself
And weaving into form every thoughtless feeling
Impressed upon her by the mind of man,
Thus swelling her with child.

With time, in apparent space, the newborn is seen, praised,
And loved; and the newborn grows to see, and praise,
And love – a gesture of re-warding the very Life-Force
That sprouted its being from the pod of darkness.

It is said that this cycle can never be broken,
And it never has. It is the sacred dance of
Bright Light in the realm of the goddess;
Motionless Light in the domain of Love.
Timelessness in the realm of space.

Where is the illusion then, that death is inevitable?
Is it not founded in the perception of time itself?
The perception that creates a wound so deep in
The lover, who feels that the object
Of his love will eventually die?
Perceived time is nothing more than a longing in space.
In Truth, neither Bright Light, nor Love, long
While drifting in the kingdom of eternity.

Love is what vanishes time and space
In the mind of man.
Light is a gift of vision within apparent space, true seeing,
Ablaze by the sheer force of a thoughtless feeling;
That bright spark in the heart of every man,
Allowing, by Grace, the heart of man to really see
That Bright Light walks a narrow path,
And that all paths gather at one central point.
That point is Love.

Nevertheless, the mind of man is always on edge,
Wandering on the periphery of Bright Light and Love.
It is in the mind that all storms gather;
Causing waves upon the waters
Which are then swallowed whole by the famished sea-mother
Who delights in devouring her young.

Yes, the vast ocean of apparent time-space
Is the edible realm, you see;
Where every one and every thing preys
On some form or other,
Where every one and every thing consumes
Or is being consumed
Amid great fear and objection.

Have you not noticed this?
Death, then, appears real, therefore inevitable.
Before death one must relinquish
This impulse to fall from Love,
And to dance down the Bright Light,
Now, and now, and now.

There is no need to bring
The children forth out of Egypt
Nor part the sea leading into Israel.
Freedom is not elsewhere.
Simple awareness of bondage
Is the truth that sets one free.
Truth is being conscious of what is,
Not what will apparently be the case
At some point in time.
One cannot move from bondage
Into everlasting Freedom.
Be (heart-fully) mindful of what is binding you
And the hand that parts the sea
Frees you in that very moment.

There is really no time, and no space,
No distance at all between bondage and Freedom.
What is reflected against the misty lake of Narcissus
Is simply the refusal to be happy.
Doesn’t the sun sit still behind shifting clouds?
Where is darkness when the Greater Light
Swallows all and All?

Darkness is an error in the mind of man,
Spinning thoughts in egocentric fashion;
Not unlike planet earth in its motion around the sun,
Hence the shadow world.
Objects do not vanish by going somewhere else.
Objects vanish when they’re outshined by Bright Light Itself.
Therefore, when objects have disappeared, where are the shadows?

Always In Love – KozRon

When the sun and the moon
In splendid embrace
Birth the stars in heaven
Then both disappear
A sacrifice is made

When the flutist whispers
His sweet song of praise
Dancing the dancer
Birthing his space
A sacrifice is made

When man praises God
The force that lives him
The self’s rendered full
Of love’s excesses
This is the ultimate sacrifice

I wrote my best poems in the darkest moments of my depression. In the spring of 2007 I had to stop working because I was suffering severe bouts of anxiety and panic attacks. At the time I didn’t know what was going on so I went to several doctors, hoping they could explain my dilemma. I underwent every possible blood test, endoscopy, colonoscopy, ultrasounds for this, that, and the other thing. I had my ears checked because I was losing my balance all the time. They found nothing physically wrong with me. So, I went back home, curled up on the sofa and spent the better part of seven months there. At times I would be well enough to sit on my balcony. In those rare moments I wrote in my diary. At one point I was inspired to write a poem, so I wrote a piece titled “Alpha Bet Soup”. During the following 2 weeks I wrote 54 more pieces.

It was not until November of 2007 that I was finally diagnosed with major clinical depression & bipolar disorder. It was a long time to spend down the rabbit hole without medication and treatment.

Writing poems, in depressed moments, allows one to introspect and let emotions flow through pen and paper.  Sadness from lost love or death of a loved one can hinder resilience and ability to handle daily stressors because of depression. Such poetry can help break one free from depression’s shackles.

Depression poems can break away isolationist feelings and help in conquering mixed emotions;  such emotions that can grasp a person and cripple every aspect of their life. Depression poetry can also aid the mind and help better understand what the source of the melancholy is coming from.

Depression can paralyze and drain us, making it a very real and dangerous illness.  It is not easily described when there are so many forms that can ale us.  In every aspect of life, depression may challenge our lives.  There is so much going on in this world that it becomes too overwhelming with stress and struggles life seemingly generously gives us.  Depression eventually will distract us from our daily activities, leaving the illusion of being alone, even when there is a world of people around going about their own life’s trials.  Poetry has been ranked as a top form of therapy and is an avenue for the seemingly impervious emotions, eagerly wanting a way out to relieve us of the burdens we hold.

Depression is a confused and hopeless state that drives people to desperate lengths.  All I can say is don’t be afraid to talk about it and try to be open if others are trying to reach out. If all else fails, grab a pen and write a few words.

Always In Love – KozRon

Freedom is a gift
Not locked in a fist
Just there in an open hand
Extending compassion
Love sweeping the land

Tolerance is the key…

It unlocks the clenched fist
Allowing the hand to shift
In a gesture of Peace
The Ultimate Freedom
The Ultimate Gift

What’s the use of poetry?  - Words to live upon, when one can’t get bread and cheese; to clothe and warm oneself with, when one is ragged and cold!

What’s the use of poetry? -  To keep faith and hope and worship alive in the heart of man, to reconcile him to life, to make him at home in his world.

What’s the use of poetry? - To pour vitriol on deceit and vice, to seam and scar the detested face of hypocrisy and lies. To add hate to all things hateful and shame to all things shameful!

What’s the use of poetry? - To give beauty to beauty, more grace to grace, more truth to truth, to deck the flowers of the field, to rain perfume on the rose and music on the nightingale.

What’s the use of poetry? - To be a stumbling block to the worldly wise and the proud, and a camp and pillar of fire to children and the childlike.

What’s the use of poetry? - To embalm the immortal dead, to interpret this aimless Universe, to snatch the secrets of the stars, to unleash the seas and the winds, to fling a double rainbow of hope and glory across the heavens, till all the Universe shouts with one voice, and beats with one heart, and pants with one breath!

What’s the use of poetry? - To make this wide world drunk with its loveliness, to make this garret a palace and me the King of Death and Fate!

Poetry not real, not useful! There is nothing useful but poetry, and nothing real but the poet!