Metaphoratarian

This life is so magical. Its such an amazing opportunity to be triggered by outside appearances and decide to go deeply into ourselves to find the truth. The truth is who we really are, our eternal source, our perfect unchanging self. That magical spark of source :) Many, many humans have searched for that center point, but the strange thing is it’s actually not that hard to find. As children we do it so easily. So why do some people continue on these never ending journeys and never seem to be satisfied? Why don’t they seem to be able to find an end? Why do they always return to their belief in their own smallness? It’s because the spiritual journey is not a set track, it’s a moving target. That eternal moving target: consciousness expanding In an infinite eternal universe, there can never be an end. But does that mean we will always keep falling back into despair and separation? No. That is what many people experience, but this is not how the case should...

As a child I was incredibly fearful. I was shy and quiet and a bit afraid of people or making new friends. I was also afraid of ghosts, monsters, sharks, bugs, fish and especially the dark. I attribute this fear to that fact that I was incredibly imaginitive. I could always see stories and scenarios play out in my head very vividly. I could turn the world around me into anything I wanted and set the stage for a beautiful play. But this was also true of the images I found most disturbing. If the thought of a ghost or monster (or tiny brutal dinosaur from Jurrasic Park) came into my mind, I thought I had no control over it and I became terrified. I believed in and experienced my imagination so vividly and believed that my beautiful games and princess fantasies were real, that when a monster creeped in I thought I was powerless. And I would curl up in a ball and cry. At some point around 7 or 8, my mind decided it was necesary for me to adopt the belief that I could not create these ...

A poem: A War Against Productivity- This incessant need to show you are worthy, Prove you are something, An asset they won't downsize. God forbid you don't produce. God forbid you don't give them the only thing they want from you: Your productivity, Your incessant work, That need to do, To just get something done. You're a robot with no program, No prime directive, And yet you actually view your freedom as a curse, A defect, a malfunction. The saddest brain washing that ever was. No matter how hard I try This brain washing can't get me clean, Can't remove these blood stains, Can't keep me from feeling dirty. Who let them do this to us? How did this robotic fluid fill my veins like the machines in their factories? Even in my leisure I'm a slave to their screens. Witnessing torture and deceipt, blood, gore, lies, betrayal. And I fail to see how we distrust our own humanity so much that we no longer look each other in the eyes. I...