You Must Change Your Life You must change your life. Read the feeling called up through the heat. Blowing steam, sipping coffee beans and oat milk into my mouth. What is a mouth to a saint? Is as open as love reveals, closed as peace persists. When action must be taken, take it. When stillness must sit, sit, rest a while. Perhaps in changing myself
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So far Bjorn Bengtsson has created 110 blog entries.
Memorizing fondly of you Feeling poet So here goes it Ahaha that rhymed ! Okay here i am: Slipping second steps and third eyes on the steppe of my dreams, the veranda as they call them, the upper or the inner room; Howsoever you put it, i felt poet as i saunter stepped in the lily field grass at sunset. When i climbed the fresh
I've been growing this list for ways of being loving, it goes like this: Listen Understand Accept Nurture Free Believe Have Faith I use it to be loving to both myself, and when i feel i'm loving myself, i love others with a same kind loving as though are myself. Creates a motivation for us as a people together; including all people, while still honoring
Marcel Listen while reading I go through pens daily. As I’m painting orchids, listening to a song of Her’s called Marcel. I hear the guitar playing. Sounds like bells ringing in another universe. Maybe he raised semitones on a few string picking patterns. The beat is primarily bass, and a hit hit basketball bounce in the void sorta snare. He has a few
Social Media I once knew a kid who committed social media suicide. I know what you're thinking, and no. Yes; he's still breathing and seeing pretty sunsets and all like the rest of us who've learned there's a smile in the sun, we who've learnt to look from, like moon to sun, fractal of a thoughtless awestruck wonder like lightning flashing constant miracles - just
The Calling of Matthew I'm sitting on a wood grain table, somewhere west of Jerusalem - when on a soft dewy wind are the words which here blow through me. The lanky green leaf trees sway and seem to whistle through their interior. Last night we had a sweet rain so still a soft blanket of light is laid still over our valley. I hear
Will We Hear When Flowers Cry? I look for songs to play till i realize a song already playing. "The quiet is not quiet is what i think to myself" as the wild winds of spring blow, and the wind chimes play, my thoughts could be lyrics. Though thoughtless i am and in a zen buddhist place of the ever empty blue. I wonder
Light Space Feeling my being being lifted up into the sky. Greens and blues, wash with the perfume of silence. If only the whole world could be as beautiful as this. Were we silent, quiet, blind to our selves enough i believe the world would be as brightly lit as this. Illuminations pouring in through the sky, i am the sky. The box of my
i, in a river still standing, felt all time flow through me, floof petals on the water and moonlight too. And i felt the roots rise
Everything if you are love if i am love then this love this love is everything