From The Movie...Lucy

Dr. Norman's conversation, at the beginning of the movie, upon 'cell activity and intelligence':

If its habitat is not sufficiently favorable, or nurturing, the cell will choose immortality, in other words, self-sufficiency and self management. On the other hand, if the habitat is favorable, they will choose to reproduce — that way, when they die, they hand essential information and knowledge to the next cell, which hands it down to the next cell, and so on. Thus knowledge and learning are handed down, through time. Source: Wikipedia


Annotated and posted by Bruce James Clyde, at Deming, New Mexico

The Knowing

When the sheep lay down, in the pasture, they are safe, in their sleep...from 'the knowing', of the wolf. That the brave, 'awake', and are taken...is no new thing, yet all, shall go to heaven.

Amen!


Written by Bruce James Clyde, at Deming, New Mexico

In The Lords Ear

May your words, ring the sweetest bell, in the deepest chasm...that he, may hear your prayer, and reach...to take your hand.

Amen!


Written by Bruce James Clyde, at Deming, New Mexico

That Simple Bread

The blessed, are sustained, as the voice, from a harp's fair strings...in sweetness, evermore. Where ever, The Lord is our host.

Amen!


Written by Bruce James Clyde, at Deming, New Mexico

Gather Ye

Where Amrita be found, our simple self, the sweet divine, that 'food of God' be handed down...there, we be saved, our feet be washed by brook of Hebron, sense be stirred...by flower of Caanan.

Amen!


Written by Bruce James Clyde, at Deming, New Mexico

Of Thee

I could have said, before, and should have said, before...thy name, be 'need', and I am here, forgotten not...my own.

Amen!


Written by Bruce James Clyde, at Deming, New Mexico

Call Sign

Howdy, 'Tango Foxtrot'...we seem to be, 'further up Charlie Kettle' tributary', than initially, thought! How do you read? 10/4? Marker is 'green smoke'!

Please advise!


Written by Bruce James Clyde, at Deming, New Mexico

Odds Are

We all have codes, codex's, manuscripts of interest, of secrets, of which...even our 'love making trysts' are more public. We have kinks and twists, from before...it all became 'wireless'. We have odds, in sacred places, we can't scratch...without notice, and we only go there, in the dark of night.

Namaste


Written by Bruce James Clyde, at Deming, New Mexico

I Shall Make You Fishers

What are the consequences of truth, really? Is it 'dare'? We put our victim'd lives out there, the sputum of our fear, our hopes and care, not knowing 'whom' we're speaking with really...our fishing line, but confiscated, sim corrupted, naivete.

A last stand, our last strand, I think, our last nerve...a 'Holy Mary' pass, from one consumed existence...to another fading frequency, out there, and then...'something' tugs the line. Our feet, six inches off the floor, our gagging destiny, hanging by a hair, and there...a miming trickster, smiling from the screen, offering an 'app' of savior?

Are we to believe? Are we 'believers' to begin with? Does Belief, make up a thing? How are we to know? At best, fate has a face...compassion, yes? No? A giving nature? I never heard, it was a thing of theirs, from cold and distant inexorability, to 'we warm ones'.

I don't know. I only hope an pray, and like a child...play, in a room of gods, and angel beings bearing ways...if they will share them...down the line.

Amen!


Written by Bruce James Clyde, at Deming, New Mexico

Our Father In Heaven

What if, our face 'is' mask, and only so, in order that, we might be known, of any sense? What if we are 'hollow', back of all, a race of beings, owing God, our cloak...and men, our unknowing?

What if here, we fold our wings...to fall, among your warm children, harboring in mystery, and stealth...our own forgetting? What if we, in earth...serene, reside, and here, in wonder...contemplate , a father we've denied...because, we cannot see him?

Wonder not, we are not known, of anyone...then, for we are of our father in heaven.

Amen


Written by Bruce James Clyde, at Deming, New Mexico

Upon Moksha

Starting with the middle Upanishad era, moksha - or equivalent terms such as mukti and kaivalya - is a major theme in many Upanishads. For example, Sarasvati Rahasya Upanishad, one of several Upanishads of the bhakti school of Hinduism, starts out with prayers to Goddess Sarasvati. She is the Hindu goddess of knowledge, learning and creative arts; her name is a compound word of ‘‘sara’’ and ‘‘sva’’, meaning "essence of self". After the prayer verses, the Upanishad inquires about the secret to freedom and liberation (mukti). Sarasvati’s reply in the Upanishad is:

It was through me the Creator himself gained liberating knowledge,
I am being, consciousness, bliss, eternal freedom: unsullied, unlimited, unending.
My perfect consciousness shines your world, like a beautiful face in a soiled mirror,
Seeing that reflection I wish myself you, an individual soul, as if I could be finite!

A finite soul, an infinite Goddess - these are false concepts,
in the minds of those unacquainted with truth,
No space, my loving devotee, exists between your self and my self,
Know this and you are free. This is the secret wisdom.

Sarasvati Rahasya Upanishad, Translated by Linda Johnsen

Source: Wikipedia

Whiskers

I know, I make things up, that God does, too...creating worlds, though, love is not a lie. You start a thing, and there it goes...to be or not to be, at all. The trap is that, a bloodless coup...a hope, the cheese is not a tainted thing. The mouse stands down, his twinkling eyes, calculating every move...except, that love's a choice of its own.

Snap!


Written by Bruce James Clyde, at Deming, New Mexico

The Hidden

Need we prove, that we are human? We are 'too'. Then, why prove that we are God, and how? Here. Let me take it all off. There. See? I didn't think so. There are some things, we may not confide...in the nature of us all.

Namaste


Written by Bruce James Clyde, at Deming, New Mexico

The Blood Line

The sensation, of having 'someone' is an ill made stone, an anchor hooked, but to illusion. Better then, to walk alone...the heart within you, be the anchor and the stone, a perfect fiery thing, always giving, always in you...blessing you with life, whispering it's love...in the voice of your veins.

Namaste


Written by Bruce James Clyde, at Deming, New Mexico

Jealously Hold They

In the sonic insecurity, of present day, faith is lost by the many. In this age of over zealous information, we have nothing, but white noise. Whatever's given as the secret, of a wisdom, is a lie, and we haven't got a choice.

We are victim, to the scholars of exemption, exempt from telling us at all. Now, they make a show, of laying bare, all sorts of things...but, they 'lock their libraries', tighter than a prison door. Why, I ask? You haven't clout enough, to break in.

So, we think it up, we make it up. We guess at best...from crumbs left out, upon the table there, that's all we've got...beside belief, and that, based largely...on a childish curiosity.

This is why, I hardly seek, the foible'd lies of ivy league...Call me fool, I hold, unto my self, 'experience' as gold, for only fools seek that, that 'seem to be'...in academia.

Namaste


Written by Bruce James Clyde, at Deming, New Mexico

A Foolish Thing

The wind, is a foolish thing, always ruffling the hair, always whispering you there...eternal love, but just, too great a love for mortal flesh to bear...

Namaste


Written by Bruce James Clyde, at Deming, New Mexico

Temples

I will not swelter in the hot house, of a dream, but will face the bracing wind, torrential rain...or easy, as a mood may take her, for I love the world, God made. She is my mother, and my lover and my teacher. I will walk among her spring tides, fresh, gently live among her creatures...and her solitude's, if they will let me.

Namaste


Written by Bruce James Clyde, at Deming, New Mexico

Storm Warning

The grackles gather, in their thousands...blackest night, and one white, snow white...dove. No mistaking this. A sign, be given us, from heaven...we who sought no sign, are witness of. For, this cloud gather's o'er us, building...as the spirit is. A storm is coming! Here! A storm is coming, to the days ahead! A balance, tipping, to the level of the land.

Amen!


Written by Bruce James Clyde, at Deming, New Mexico

Quiesce

When she turns, and rises in her majesty, a golden chain of mailed brilliancy, there, upon the black night, casts her great head back, her mouth agape, fangs bared and roarrrs...wildly! Silently, then comes she, down upon me, gazeing in my dark eyes, for our nest, our soul...is one resting. We sleep. We sleep...

Namaste


Written by Bruce James Clyde, at Deming, New Mexico

Whom It Serves To Deny

It serves little furtherance, to persist, where ego, abound, are flocks of birds, their magnetic north, gone...smashing into windows, or any clear uncomplicated explanation.

Even 'love'. Look at love. Jesus said 'love', in essence...that is all. They text, 'I am in sex with you'. What is wrong with this picture? Everything has gone haywire. Why? Because, 'will and desire', that power couple...still want trouble, and they wont give it up! Not for God, if the devil offers a simulucrum.

They want. They want what they want, and they don't give a hell, for a soul...or care if its given up. So, fine! But, I'll keep mine. For those, of an interest in the subject, I will press as I can...those buttons of brief wisdom, and other's can keep going 'off the rails' about them.

Namaste


Written by Bruce James Clyde, at Deming, New Mexico