desert home

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The desert sometimes feels like home. Its quiet soul runs hot and cold like a day of Spring at sunrise and Winter at sunset.

I am lost in sand and storms, face wrapped tight with linen cloth, knowing that when the wind clears and the sands fall, I will know that death stood waiting to bury me beneath home.

The horizon turns white. I am still here, unwrapped.

 

© zaji, 2016

if i write

if i write everyday, will the ancestors read my words?

ink to paper
paper to mind
mind to action
action to creation
creation to ink
ink to words
words to sounds
sounds to touch

will the ancestors touch the world with words spoken through me?

i don’t know.

maybe i will know if i write everyday.

but i don’t want to write everyday. there is too much pain in it.

 

© zaji, 2016

awaken the world within

Writing Prompt: Forward Drive

What is the one thing that drives you to wake up in the morning and do whatever it is you do? Is it writing, family, friends, or something else entirely?

Possibility. When I think about all the things that are possible at the dawn of a new day, I roll over, sit up, yawn and allow possibility to move me forward and onward. I am driven by the power within me to create anything that is possible to create. Every morning I am the creator of my day and future world. Even those things that are outside of my control in this culture still pulse with the possibility to be changed.

What drives my thinking is our existence. Imagine, in a universe of infinite possibilities, we are here, thinking, breathing, believing, imagining, creating, being. Simply being. Our existence shows that anything is possible. Through some means we are unsure of, we are here. It could have been creation. It could have been evolution. Or, it could have been neither of those, and the way we’ve come to exist is something beyond anything we can imagine at the moment.

Can you imagine that we could have come into being without creation or evolution? Regardless of our feelings, beliefs, opinions and limited observations, the possibility exists that we are here by a means outside of our realm of understanding or ability to detect. This is a most beautiful possibility to me. It leaves open the door for us to imagine different and create new possibilities for our existence rather than limit ourselves. Why argue over that which we could all be wrong about?

This is what wakes me each day—all that is possible to conceive and perceive in this galaxy, universe, omniverse, multiverse, or a thing so expansive (or microscopic) we have yet to know it or name it. But still, we live and breathe in it. In it, we are sentient and think. In it, we…are.

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freedom in green

the wind blows wild and filled with memory
pine branches litter the sun greened lawn
moisture tilts the clouds to wet the leaves
and i remember their dreams
tree dreams

i am them in ages gone
no humans
only insects and sea urchins
only that which belonged

what evolved came through their dreams
tree dreams

through the wind and rain
through time uncounted
through love unspoken
through green lush leaves
that remember when oxygen
was free

© zaji, 2016

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at the end of it all – my obituary

Writing Prompt: In Loving Memory

Write your obituary.

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zaji didn’t want to be good or bad. she wanted to be wild and free. she wanted to run naked through an open field in the hot summer rain and dance with her sister friends by the light of a full blue moon.

she didn’t believe with great certainty in god or evolution because in the end she believed they could both be wrong. but she believed in love and experienced pain. she believed in our ability to create beauty, even as we seemed determined to create ugly.

zaji saw this ugly and watched it manifest through hate, prejudice, racism, violence and fear. she wanted others to see her imperfections, not shy away from them or try to cover them up in her death. she was not outside humanity. she too was flawed. she was a procrastinator who often sabotaged her own material success. but she realized it was because she didn’t much care about the machinations of this world. she saw it all as a waste of energy, energy we could use to honestly and determinedly uncover our purpose in the cosmos, our purpose for existing, for having sentience. she saw our energy better spent on peace.

she was sometimes argumentative and stubborn, but she saw this in herself and learned to be at peace with the madness of the world she so desperately wanted to change. she wanted earth to grow up, mature. but she would not live to see this maturity that still escapes those of us who are left behind to mourn and celebrate zaji’s escape.

for every imperfection zaji carried there was an abundance of love and laughter and kindness to match them. she wanted to be seen fully. no sugar coating. no lies. she wanted to be seen as an imperfectly perfect being, just as she saw all of humanity. she then wanted language and ideas to evolve so that perfect and imperfect are no longer ideas we carry, but instead archaic notions that eventually vanish because they do nothing to dissect the intricacies of our humanity and the complexities of existence. she wanted to change the vibration.

zaji wanted ubuntu. real and lasting ubuntu.

she didn’t want to know about science, she wanted to know what science could not find, like those many thoughts and imaginings that filled her mind daily. those secrets that held secrets that held even deeper secrets. she wanted to find the mystery that was there to be seen, yet hidden only because her mind could not see what was right in front of her.

she didn’t care about unbending, uncompromising belief, she cared about allowing all ideas to flower and fill the Akashic Records. she believed in possibility, strange and magical possibility. she believed in the paradox of life. she believed that belief was merely pieces of a grand puzzle that we one day might realize.

she wanted to fly away to another galaxy using wings that grew from her back in gentle grandeur. she wanted strong wings that could take her into yesterday and back into tomorrow. the future is behind. the past is ahead. the seeing is what makes it so. she wanted to be outside time and inside being and living and existing.

zaji wanted to dance for the moon and hear its laughter. some nights she danced but could not hear it, her ears were not tuned to the vibration of the sometimes sad moon, but her heart was tuned to the vibration of existence. this was her guiding compass.

she wanted to sing so everything would grow, but it all grew without her song. she knew that her love was the seed. our love made it all grow. everything green and full color grew through love and sex and passion. she believed we exist because of a strange and unexplainable passion that gave rise to molecules that gave rise to everything we see, hear, touch, taste, smell, feel.

she wanted to be remembered and forgotten all at once. because in some strange way although she felt that memory and thought were creation, forgetting was free will, the will to be self without the rules of the dead. she didn’t want her lineage to be ruled by her ideas, only enhanced by them so they may create their own ideas and own way of living.

zaji left behind children. but they were not hers—they did not belong to her. they belonged to the DNA of the galaxy, the soul of the Earth and everything in it. they belonged to self. they are life longing to remain. they carry the future of this world in their blood.

zaji loved the world she was ready to let go. she was in it, but in its sick state, it was not in her. she lived only for the potential of the planet, not for its actual state of being. she wanted to see equality, freedom, peace.

she wanted to see real peace. in the end, she flew away to a place, some place, any place. it is away from here. at the end of it all, she thought like Frida who once said,

“I hope the exit is joyful—and I hope never to return.”

zaji wanted joy and she found it. at times. zaji wanted love, and she found it. many times. but it was always inside a jar of pain and disappointment and a longing for something more, a longing for that place where everyone could live well and inside unconditional, unimposing love. she didn’t want to return here, at least not to the world in its current state. i hope she receives her wish, to never return, or to return when this planet has matured.

zaji is free now. this is the hope of everyone here.

we wrap her body in a thin shroud and place her beneath the soil, in a forest or jungle without grave stones. she wanted to commune with mother earth, not left inside an air tight box where her body could never reconnect with mother’s soil that seeds and incubates life. she wanted to be incubated by that which sprouts everything that feeds us. she wanted brown soil to beat against her shrouded still body, beating like a drum, like a heart beat. she wanted no headstone that would place her in time or give her a name. she did not want to be seen as born and died, but as always here, in some form, maybe pure energy.

we give her this wish today. she was outside time in life and will be outside time in death. we remember her name, but in the end, names are only vibrations that lock us into a single pattern of being. she knew this. she is now free to vibrate and answer to any soul who calls her by soul vibration, outside name, but inside energy. she wanted this, to hear everyone and everything, to hear heart and love vibrations, not a name, not a designation, but a feeling, deep and abiding meaning that resonates across species in the cosmos.

we commit zaji to the soil. we will follow her soon. but not yet. not yet. we must live to tell the stories of what she imagined and then leave those stories for the past, or the future— whatever serves her children’s freedom to live in the now.

until next time zaji. we’ll see you later. may the stars gather you to their bosom and give you peace.

crazy story #1 (turning orange)

I could feel it happening. It was after midnight. My fingers were orange and my hair began turning orange. I had a wild urge to lay in the grass. I was turning into a pumpkin. I was flopping around on one lonely shoe. Glass. The other one came off when I was trying to swing from a limb hanging over a waterfall. My cream chiffon dress got wet. I stripped naked and hung it to dry on a low branch. I decided to take a nap and woke up to find myself turning orange.

True story.

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Photographer Unknown

burning memories

Writing Prompt: Burning Down the House

Your home is on fire. Grab five items (assume all people and animals are safe). What did you grab?

Photo album
Book
Computer
Journal
Wallet

If I could gather up all my photos and books, that would be the bulk of what I need. My computer cannot be left to burn. It is what I use for work and a necessary part of my writing life. My journals contain my memories written out in symbols. At least one must be saved. My wallet contains the money I will need to get a hotel room until the details are sorted out.

the skin i’m in

Writing Prompt: New Skin

If you could spend the next year as someone radically different from the current “you” — a member of a different species, someone from a different gender or generation, etc. — who would you choose to be?

I would want to spend a year as another species. A bird is the first thing that comes to mind. Maybe a parrot. I would want the freedom to fly anywhere in the world my wings could take me. Birds have a freedom that I can only imagine. To be able to fly above the trees and many clouds and go wherever they please is something I long to experience. For that entire year I would fly as far as the wind would blow me and as high as the sky would allow. I’d sleep in the highest trees and let the sun warm my wings daily. Upon my return to life as a human, I would write my story about life as a bird in perpetual flight.

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Photographer Unknown

the luxury of nature

Writing Prompt: Feeling Fancy

You’re given unlimited funds to plan one day full of any and all luxuries you normally can’t afford. Tell us about your extravagant day with as much detail as possible.

This feels like relative freedom, although not fully free. My day would unfold with a single goal in mind. Find the quiet spots. Go where quiet lives and transforms, where the sound of nature lives.

My transporter sits ready to materialize me to places I’ve never been, quiet places where nature speaks in chirps and caws and leaves talk to the wind. With a thought, I am hopping to the many caves spotted across the globe. I cave hop until satisfied that I have explored every cave that is vast and expansive, rising higher than cathedrals in Rome. The transporter hums, ready to take me to several beaches around the world where I sit and watch the sunrise, the waters ebb and dolphins jump to the sun. The water sings itself into existence each time it rushes to the shore, pushing sand and seashells across the land. Waves crash and foam rises in a hush…hush, hush it says. Continent hopping to all the spaces where quiet energy lives would fill my invisible calendar.

The quiet is everywhere that is far from the cities and streets and phones and computers and technology. The quiet is the dandelion that blows in the wind. The quiet is the tree that gave birth to the leaves that turn orange, red, yellow and purple in autumn. It is the birds that fly in formation overhead and the cow that bends its head to graze on grass. It’s the stream that jumps over rocks and smooths them on its way. It’s the mountain top that looks over the clouds and wonders at the vastness of existence. It’s the ant that pulls a leaf along the ground, determined to get it to its rightful destination. It’s the snake that lays in the hot sun, enjoying the warmth of the day. It’s the gardenia and magnolia that perfume the air and the rose that has almost forgotten what it means to live wild.

My day would be filled with everything simple and quiet and authentic. And when the sun begins to set, I would grab a book, light a candle and love the day away with reading and quiet reflection. My memories would be my blanket. And the freedom to spend time amongst the beauty of life would be the lover I would never forget.

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Image artist: artstarter on
deviantart.com

the rebellion

Writing Prompt: One at a Time
Today, write a post about the topic of your choice — using only one-syllable words.

To be stuck with words that have one piece, just one sound, is odd. It is like my life force is in jail, trapped by the word cops. They have held me with cuffs on my mind. No, you do not have the right to use more than one sound. One piece at a time or you will be locked up. I hear this and know I must find a way to share my thoughts.

So, I will write what I can, so the law will not seek me out.

one word
one thought
it rolls off my tongue

i am lost in this maze
of words with one sound
of the voice with one vibe

but i am not free
i do not like this cage
this hole in my soul

caught in the last
sound of my heart
that beats to the vibe

one vibe
one sound
one voice in the night

but i am free
and must free me
from this night…fright

the world needs sounds
it needs more than one
more than one beat

so i will be the one
to give up my soul
for the cause

i will be the one
to speak…in…

…multiple syllables that enhance the world and brightens the colors of days and nights and dances to the songs that remind us that music is soul and memory, music is poetry, poetry is the conjuring of history and thought and the past as cadence, as introspective sound that floats onto the air and lands on ears that hear the colors of words. Yes, glorious words with one, two, three syllables. The syllables, the movement, the ebb and flow of many parts of the melody of symbols…in sound, of ideas in sound, of memories in sound, of words…as sound. I…am…under…arrest. I know this. Because I have broken the rules. I have used the many parts of words, the syllables that were banned and are now rebellion carved into the sky and floating on the wind. I cannot take them back. Why would I? I am in love. Syllables and I have been lovers for all my life. Now we are freedom fighters, fighting for the syllable cause, the right to bear sounds and carry them with us across highways, in public places, on our flags and painted on our faces. We have the right to bear sounds, many sounds, in many syllables on the White House lawn and written across the sky. We have the right to bear multiple syllables of any kind, without permission from those who would tell us that multiple syllables are bad and single syllables are good. We have the right to bear words of our choosing. We must reject the rules of the establishment and take up multiple syllables and march across the world, bearing them for our brothers and sisters to see, so they too can realize that freedom is only a rebellion away, only a few extra syllables away.

spinning tales

Writing Prompt: Spinning Yarns
What makes a good storyteller, in your opinion? Are your favorite storytellers people you know or writers you admire?

Writers come and go, but storytellers are one in a million. True storytellers pick you up and drop you into their world. Before you realize what is happening, you are seeing, hearing, touching, tasting and smelling the world they’ve created. They are not merely telling you a story, they are conjuring a past life. Their words will reach into your soul and remind you of a past you don’t consciously remember living, but know is there, just on the surface, on the peripheral of your existence.

As a writer, I want to be more than just someone who puts words on paper. I want to conjure the past, tell stories from the Akashic Records and remind us of possible worlds we once could have inhabited and experiences we could have possibly had. I want to be the reader’s memory and awakening. I want to touch soul with my stories and spin tales that are more than mere words, but are ancestral history.

I am not one for favorites, but generally speaking, my favorite storytellers are those who can make me forget that I’m sitting in a room reading a book, because I am living the story; it is a new adventure, a memory, or a conjured past.

things gone by to come

Writing Prompt: Present-day you meets 10-years-ago you for coffee. Share with your younger self the most challenging thing, the most rewarding thing, and the most fun thing they have to look forward to.

I look across the table at my 10-years-ago self, wondering what she is thinking. Does she know what is ahead for her? Will she accept it? Will she embrace her future and make the best of it? She sips her coffee, places the cup in the saucer and waits for me to speak. I lift my cup, hold it to my lips, then without drinking, place it back onto the saucer. I look at her, her eyes wide, locks growing in and an eager but unsure smile on her face. She waits.

I begin.

“Your life will be filled with many amazing experiences. You will fall in love and your babies will no longer be babies. The most challenging aspect of your life will be your spiritual journey. You will find it difficult to understand why you are here. With each passing day, you’ll realize that you are merely in this world, but not of it. Adjusting will grow increasingly challenging, because you won’t want to be here amongst the violence and racism and greed and ignorance. You’ll want to dissolve into another world where the beings know how to love. But you won’t dissolve. And eventually, it will be ok. You’ll learn how to navigate the madness and dissolve into spirit, while keeping one foot in this insane world. It will strengthen you and give you the tools to help others find their path.”

My past self looked at me with sad eyes, realizing the truth of my words. She looked off into the distance, as though already seeing a future she couldn’t see before.

“Your spiritual journey will take you to many dark places, but a great love will bring you back from the precipice. He will give you a reason to smile each day. He will love you with a depth that you never imagined. He will give you companionship so that you are not alone in your thoughts, because he will understand. He too sees the madness of the world and fearlessly faces it. He will give you strength and help you to realize that you are not crazy, and there is still something here to fight for. He will keep you from sitting outside on the grass, looking up at the sky, waiting to be picked up by a species whose purpose is peace and understanding and love and kindness. He will ground you here, where your journey must be lived. And you will love him for it. Because when you still need to sit on the grass and wait, he will wait with you. You will hope for a better world together. Or hope for something to intervene to take you to a better world. Or hope for truly loving gods to manifest in a world that is seemingly godless.”

A light wind blew between us. My past self sat motionless. It seemed as though minutes passed between her blinks.

“Through everything, you will laugh and find genuine joy. You will jump double dutch in your living room with your daughter. You will explore caves in the mid-west. You will relearn the pleasure of a childhood fruit, Jackfruit, from your island home, Jamaica. You will make love so passionately that everything around you disappears in the moment. You will watch your daughters grow, day by day, into beautiful women with their own hopes and dreams for the future. You will plant food and eat from your own garden. You will cry for the death of your loved ones. You will play in the snow and dance in the rain. You will lay on the porch on a blanket with your lover and watch the stars. You will remember the bad times, but let the good times rule your future. You will look in the mirror, see gray hairs growing in, and smile at the fact that you lived this long—so many didn’t make it this far. In the end, you will realize that even though you don’t like many aspects of this culture, you love this world and the beauty it is filled with. You will feel glad to be here, in this moment in time. Because there will never be another moment like this one. You will look back and remember how bravely you survived the drama and how fiercely you loved. You will remember a life well lived.”

My past self opened her mouth to speak.

“Before you speak, you need to know one final thing. The most fun thing you have to look forward to is your imagination. You are filled with ideas, and each day you unfold a new idea born from your imagination. Your imagination thrills you and injects you with new life each time you share a new thought. Never let that die. At the end of the day, your imagination is what sustains you in this realm. It will become your raison d’etre. Guard it with everything in you and share it only with those who can appreciate it without chastising it. It is your imagination and your life. Let it run wild and free.”

My past self stared at me in silence. I wondered what she wanted to say, but then realized that I was looking at myself. I knew that my past self had nothing to say. I was satisfied with the gift I’d been given. My future lies ahead of me, in a place that neither my past self nor I can imagine. We are both now embarking on a journey into undiscovered country. We will make it to wherever it is we need to be.

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my past self

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/good-tidings

the color of me

We imagine many kinds of worlds. We’ve even lived through decades of black & white television where our world was reflected back to us without color. Some have claimed they only dream in black and white. Whereas I have always dreamed in full color. Even in my subconscious mind during sleep, I did not allow myself to view the world in any other way but how I see it when I am awake.

If I were to imagine a single thing—in a world of black and white—that I would want to remain in color, it would be me. I love my brown skin, my pink red lips and brown eyes with a pale blue ring around my iris. I would hope that every piece of black and white clothes that touched my body would materialize into full color for whatever amount of time I wore it. If I were in full color, it wouldn’t matter that the world was black and white, because each thing I touched would become full color in that moment.

But if forced to decide on one single color, I would pick blue. I’d love to be blue. Blue feels like the color of birth, of life. Blue is calming. To make myself blue, in a world of black and white, is a soothing notion. I would be the object filled with life and a color that reflects the world.

me locs_color_black_white

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/local-color/#like-91766

#dailyprompt

pandora: on the inside

This is an interesting writing prompt that is easy for me to imagine. I would spend a day inside the movie Avatar.

While there, everything wonderful, amazing and adventurous happens. No outsiders have even imagined Pandora exists. I’d live the life of the Na’vi, in whatever way they live, for the entire day.

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http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/fourth-wall/

celebrating me

Strange as it may seem to some, I have absolutely no desire to be any celebrity for a day. No matter whom I admire, the bottom line is I don’t have a clue about their lives, who they are, what they think and feel, their past, their fears, what makes them happy, etc. I only know the person I see on the screen, or listen to on the radio. I would never make the assumption that to be a celebrity for a day means I’d be living some lavish life filled with joy. It’s Russian roulette. I wouldn’t know what I was walking into. No, I’ll pass. I wouldn’t want to be anyone but me. No amount of money in the world would coerce me into trading my life for a day as a celebrity. For me, there is too much spiritually at risk. I might seem like a killjoy to some, but my choice is all about MY joy and maintaining that. Now if someone asked me what I would do if I had a million dollars to spend for only a day, then that would be an entirely different conversation. That would be far more exciting to me than becoming a celebrity. A wealthy life for a day without paparazzi? Oh yeah! I’d be all about celebrating me and a day of relative financial freedom.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/instant-celebrity

the wandering list

There are so many places on earth I would love to visit. The planet is amazingly beautiful and filled with adventure. Ultimately I’d love to visit every single inch of this place we call home. Until that can be achieved, the first five places I’d love to go are:

Africa: It’s exciting to imagine exploring the entire continent to feel what it’s like to walk upon the soil of a land that is believed to be the cradle of all civilizations and the beginning of mankind. There is an incredible spirituality that blankets Africa. I want to feel that energy.

Bangkok: There is something about the notion of Bangkok that intrigues me. It seems ripe for exploring. The photos I’ve seen show so much beauty and history.

Ecuador: I’ve read a lot of great things about Ecuador. There has been some recent issues because, once again, foreigners are now going in to disrupt the indigenous people. This sort of thing never seems to end. Companies want to set up shop to charge the locals for water. Outside of this recent disgusting development, Ecuador is one of the countries with the most centenarians on the planet. It has extremely clean air and species of trees with a high oxygen level. The town, Vilcabamba, is an ideal spot in Ecuador and a place I would love to live.

Australia: What better place to visit than down under? Australia seems like such a beautiful place. I would love to explore the land and meet the indigenous Koori.

Jamaica: It is my birth home. However, I have never spent any of my adult years living there. I’d love to spend at least a couple of years of my adult life in Jamaica to rekindle childhood memories and create adult memories of my beautiful island home.

Based on the Daily Prompt: the wanderer

wishing on a star

Sometimes we are offered more things than we need. But we may still accept those things; maybe out of greed, selfishness or a need to be polite. It’s become so much a second nature reaction, that we will take it, even without thinking, not meaning any harm, or good. We rarely consider passing on what we don’t need to someone else. We may make excuses. They don’t need it, maybe I’ll need it later, they won’t appreciate what they are given, we tell ourselves. But it doesn’t often occur to us that that doesn’t matter. Sometimes it is in the giving that we are spiritually liberated, moving ourselves to a higher level of humanity and awareness.

I don’t need three wishes. I need only one. The remaining two I pass on to anyone reading this. Use my gifts wisely or pay them forward if you cannot use them. Someone out there was not given three wishes. Maybe no one offers them anything to save them from a potentially horrible experience. I pass mine on to you, the reader. May my two wishes bring you something great.

My one wish is simple. May humanity one day wake up and realize that violence, prejudice, bias, xenophobia, racism, fear and anger is not the answer and will never move us to a higher level. Thus, armed with that knowledge, everyone will decide to move full speed ahead toward peace and true freedom that will ultimately become all we know and ever want to know.

A lofty wish. I know. But my wish nonetheless. A girl can dream, can’t she?

Daily Prompt: Lucky Star

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  51. Lucky star wishes were once grand: Today I just want the snow to go away and be in Candyland « psychologistmimi
  52. DP: I Wish… | As I See It
  53. Free to a Good Home | The Zombies Ate My Brains
  54. 3 wishes | A mom’s blog
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  67. Daily Prompt: Lucky Star | The Wandering Poet
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  95. Buzzy Beez
  96. terminat hora diem; terminat auctor opus; the hour finishes the day; the author finishes his/her work | Buzzy Beez
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  99. DP: LUCKY STAR | DANDELION’S DEN
  100. FRIENDS AND FOE | DANDELION’S DEN

what goes around…really goes around

The are few things I believe in unwaveringly. I leave myself open to all the possibilities in the universe we can imagine. Karma is one of those things that I don’t believe as a definitive truth of existence, but as a very real possibility that should give us pause and be taken seriously.

Imagine the implications of karma? Don’t simply fall back to memories of what you once thought about it. Really dissect what this potential might mean to you, the people you know, the planet, the universe, the multiverse, the omnivores, and all the other spaces in which we cannot even begin to conceive of. What does or will it mean if karma truly exists? Particularly if it exists based on the idea of an ascending soul that moves higher on the spiritual evolutionary chain, eventually no longer incarnating in human form.

As humans, we have lived through thousands of years of experiences, some good, some bad, some seemingly repetitive and mundane. What if karma is the reason for why, as a species, the violence we see on the planet cannot disappear? What if our behavior or potentially incorrect way of seeing our existence and the existence of others (including other species on the planet), is the reason we live in what feels like a vicious unproductive cycle? What if? What if what we perceive as “advancement” is in fact a devolution away from real soul advancement/growth, which might be the only true marker of a great species?

If karma is a real possibility, then the game is afoot. We would need to deeply examine the things we believe, especially those things that disenfranchise other humans, animals and even plants on this planet. How does xenophobia, bias, prejudice, racism, violence and apathy affect our karma and our ability to ascend to a better existence? What if there is one simple rule to karma, and that rule is the only thing that stands in our way, keeping us from ascending? What if all we need to remember is, do no harm? Again, what if? Consider the possibility that our simple inability to ask the question, what if, is the primary reason why we are incapable of imagining that what we do could affect not only our future on this planet and after this world, but it also affects other souls we live with here and in the possible hereafter. Our karma could cause chain reactions or ripples that change the karma of others in ways that cannot be conceptualized. The negative we do that brings harm, the negative we think that leaves a residue of our ill thought on the cosmic record, could be one in many millions of things floating about us that keep the Earth as a whole from collectively ascending.

Because I have always been open to the question of what if, nothing much would change in the way I currently think and behave–except, of course, recognizing that what I think and believe must be fluid and not ridged. While I don’t know if karma really exists, I live as though it does. I believe that we should endeavor to do no harm to other humans and species on this planet. Defend our life, yes, because it is the only one we know of at this time, but never initiate violence against anyone.

No harm is done in living as though karma exists. In the end, it can only help. Because it holds us accountable for our behavior to believe that what we do will affect how we live in a possible hereafter, or in a possible return to Earth. Or, dare I say, even while we are here. We can see the evidence, on Earth, of how our actions affect others. Isn’t this really a sort of earthbound karma at play? We call it chain reaction, cause and effect, or other terms that attempt to move from the realm of the metaphysical into the realm of the concrete. But in the end, if I make a wrong turn in my car and an accident occurs because of it, no matter what name we try to give it, the principle of karma could very well be how we define what unfolds. The words don’t really matter. Karma is just a word that we’ve given meaning to. The meaning, as many perceive it, is cause and effect.

In the end, I have always lived with the assumption that what I do affects my future and the future of others. So nothing really changes for me. If anything, my understanding is renewed. And this thing called Karma simply remains on my long list of universal possibilities. Real or not, nothing is lost.

Daily Prompt: Karma Chameleon

Trackbacks & Pingbacks on Karma

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after here

What if when we die, we do not go to a single place where all people ascend to, but to whatever place we believe we will go? What if we create our own individual afterlife, and no two afterlives will be the same? If you believe you will go to a heaven, that is where you go. If you believe you will reach Nirvana, that is what you will realize. If you believe you will become unconscious and vanish into nothingness, that is what happens to you. If you believe you will meet a god, you will. If you believe you will meet a satan, you will. If you believe you will meld into oneness with the universe, you will. If you believe you will become a conscious being of light, you will. What if? There is so much we don’t know. But we might consider the possibility that what we believe will become our reality in the hereafter and seeing those we love again depends solely on our mutual belief in what happens to us when we leave here. We just might be powerful enough to be the creators of what happens to us. What if?

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