Tag Archives: death

Poetry {130} ~ EMERGENCY ROOM SENTIMENTS

In these impermanent moments when life and death converge

Love is the refuge leaning in to submerge

When on the verge

Bleeding out womb wounds

Complications melded with fainting tunes

Sleep deprived, drained and anemia lurking, iron starvation twisting my psyche

Emergency room’s florescent lights dull hum at 18:07

Again she writhes in pain despite the painkillers she never wanted to take

It’ll end they say

Though there’s no end in sight

Death flowers up through warm

Forgotten past life trauma psychics say

Wait for the doctor’s diagnosis

Somewhere the blood flows like a poisoned river

Somewhere florescent lights dim
and all across the UK lights fade, the characters in the infinite dream

Lion-hearted mask drop
Not here
Not yet

How long can you keep up the smiling when there is a torturous void inside?

Dunked under, gasping for air

Anxiety strangling the soul

Sleepless nights wired staring at walls

Can’t cope with this trapdoor

Energies sturring up inside

Debating inside do it or not

Baring the observer of hundreds of universes spinning and mingling with my aura, an unconscious dance; tearing up inside, my ego spits me out and chews it up, the thoughts of what could be cut the soul into smithereens.. Quietly tearing through numbness..

Deadly delirous yet sanest sane

Slipping into the insane

When will the day come when the poems are pregnant with the sweetest notes of my soul?

The melodies caged within the worn out chambers of the heart

Waking in a pool blood bath

Storms whipping up in my mind

The devil is in the midsts

Can’t feel anything anymore

Salivating at relief, where are you?

Black hole

How much pain can a person take until they break?

The more you run, the more it comes for you

Hormones dishevelled, blood loss, flooding numbness and tingling, not well in the head

Stiffled, suppressed, help,making myself sick, creator of own reality, exploding a birth of supernovae cocooned within

Lost

Too much pain wringing my mind

I wonder how did it get to this

Where have you gone, where are you?

Did you ever leave?

I wonder if I’ll fall through the crevices, a baby chick dropping out of a tree, deformed wings

Running all night long, feeling in control

In my soul

Gold, brewing in the astral spheres

Oh I dream

Trying to walk to smoke the cigarette, my dummy, stuff I never imagined

Each step a knife cuts through my gut, coarsing through every cell of my being

Limitations numerological ruminations

Need therapy

Just hold me in yand never let go

It’s self love I know

Addictions on the verge of collapse

Delirious to connect, can’t do this, can do that, what the is that?

Can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t weep

Depression creeping up, lack of oxygen, lack of blood, neurotransmitters befuddled up

Rumbling, I sense the presence of doom sinking and plunging seemly without consent

We are no closer to home

Yet it’s already here in this quantum striny

Flash of red-white ER lights

Wail of sirens

Bedded and waiting

Bleeding, weak, faint and desperate pleas of painting

As the IVs drip, drip, dripping clear fluids

Old blue hospital air in a room without sun

Still waiting

Yields to cell with the shield bearing insurers at Blue

Still the drip, drip, dripping of the IV bag

Forces me to keep my shaky arm down
against the blood panels

Exhale… resignation

Forced admittance

Transferred to room 5162

Hospital blue again

Beside colour coded lines beneath the signs for ante-natal, children’s, orthopedics, geriatric care,
concentric sets of double doors

Past murals hung on whitewashed walls

Filling space but not the time

Which stretches and expands as I walk the corridors toward ward three

Reception staff are busy at their desks, scuttling from here to there

Do they know they are working for the devil?

The unconscious beauty of being in service to others yet

Thinking the good they do, yet a knowing that the loop circuitry is to keep people sick

To make the orgy of money for the devil’s playground, maya

Here, propped up, I make a home for these momentary hours or nights

Blankets cradle me so the locked hair
cascades around the weary resting face
and plunges down as her safety net of protection

The Wheel of Fortune is on the big screen

As patients echo lulls in the emergency room

Churning, cold, endlessly waiting yet being in this carnival of melancholic abyss

Alone yet never alone. I love you.

~DiosRaw, 22/07/21

Short Stories {3} ~ Paradox Diffusion

Years after searching for God in psychedelics, Rumi had not wavered in her quest for knowledge. Without the benefit of a prescribed social role, she did what she wanted, when she wanted, which was to learn without regard for convention. Today, paradoxes were circulating around her mind, determined, she would not sleep without finding her answer.

At other times and in other places, Rumi would have been burned at the stake, hailed as a prophet, or stoned. The present time simply ignored her. Normal people treated Rumi as a public garbage can, light post, or stalled car, as an obstacle that could be moved but numbed by her surroundings.

“Take your pills NOW,” shouted the nurse down the corridor, from Texas’s renound mental hospital for the “insane.” Rumi rolled her eyes as Nurse Truchin’s sharp voice echoed and bounced off blood stained walls, she was sitting in room 23, her white washed room “gifted” to her by her parents, they could not cope with her cosmic mind anymore. Rumi had been in Senora Texas Mental Hospital for two weeks and she felt on edge, this was her first time in an asylum. Rumi paced up and down her abode, she had to take those dreaded sleeping pills or else they would force it down her throat somehow. Reluctantly she calmly walked down the hallway and was handed her pill through the dorms pill shutter.

Rumi swallowed the pill. “Good, now go back to your room, checks are at 11pm, make sure you are in your bed or you know what will happen,” said Nurse Truchin coldly. Rumi said nothing, she would achieve nothing by responding and quietly returned to her room blocking out the screams from the room beside her’s.

Shutting her door, relieved, she lay on her bed staring at the white washed walls that had become her friend. What were paradoxes? How could two opposing propositions exist at the same time? The sleeping pills were making her more and more drowsy. Lonely and with a heavy heart she pulled the duvet above her head. “A paradox is a statement or problem that either appears to produce two entirely contradictory (yet possible) outcomes, or provides proof for something that goes against what we intuitively expect,” Rumi reiterated inside of her mind.

Hallucinating as she usually did on these pills, she saw imagery quite like her visions on magic mushrooms a few months ago. Warping geometric patterns danced in a trance with eachother as her eyes flickered going in and out of consciousness.

I will sleep on this Rumi decided in her mind drifting off into the astral planes.

Upon awakening her answer had arrived, getting out her notebook she wrote “Paradoxes lead you to God.”

On her day of release, after all this time pretending to act normal to get out of this hell hole of an asylum, Rumi saw Mrs. Truchin as “insane” and Mrs. Truchin saw Rumi as insane. Rumi quietly knew that duality breaks down into formless consciousness; she was sane in an insane world.

“I know one thing,” Rumi said to Mrs. Truchin as she left the asylum doors. “And that is that I know nothing.” Rumi remembered studying ancient Greek philosopher’s such as Socrates years ago. Mrs. Truchin took one bewildered look at Rumi and walked away. Rumi smiled to herself and smelt freedom once again, her taxi was awaiting to pass through the doors into the insane world.

Time is a construct of consciousness and in higher dimensions has no meaning. but, in the lower dimensions it is used to measure changes and in the multitudes of parallel timelines all simultaneously existing. Paradoxes melt into the all, Source, Brahman, Allah, whatever name you stamp onto formless ether.

~DiosRaw 01/04/21

~Death Of Self-Identity~

It is clear here that the ego or self which is annihilated in “ego death” is not the ego of depth psychology and it is not the actual self. It is specifically the self-identity. The death of this identity merely means that there is no barrier or resistance to the presence of Essence. There is no need to uphold an identity based on a psychic structure that is bound to have some rigidity for the simple reason that this psychic structure is based on a representation, and that the representation is based on past experience. This might prove to be irrelevant to the arising dimension of presence, but it is an irrelevance that is bound to function as a measure of inflexibility. Ego death also implies the total freedom from the overall self-representation. This condition does not necessarily mean there will be no more self-representation or identity; it means that this representation does not pattern the experience of the self and that the identity is not experienced as oneself. The self is the presence of Essence itself, and when the identity is present in experience, it is perceived to refer to a superficial manifestation of oneself.

~The Point of Existence, pg. 524

~Dissolution Of Identity With The Body Does Not Necessarily Mean The Death Of Ego~

So the death experience we have just described, the dissolution of the identity with the body, does not necessarily mean the death of the ego. The death of the ego itself is a deeper thing. You may know that you aren’t your body, but you still have a mind, an ego. You are now attached to your inner experience, experienced as somewhat disembodied. You’re attached to your psychological identity, your psychological makeup, to all your thoughts and feelings. This is the source of all the other identities. The self-image, the body image, the body identification all emanate from this kernel, this pea of identity. This finally is the ego. This is why people who die are not necessarily free from the personality, the ego identity, because even when they die consciously they are not free from the mental configuration, mental existence, their personality. This means that a person can experience ego without a body before he dies. The moment you see that you’re not your body, it is possible then to see the ego, finally to identify the center of the personality—the ego that we call “myself” or “I.”

~Diamond Heart Book Two, pg. 57