Tag Archives: poetry

Psilocybin and MDMA

I heard a talk about drug therapies for Cancer. The Doctor from NYU  cancer research talked of the difference between Psilocybin and MDMA – both therapies that are being studied under strictly monitored conditions. The therapies have benefits of reducing worry , anxiety and fear of death.

He said Psilocybin is not recommended for people who love stability and fear change. Psilocybin dislocates the everyday relationship of the individual to the everyday world. MDMA ( street name : ecstasy) relaxes and creates feelings of well being and love for all.  Both therapies could create temporary paranoia as reality shifts, which makes a secure environment essential. Dont try it at home etc.

My mind loves to disassociate from everyday reality. I surely feel ecstasy when I allow my imagination to see the whole world as a living communicating being of which i am part. It can be depressing and painful to have to live in the everyday world where nature is destroyed inevitably, and largely unnecessarily by the current shitstem of  providing comforts. There is enough and there are solutions – for some reason humanity is waiting for this shitstem to crash before discovering how to survive in harmony and without waste.

I read my own writing and comfort myself:

When I die , hallelujah bye and bye, I return to Source. I AM. I become one again with that which I always am. I am that now, in a separate temporary skin. This does not change the fact that my body is ageing, that my dreams remain unfulfilled, my expectations challenged and dissed, my life an irrelevant point in history’s notebook.

In HERstory,  I AM part of the Awakening. IN MYStory, the point of my life is mine to decide. Mysterious, unfathomable, unless we know OUR story, our human story. It is ever thus. The Rise, the Fall, the Thrust , the squall…

I am ever born again in a time which is timeless and ever here. My eyes see the glory of the skies and clouds. My heart pines for Star Knowing.  This body loves its comforts and envies the homeless their views of the stars, but not their physical, emotional handicap. Their mental handicap is an extreme form of mine. We feel connection to energy, when Inner Chi is one with Outer Chi. Aborigine songlines, dot patterns, Nasca lines, drawings in the chalk cliffs, crop circles – inexplicable energy formations that some people feel and represent and even live in harmony with…

A Cosmistory:

in the beginning, before the was a beginning, we all lived together in the Cosmic Egg of All Potential which didn’t exist, or existed only as a concept in its own mind. As I said, in the beginning, we lived together Mother and I, and we wanted to play, We wanted “Lila”, the dance. Or was it Lila that wanted to happen?   Lila was always there in the cosmic egg of all potential. That’s what we discovered, Mother and I, and by that time Lila was in full swing. The play of mothers, fathers, and children had escaped the cosmic egg of all potential and become what it always was.

~~~~~

People peopling Earth. Earth peoples. Earth and people are one. Her children her self.

We are the human consciousness that Earth devised to know itself. Evolution delighting in being. And in so far as we know who we are , we are Stardust and it is magnificent. We are creative goddesses and gods

. The stories we tell ourselves are creative. Live compadres, LIVE!

http://www.elizabethmitchellstudio.com  All art work available at studio. Art classes and silk painting classes ongoing.

 

In My Head..

Breathing. Inhale two three four. Hold two three four. Exhale two three four. Hold two three four. Inhale two three four. Hold two three four. Exhale two three four. Hold two three four. Inhale…

To consciously halt breathing is to experience a conscious moment of how it is to be dead. Consciousness is still here observing.

I am sitting at the table, my arms resting on a yellow tablecloth. Yellow in 4 second awareness is symbolic of sunshine, of daily gratitude to this breath.

Gratitude opens the door for those who are materially dead to be in our head . I pour myself a gin and 4 seasons highfructosefreee tonic water. My parents are breathing with me. Along with tea, It was mum’s social drink. I also like scotch, and brandy, like my dad. To say “I like scotch and brandy also, like my dad” , would change the meaning.

Who cares about such linguistic punctiliousness these days. Who cares what my Dad drank. Desperately escaping burdens of the day’s requirements. How hard it is for spirit to live in a material body here. Spirit which is eternal finds no difficulty in anything, it is only humans who forget to breathe. Spirit is breath. Spirits relax the natural soul which is burdened here, but must deal with it.

Inspire, inspiration, breathe in breath. Expire, expiration, breath out death. Breathe in life. And hold for a count of four for awareness.

We are spirit here. And those realists who say, “oh shut up already. Just get on with it”, don’t and don’t have to experience the spirit realms where mind, mind has mountains cliffs of fall, sheer no man fathomed…… oh my dead, my beloved are in my head. and on that four count of stopped breath i feel them encouraging me:
“yes yes yes. It is paradise here where we watch without input and it is hell here when thou’rt unhappy. Be Free we say; “Iree”, says Pun, “Free. Freedom itself, freed for each to frame their own concept, their own game.

Breath is spirit. Luscious awareness of light and dark, life and the mark you make. Breath in for four; hold for four; breathe out for four; hold for four; breathe in…..

 

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poetic note for Lucie de L.A.

Sol rose rouge, en levant le signal jaune.
Le mot qui s’enscribe ici, toi et moi, “pronk” like pronghorn lambs, pour joie y Lila;

Pink pink pink – rhymes w stink stink stink
my little boy mind chortles,
blue my color, i redefine girl
beyond gender limitation
tho coming in that box.

Le mot qui s’enscribe ici, moi et moi, dans l’vresse d’orgeuil regressa y lo dire a la vida.

Eve sors de ses pentiments divine. Hissed off au viper.