Thursday, December 14, 2017

The Eminent Essay

Have we met?

I'll make you sweat
with heart beating to exhaustion

and you, throwing caution
to the wind...

Did you intend
to prolong our fate?

Increasing self loathing and hate,
I am always on the tip of your mind.

Before long, you find
that you can wait no longer.

In this moment, I'll make you stronger
than you've ever been before.

Dig deep into your core
and know that I am ready.

So write me steady,
across the page,

releasing me from my cage,
into the world, clean or messy--

I am your eminent essay.

Sunday, August 20, 2017

Recurring Motifs Surrounding Solar and Lunar Eclipses

This article discusses motifs and themes surrounding solar and lunar eclipses from around the world. The format is designed like a worksheet to help students better understand and follow the material.

Throughout history, eclipses have been a time for reflection.  Use this event as a way of better understanding your place in the cosmos.  

Friday, July 21, 2017

Dead Banana Bread

My wife said she’d make me banana bread,
so I got it in my head that soon I’d be fed,
but I was misled.

Now, I dread that this newly wed,
has bred false hope, and instead
the idea is in the red.

I pled with my coed,
“You made your bed! Now bake my bread!”
but she fled.

Alas, the last thread of buttery spread,
embedded in my brain has been shredded.
The idea is dead.

Tuesday, July 11, 2017

Dividing Differences

If you're looking for differences, I've got a few.
But to what degree is up to you.
We're all different, so we're the same.
A different name playing a different game.
You, me, we are parts to a whole;
a total much greater than ourselves. 
Yet, I see you where you stand, because here I am.

Down and up, lost and found, and everything in between
are the differences that teach us lessons
and provide purpose in the unknowable experience (experiment?) called life.
Experienced experimenters navigate the oceans consciously.
They see the surface, but know its depths.
Beware of monsters.

Early in the morning, a man rises and prepares for his day.
Later that evening, he goes to bed a completely different person.
At night, he disappears into abstract realms he’ll never remember.
Tomorrow, he’ll try to become something other than he is,
unknowingly creating struggles that will ultimately lead
to greater truths for his life and many others to follow.
Then he dies.

Yesterday, was good. Never forget it,
but do not let it lead you astray today.
Be. Here. Now. This very moment.
Slow down. Breathe. In. Out.
This has never happened before
and it will never happen again.
Let it go and find the next bit of beauty.

"The World is on Fire" -- Mt. Shasta Camping, Hiking, and Meditation

In this video and poem, I share several clips and pictures of my 2017 vacation to Northern California, Mount Shasta Wildlife Reserve.  While there, I went hiking, swimming, and camping around the summits and base of the mountain.  These lyrics are a mix of reflections from several of my meditations.

The world is on fire,
burning with desire
taking humans higher
and ensuring nothing ever stays the same.

Past, future
delusions of the mind,
trapping us in time
and the lower realms of Set;
begetting distractions
which take us out of the now
and puts us into a play,
the game called life.

Knife through the veil
and impale the expectations
of society
with a sobriety of mindfulness
and zen-like focus.

Hocus pocus and magic all around
lucid breeze, earth, and ground
see the dream for what its worth,
but recognizing that birth and death
are but a flash in our soul’s existence
and soon you will become awakened and see
that the world is on fire--
inspiring perpetual change,
and a shattering of concepts
to those who choose to burst into flames.

Self and its shell 
our earthly vehicle
so the Merkaba of light,
soul’s interdimensional flight
can be experienced once again.

Until then,
the dark night of our soul’s journey
through the cosmos
and all planes of existence,
the upward spiraling experience
is YOU!
You rainbow warrior of light
hanging out in the badass sector
of the Milky Way at night.

Saying no to evolution,
as visionaries who see the simulation,
and carefully inspire the matrix.

A planet of listless zombies,
the lost and blind,
fueled by Hunger Games
and the norms and forms
of economies
which create skull drudgeries
and monotonous routines
making life seem stale.
But, in reality, the Holy Grail,
is here,
the promise of immortality,
is now,
is in the moment,
for the totality of creation
is happening all around,
pouring forth from source
into your heart, a part of it all.

Like a cascade of currents
washing downstream
and over the slick surface
of sanded stone
we are one in the river
and one again after the fall.
Serj Tankian calls it home.

You, me, we.
Him, her, us, them, it.
Source it’s all.

For a moment,
our decent is silent
as we explore withdrawal,
but life is short
and we will merge as one
in a new world
promised to humanity
that is coming very, very soon.

Until then, tune into the perfume of here,
whether we’re on a mountain
or near a fountain,
in a stream or in a dream,
hiding away in a nook
or absorbed in a book,
enlightenment is found all around.

A zen master once said that
there are no enlightened beings,
only enlightened actions.

A master’s practice is rapturous
every day, from dawn til dusk
and beyond
until the world dissolves
and all evolve.

So, let’s dance,
like flames that rise and fall,
spark up and douse out,
igniting what once was,
shedding light on the now,
and creating space for the future
because of one word and one word only:

the reason for this slow burn
that takes billions of years
is a series of lessons
guiding us toward divinity,
and impermanence.

It helps us understand
the meaning of life,
it’s why we exist,
it’s where we came from
and where we are going:

Unconditional LOVE.
God’s way
to nurture us during our metamorphosis
amidst Genesis and Tribulations,
until we are ready to come home
and create something similar
as adults,
children of God,
and creators of the Universe.

Monday, May 1, 2017

Pink Pillars

What do we find when we look deep in our mind?
Reality is a vibrational and energetic relationship
that allows us to slip into subconscious dreamscapes
so that we can play out the lives of teens and tots,
moms and lots of cool cats that know this and that.
Let go your focus, and see the pink pillars permeating space.

Saturday, April 15, 2017

Alphabet Poem (Jesus Christ)

J esus Christ
K ing of the Jews
L ord of the Earth
M an for awhile
G od for eternity

Sunday, April 9, 2017

The American Dream

entrails torn out 
of cheap, Armani suits 
are the guts given up by men 
conquered and suppressed in wars waged daily, 
fighting for a spot in the race 
and losing the battle 
to hearts that are 

Monday, March 20, 2017


brings busy bees
pleased to be
buzzing between
fragrant flowers following
showers of

Sunday, March 19, 2017

Dangers of Florida

When I was younger, I had the opportunity to travel to the United States. At first I didn't want to, because of how dangerous and confusing it was. However, after speaking with my grandmother and some of my friends, it was decided that I was strong enough to endure such a journey and overcome any obstacles that might befall me throughout the duration of my trip.

Despite the relatively calm flight, I landed in a state of confusion. Coming off of the plane, everything was much different than I had expected. If the clock was correct, it was around XII and AII. What this meant, I had no clue. The many hues and shades of green further muddled my senses, terrifying me to such extremes that I fled the scene like a listless teen fleeing authority.

Florida was not at all how I'd imagined it. What I knew about its frosty tundra was given to me by my grandmother, Abui. Abui had warned me about Florida, its slick roads and chilly climate made for dangerous conditions at any point throughout the year. There were tigers and mooses that always got loose and who loved to eat little children.

Abui knew absolutely everything and she always shared her knowledge with me! She told me how the moon was held in place by a giant thread spun from the rays of the sun. She explained that blue was God's favorite color, which was why He kept it closest to him. And she told me about the dangers of green things, how they can lash out and bit you at any moment, if you aren't careful.

Her fear of green wasn't unreasonable. She told me that when she was a little girl her parents had taken her to a garden. In the garden, there were thorns that poked her, bugs that flew in her mouth, and all sorts of smelly flowers that stuffed up her nose. Ever since then, she's been careful to avoid such dangers. Which is probably why she lives in the desert.

Unlike her, I eventually grew to love Florida. My timid approach to nature blossomed into a love of all things springing from the ground. In my travels, I saw neither a tiger nor a moose. I couldn't wait to tell Abui all about my adventures. Upon leaving, I even learned that the clock read 1:37!

When I returned to Abui, I told her all about my experiences in Florida. She listened carefully, occasionally shaking her head and clucking her tongue. When I came to the end of my story, she looked very grave. With concern in her eyes, she indicated that the Americas had poisoned my mind. If I wanted to heal, I'd have to stay with her in the desert for many more years.

I didn't want to be sick for the rest of my life, so I followed her instructions. Which is why I'm still here, today, thirty years later. Sticking by Abui's side isn't all bad. My first grandson was born just two weeks ago. When he is old enough, I too will tell him about the dangerous Americas and that trickster of a place called Florida.

Sunday, February 5, 2017

It's All YOU!

The purpose of life is not material gain, or love, or enlightenment. The purpose of life is to recognize that you are alive right now. Seriously, look at yourself! Out of all the universe and its incredible span of time you are here, right now!

You are the doer, the knower, the thinker, the lover, the lost, the found, the timeless, and the bound. It's YOU! You are here reading this. You could be "not reading this," but that is impossible, now, isn't it?

Do you know who you are? You are way cool, that's for sure. Try to be something else...It's all you! It's all in your head. Let loose your eyes and see without judgement or strain, for you are judging nothing but yourself and straining against your own mind. 

YOU are the sum total of YOUr experience. YOU are all that YOU have experienced. All that YOU think YOU know is from YOUr experience.

Truth is not a clearly defined formation of words. It is a beingness.

Live it. Do it. Be it. See it. What will you do with it?

You will forget, but try to remember this truth again and again until it is permanent. Deny it, you will.

Monday, January 30, 2017

Heaven's Poem

Forever flowing, the fragrant flowers of spring
bring busy bees, pleased to be buzzing
eternal echoes etched in earthly oms, 
homes for hearts and Heaven's poems.

Copyright 2015. JourneyHolm. All Rights Reserved.

Saturday, January 28, 2017

Pointless Story

In a quaint, quiet forest a mole went around, tilling the earth and digging the ground.  He was searching for worms, his slimiest prey, when he discovered a farm that would fill him for days.

There were so many worms, he ate himself fat.  On writhering thrones, he slurped and he sat. When he was finished, there were still many worms who attacked him in strong, slimy squirms. 

Sifting the soil, the worms trapped the beast, bathed him in grime, and made him their feast.  The mole was too gorged to put up a fight.  An ironic twist to his utopic night. 

The worms then thrived for three thousand years, devoid of thought, worry, or fears.  They evolved into a race of omniscient beings, finding all answers and gleaning all meanings.

One sunny day, a boy dug them up, washed off their dirt, and filled up his cup.  He used them as bait when hunting for fish.  Catching a trout was his number one wish. 

Grabbing a long, wriggling worm, the boy set to stick the hook through its form.  Just before the point pierced its soft side, the worm told the boy, "I want to survive!"

The boy dropped the worm in startled alarm, stumbled backwards and tripped over the farm.  The pile of worms slopped out of the cup, raced for the edge, and dropped in a plop. 

In the cool water, they raced for the shore, unaware of what the fish had in store.  Within a minute they were swallowed up whole, which really was this story's one goal. 

You see, the fish were part of a plot to show you what the mole begot: the beginning.  And the moral of the story is this, my dear, faithful friend, nothing matters when it comes to the end.

Friday, January 27, 2017

Forget Your Own Name

If I was God,
I think I'd be bored
because if I knew all
there'd be not to look toward.

Like watching a movie
for the one millionth time
I'd know the all the scenes
and speak every line.

Which would make perfect sense,
since I played every part,
from beginning to end,
in every moment and every heart.

I even transformed
into a limited being.
The pain of the world
had somehow been freeing.

If I was God,
I'd feel like a parent
who was raising a child
with a loving impairment. 

I'd want the world to know
how close I could be,
but then I'd think clearer
and see only me.

I think that God's lonely,
so he forgets His own name,
joins His creation
and plays out the game.

If you look into the heart
of any possible thing,
then there you'll find God
and merge with His being.

Once this occurs,
nothing's the same.
You see that you're God,
and forget your own name.

It's scary at first,
but once it moves past
you come back to earth
and try to broadcast.

Alas, the masses don't understand
and the message is never quite clear.
But in the end, it was all meant to be
exactly as it was written here.

Wednesday, January 25, 2017

The Illusion of Time

Imagine a world with no time.  If you reflect, I think you’ll find that truly there is no specific date and that being late is just an illusion to eliminate confusion as we try to understand the world in canned form.  It has become the norm to believe that we exist during a specific year and hour.  We adhere to the power of the clock and allow it to lock us into place, creating slaves as we race to and fro with thoughts that we will go somewhere other than where we always have been.  A proper zen might snap us out of this delusion.  Alas, the infusion of the hourly circuit makes us work it until our fingers are numb.  It’s making us dumb; the thumb of the man holding us down so we can sparkle his crown with rocks that the flocks confuse as wealth.  All the while, their health is depleting as they lose fleeting moments to the ticking tock that mocks every moment of their lives. Time.

Friday, January 20, 2017

A Lone, Lost Lad

It was, from the start, a terror stricken heart that caught my throat in a chokehold.  I'd been bold, wandering so far from mom and her friends, and, now, it seemed my end was near.

Fear burned my mind as I tried to find the path from which I came.  Alas, they all looked the same, and no matter how loudly I called her name, she did not hear my cries for help. 

Long legs and sagging purses made me feel like I was drowning in a sea of strangers.  The stampeding masses sounding like nightmarish morasses reminded me of monsters and other things that could go wrong in life.

I remember just sitting on the ground, hoping to be found by someone who could help.  Instead, I was accidentally kicked by those too busy to look around, continuing to shuffle like sheep that baa this way and that, seeking the promising pleasure of consumer goods.

Finally, a man in blue wondered who I was and why I was alone.  His tone was tough, so before he could rough me up like Uncle Jim, I bluffed and said I'd hurt my shin and that mommy was just ahead. 

I jumped to meet her, but accidentally turned toward a dead end.  Now trapped, the man snapped a walkie-talkie off his belt.  I felt the cold pain of my own misdoings bubble up in my belly.  My legs turned to jelly as I felt the welts from so many times before pour back into my mind.  Fearing his firm fists, I pissed my pants and started to cry.

In a final, desperate lie, I told myself that everything was going to be ok. 

Later on, the all-call echoed throughout the mall, beckoning my mother to come retrieve her lost boy.  Like a tossed toy, I sat in a corner wallowing in self-guilt, which had built upon itself throughout the drawn-out day.  There was nothing left to say.

She arrived, dismayed; insisting that I should have stayed by her side.  Half of me wanted to hide away, while the other half grabbed her hand and wouldn't let go.  Like an undertow, I'd been swept far away and was barely saved.

Despite having braved the wild concrete jungle of society, I still felt lost--no longer a child.  Perhaps it was then when I crossed the threshold into a more mature mold of myself.  Forever, my play would hold a hint of awareness for my surroundings. 

The pounding of my heart dissipated as I related what had happened to her and her worried soul.  Her lost foal, finally herded home.  Carrying me to the car, I rested my head on her chest, ending the day better than I would have guessed.

Copyright 2015. JourneyHolm.  All Rights Reserved.

Thursday, January 19, 2017

Tuesday, January 17, 2017

Monday, January 16, 2017

Believe it if you want...

Believe it if you want, but a well dressed gatekeeper just gave me a key to the mansion he guards.  He told me to travel through the yards and use it to open a door.  When I did, I would know where to roam. 

It was the home of his brother from another mother who had died trying to hide from his wife in a river of lust with another man.  The plan was to flee the state and incubate their forbidden passion.  He was in fashion and his partner was a barista at the local cafĂ©.  Neither knew he was gay until they locked eyes for the first time.  Only then, did they find the truth about who they were.  

In the spur of the moment, they decided to own it and leave in the morning.  However, they never came together again.  Mourning his loss, the boss of the coffee shop decided to chop up his employee so that no other company may enjoy his brew.  He knew that without this man, his shop was finished and would slowly diminish because he could never seep a cup of joe like this sage.  

In a fit of rage, the keeper’s brother called his mother, who was an assassin of sorts.  She killed for sport, whether it was man or beast.  Then, she would feast on the flesh of her kill until she was ill from stuffing herself full with its meat.  

She agreed to meet the boss for a “job” in which she would rob him of his life.  She plunged a knife into his chest and watched him come to rest in eternal slumber.  He was number seven that she had sent to heaven that year.  

It became clear to a cop that something was wrong when he stopped outside after hearing a song.  She often sang as she ate, it was the way her late husband always had his meal, bless his soul.  Her real goal was that of sacrifice to entice him back into the living.  By giving her voice to the choice people she killed, she steadily willed him back to the earth.  His birth would be known if a corpse started to groan after having already been dead. 

I stopped the gatekeeper and asked if his mother was sick in the head.  He was quick to explain that her crimes only caused pain to the people for a short while.  It was her style to kill quickly and not in a gruesome manner of repeated impaling.  I could tell that he was failing to understand the grand madness of the scheme.  Did he realize this tale as ghastly? 

Lastly, he told me that his friend was found to be a cohort of it all when they traced the call from the mother’s phone.  He finished with a tone of lament.  His intent was to get fired of his post and become hired at the most dangerous prison around.  He would join the grounds crew, which he knew was a way to free his friend.  In the end, all he needed was for me, he pleaded, to wander around until I was lost.  When I called for directions, an inspection would be made and he would be tossed out without getting laid.  

Once free from his job, he could finally rob the prison of his mate.  They would have to flee the state, but he would rather be a refugee that had freed his buddy than a cruddy cohort to this whole mess.  And, now that I knew his plan, it was best that I ran away once I made it back to the street.  If I wanted, he would meet me in a secret location to avoid probation for us all.  He would call me on the next full moon, which was soon, and all three of us could flee on a bus to the Mexican border.  

In order to succeed without being caught, he thought that we should use code words to move towards the culmination of the deed.  I would need a mask when wandering around, because if it was found out who I really was, then the fuzz would surely jail me as well.  

I couldn’t tell if he was serious with me or not.  Suddenly, I forgot that I was late for work.  I had to cork off this conversation, lest I catch reprobation from my manager.  He was a challenger of my consistently being late, but I was a great worker and no one made coffee like me.  I became increasingly interesting in this man, his story and the idea of glory in a far away land.  He had planned it all out and I was about to explain that I must refrain from his plea.  He saw that I might disagree and eyed me up and down.

What he found was that I might leave him in his endeavor.  However, he had never met anyone he was so connected to in so few minutes of time.  Now, I’m not going to lie that when I met his eye I felt a faint flutter in my heart.  I started to see him in a new way and just as I was about to say otherwise, our eyes broke away to look at the floor.  

Then, I saw the door open to the guarded home.  A lady with a dog started walking toward us and I became desperate to know if he would share his life with me.  It turned out that the lady was his wife to be and that he wasn’t a guard at all.  He said he would call me to leave in the morning.  An idea was forming in my breast that he might be the best thing that had ever happened to me. 

I decided to quit my job as a barista and become a tourista of another land.  I went to hold his hand, but knew that I shouldn’t.  I couldn’t wait for his call and just as I was leaving, his fiancĂ© started to pray that his mother wouldn’t sing another one of her tunes.  It always ruins a meal, she complained.  I refrained from thinking about the sickly feeling that was creeping throughout my body.  

I oddly left the couple to tell my boss of his loss in a couple of days.  The phrase that stuck out on this page of my life was that of the friend’s boss and the knife used in the accused crime of his tale.  If I was to be impaled, I guess I had failed to prevent the event, because I continued to hustle toward my demise.