Karma Chameleon | The Daily Post


 

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Karma Chameleon

Reincarnation: do you believe in it?

In my personal opinion as a Christian who is studying Buddhism I think Resurrection and Reincarnation may be two sides of the same coin. Perhaps a combination of both. If I must return in some form I’d like to be a Tree as opposed to coming back as a human or an animal. Also I would not want to return to this earth such as it is. I believe there are other planets and galaxies out there with resonant life forms.

Like Daphne I ran from Death’s sickles and scythe my feet became roots, my legs and chest a strong trunk, my hands, arms and hair branches and leaves.

The Woman Who Was Turned Into a Tree

My sisters and I speared the man creating a copse around his rotting corpse.  He is gone. He is destroyed. Once again the Circle is renewed stronger than before.

I would love to return as a Tree in the primordial rain forests of Pangaea. A Banyan and Bodhi Tree with outstretched branches and roots. Raising my branches and leaves high to the sky worshiping Goddess who took a remnant of the faithful from doomed planet Earth and reformed Gaia in a distant Lunar system to start over to replant earthly extinct flora and fauna for another chance at life.

Long ago in the ascent of Pangaea there were two moons orbiting each other. Then one was thrown out of its natural orbit colliding with the other. At the point of collision dust, seeds and podules rained down on the nascent Pangaea rich fertile womb birthing every species in Gaia’s thoughts, wishes and dreams. Thus was reborn a fresh new start for all sentient beings.

And I the first Tree privy to all the secrets and dream-wishes of Mother Gaia and Daughter Pangaea whisper sweet wisdom throughout the later. Communing with the rushing rivers, succulent seas and teeming oceans life arises through myriad birth canals including the two-legs my caregiver creation to whom I have given dominion and responsibility for every being rooted, creeping, leaping, running and walking. Mark well your 2nd chance Dear two-legs for the land was made for you and you for the land. Keep my Blessing fruitful and well nourished. Cry out to me and the ancient ones will answer for wisdom and knowledge flow within your veins. The Akashic Records are written within your souls, they cry out from my branches, they feed from my roots, they shout from Cave Walls. Listen fleshly souls that your journey on earth may be prosperous in true alignment with time, eternity and space.

 

Psalm 1 New International Version (NIV)

BOOK I

Psalms 1–41

Psalm 1

Blessed is the one
    who does not walk in step with the wicked
or stand in the way that sinners take
    or sit in the company of mockers,
but whose delight is in the law of the Lord,
    and who meditates on his law day and night.
That person is like a tree planted by streams of water,
    which yields its fruit in season
and whose leaf does not wither—
    whatever they do prospers.

Not so the wicked!
    They are like chaff
    that the wind blows away.
Therefore the wicked will not stand in the judgment,
    nor sinners in the assembly of the righteous.

For the Lord watches over the way of the righteous,
    but the way of the wicked leads to destruction.

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TREES

by: Joyce Kilmer (1886-1918)

image: http://www.poetry-archive.com/i_pic.gif

THINK that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree.
 
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;
 
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
 
A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
 
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
 
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
“Trees” was originally published in Trees and Other Poems. Joyce Kilmer. New York: George H. Doran Company, 1914.

Read more at http://www.poetry-archive.com/k/trees.html#YdPGM2lB2wBUzO3O.99

Seraph shall bear fruit in the time of seed not in the season of man


Seraph shall bear fruit in the time of seed not in the season of man***********************

Banyan Tree
Banyan Tree

Seraph sat on a freshly painted sepulchers remembering the future and forgetting the past. Pondering the worn dusty trail as it disappeared as thru evaporated water dried under Old Sol’s blistering heat but she didn’t have enough phases to set the stage.

The Murmur of our Passageways died on dry prairie plains.  They stood out like freshly broken welts surrounded by lichen decay buried under low-lying sarsens mossy creepers encompassing the split trunks of lightening formed saplings.  In the distance she could detect smoky ravaging flames for miles beyond illuminated vistas.

The stratosphere was opulent with midwinter bouquet and taciturn looks.  So cold a coarse skinned frog sprinted for miles seeking refuge in lined bark as leaves dangled wilting out of sync with the its sulk.

Daylight dissolved as nocturne appeared sky midnight blue black sprinkled with constellations of stars.  We watched the horizon meld into inky blackness as dense clouds moved in blanking out welcome cerulean moonlight.

Leafy seadragons cling to drifting seaweed. Emperor Tamarin lie ensconced in bough brushwood.  White-faced Saki Monkey has imbibed too well and now begs pause. Tapirs Forage using prehensile snouts. Proboscis Monkeys give Jimmy Durante a run for his money.  Narwhal do battle under the ocean holding majestic swordfights for our viewing pleasure.

Let us take our flint tools and populate empty kingdoms.

Our bodies became ornaments of praise sounding the universe.  Let us open the door and together step into the unexplored.

Bodhi Tree Buddha
Bodhi Tree Buddha

Midnight drifted among cooled soporific shades whilst light languorously filtered through tree tops that met high snow-capped mountains.  Dusk blanketed the sleepy township as she cut lengths of vine, made pliable from being pulled hand to hand threading liana sharply through forked branches.  Give it a hot scrub. Wring it through grasses, cattails, green meadows bathed in the humidity of a plummeting sun. Gargantuan knobby helixes braided roots as thick as a man’s body birthed Banyan and Bodhi fire walking as stones exploded beneath their bare feet.

A splash was heard inside the water, into the corpse of Jupiter pushing up Easter Island. The earth was droning, weighty and syrupy after the slenderest shower. One could taste the whirring churrup of insects singed by the blazing eclipse.