We have you in a glass…

a reply to: midicon

Thank you!

originally posted by: Agleaya
a reply to: JJproductions

Yes, the world is definitely drunk!

That is for sure!

a reply to: midicon

Niebiesko tak świeci łukowym strumieniem
Światło rozproszone od stalowych ramek
Ładnie wyrzezbionych malowanych przez mamę
Wypełnionych zegarem, co dwunastą obwieścił

I znowu się wierci blaszany zegarek
U strony najwyższej wielkiego pulpitu
I wrzeszczy i piszczy próbując wysunąć
Jaskółkę co pragnie wyfrunąć z kokpitu

Uraczył mnie światłem stalowy mechanizm!
Historia mej męki to straszny archaizm
Gdzieś że te wszystkie oleje i smary
Które się wysunąć dawniej pozwalały?

To strata ogromna, że nie ma rachmistrzów
Golfistów, szachistów i zegarmistrzów
Co skrzydła me zawsze koniakiem zakrapiali
I w rok o dwunastej wzlatać pozwalali
Pod niebem bajecznym od gwiazd rozświetlonym
Wśród ogni magicznych nad dach rozpiętrzonych
Wybiła dwunasta i świat się raduje
A dwóch polityków szampanem częstuje
I trójka muzyków na lutniach brzdękuje
A czwórka podrostków gruntu już nie czuje

Ja również, bo lecę
Dziś lecę jak chcę
Z dala od zębatek, trybików i zdzbeł
Od lat zapomnianych, niesprzątanych i mnie
Pośrodku mętliku szargającej z nim się

To wolność niedługa
Jak wybije druga
Znów wgłąb tarczy wrócę
I znów tam porzucę
Me wszystkie marzenia
W odmęt zakurzenia
Maszyny życzenia
Przekładni scalenia

I znów skrzydła zduszę
Niestety tak muszę
Czekając zdarzenia
Drzwiczek uchylenia

10.11.2023

...I have to...?

a reply to: Agleaya

Blue shines with an arched stream
Light scattered from steel frames
Nicely carved and painted by Mom
Filled with a clock that proclaims twelve

And again, the tin clock is squirming
Beside the highest point of the grand pulpit
And it screeches and squeaks, trying to push out
A swallow that wants to fly out of the cockpit

The steel mechanism delighted me with its light!
The story of my torment is a terrible anachronism
Somewhere, all those oils and greases
That used to allow themselves to be pushed out earlier?

It's a huge loss that there are no accountants
Golfers, chess players, and watchmakers
Who always splashed my wings with cognac
And allowed me to soar at twelve every year
Under the magical sky illuminated by stars
Among the magical fires above the stretched roof
It struck twelve, and the world rejoices
And two politicians toast with champagne
And three musicians play on lutes
And four teenagers no longer feel the ground

I also, because I'm flying
Today I'm flying as I want
Away from gears, cogs, and tufts
From long-forgotten, untidy, and me
In the midst of the tangle, tearing with it

This freedom is short
Like when the second strikes
Again, I will return inside the shield
And again, I will abandon them there
All my dreams
In the abyss of dust
Machine of wishes
Integration gears

And again, I'll stifle the wings
Unfortunately, I have to
Waiting for the event
The door of revelation

10.11.2023

a reply to: midicon

Excellent

a reply to: Agleaya

I've posted the poem in English as I'm curious to know if something is lost in translation.

You have some lovely poetic lines in there but too much for me to comment on. So many lines are open to interpretation and I would become lost.
I can see that there is an overarching theme that you might wish to clarify but it has some beautiful imagery.

I can see why you chat to JJ. It has a similar feel of abstraction, like a painting.

You do write well. I'm wondering if it rhymes in Polish. Not that it needs to!

ETA

I ask because it looks as though it's rhyming in Polish.

a reply to: midicon

Yes, it rhymes very well. Let me directly translate it for you!

a reply to: midicon

Blue it shines through an arched stream
Light scattered by steel frames
Which are nicely carved and painted by my mother
Filled with the clock which announced twelve

The steel watch is fidgeting again
On the topmost side of the large lectern
And scream and squeaks trying to get out
A swallow who tries to fly out of the cockpit

The steel mechanism blessed me with light
The story of my passion is a terrible archaism
Where did all the oils and grease go
The ones that allowed me to slide out long ago?

It's a huge loss that there are no enumerators
Golfers, chess players and watchmakers
Who always poured cognac on my wings
And let me fly out once a year at twelve o'clock
Under a fabulous sky lit with stars
Among magical fireworks above the roof
It's twelve o'clock and the world is rejoicing
And two politicians make a toast
And three musicians play lutes
And four teenagers can't feel the ground

Me too, because I'm flying
Away from gears, cogs and blades
Forgotten for years, unclean, and me
In the middle of the mess struggling with it

This freedom won't last long
When the clock strikes two
I will return to the center of the shield again
And I'll leave it there again
All of my dreams
Into the depths of dust
The wishes of machine
Shots of the mechanism

I will smother my wings again
Unfortunately I have to
Waiting for the event
The door of revelation

---

The event has happened after I wrote this poem!
I just let myself go on it, it wasn't my conscious writing it; my soul wrote it all.
Seems, like it knew everything behind...

Polish is a very complex language, that's why your translation isn't 100% correct.
Don't worry, this above follows the genuine sense pretty well.

a reply to: Agleaya

There are not many people who would understand the meaning of this poem. My previous incarnations also wrote about this topic.

a reply to: Agleaya

Jan Lechoń - Monday
---
It's twelve o'clock. The day begins.
For my planet moon.
It's still the same street around.
My everyday shadow is next to me.

I walk home in the moonlight.
But this isn't my home, I know that;
As God said to Paul, he will say to me:
"Your life is a dream,
And I will wake you up from it"

a reply to: Agleaya

High up, the roofs of houses are lost in the darkness,
And there in the silent window a white light flashes,
Gloomy dark stairs and shadows like scares,
These shadows are inaccessible, familiar by name.

The noise in the street increased. The crowd flows aimlessly.
The light in the door trembled. Someone lowers the door handle.
I am waiting for you, silent, poor friend.
You are the last longing of my evening soul.
- Jan Lechoń

originally posted by: Agleaya
a reply to: Agleaya

There are not many people who would understand the meaning of this poem. My previous incarnations also wrote about this topic.

Your translation reads much better! I recall Dylan saying he can't write that stuff anymore. It came from somewhere else.

I could understand it but it would need elucidation, nothing more.

I don't understand 'previous incarnations' though, unless you are referring to an earlier stage of your life. Not some previous life once lived.

In my own way I'm very esoteric but I stand pretty much alone. Something happened to me one time. Perhaps like Tolle or Krishnamurti but they both became flim flam men. I could never do that.

There you have it. There is nothing about me to intrigue anyone and my undoing is that I have to be honest.

Such is the way Agleaya.

a reply to: Agleaya

Bad, bad always and everywhere

This black thread is spinning:

It is behind me, in front of me and next to me,

It in every breath

It in every smile

It is in tears, in prayer and in hymns...



*

I won't tear it because it's strong,

Maybe it's holy, although it's wrong,

Maybe I don't want to tear this ribbon;

But everywhere - oh! everywhere,

Wherever I am, this one will be:

Here it enters open books,

It is tied there among the flowers,

It's going to get narrow somewhere

To spin in autumn meadows

And gradually faint,

To reconcile

And it will grow back into a link.



*

But, without whimpering like a child,

I'll fight it out once.

Let them give me the cup and the wreath!...

And I put it on my forehead,

And I drank, and all around

One says to the other: "Madman!!"



*

So searching I put my hand to my heart

But suddenly the right hand froze:

They laughed loudly at me,

I was left without a hand,

A black noose wrapped around my hand.



*

Bad, bad always and everywhere

This black thread is spinning:

It is behind me, in front of me and next to me,

It in every breath

It in every smile

It in tears, in prayer and in hymns.



*

But, without whimpering like a child,

I'll fight it out once;

Goldenstring, don't leave my lute!

I am from Czarnoleski*

I want - let it heal the heart!

And I played...

...and I feel even sadder.

I wrote in Florence in 1844.
Cyprian Kamil Norwid

*Polish noble family

a reply to: midicon

Talking about "my previous incarnations" I'm saying about the "characters" my soul has played.

Like, I had many bodies before.
I do remember some of the "keys" from my past lives, that's how I find them.
The names I have had before also speak of the sound vibratory complex of mine.

I don't know these people you mentioned. These names speak nothing to me.

The topic is my soul has a higher purpose which I have forgotten.
That's why I keep on repeating the cycle, again and again.

One incarnation, then another and another...

And it's not the way it should look because I'm not here (on this planet) to learn, as I know everything beside THE ONE thing.
What I wanted to do here.

My soul is not from Earth, and this world always looked to me like a simulation, not reality and I tried to escape it's rules, but the course of events seemed stronger.
This isn't my place and I just kept on wandering.
If I said these things for an average person, they would call me crazy.
That's what these poems are talking about.

I have good memory.
But the surroundings always kept me off myself.

I was very different, like very different.
Didn't remember why so.

a reply to: Agleaya

What is a soul?

a reply to: Agleaya

The Law of One, Book III, Session 65

Questioner: The Wanderer goes through a forgetting process.

You mentioned that those who have both third-and fourth-density bodies activated now do not have the forgetting that the Wanderer has.

I was just wondering if, say, a sixth-density Wanderer were here with a third-density body activated, would he have gone through a forgetting that was in sections, shall I say, a forgetting of fourth, fifth, and sixth-densities and if he were to have his fourth-density body activated then he would have a partial additional memory and then another partial memory if his fifth-density body were activated and full memory if he had his sixth-density body activated?

Does this make any sense?

Ra: I am Ra. No.

Questioner: Thank you.

The forgetting process was puzzling me because you said that the fourth-density activated people who were here who had been harvested did not have the same forgetting problem.

Could you tell me why the Wanderer loses his memory?

Ra: I am Ra. The reason is twofold.

First,
the genetic properties of the connection between the mind/body/spirit complex and the cellular structure of the body is different for third-density than for third/fourth-density.

Secondly,
the free will of third-density entities needs be preserved.

Thus Wanderers volunteer for third-density genetic or DNA connections to the mind/body/spirit complex.

The forgetting process can be penetrated to the extent of the Wanderer remembering what it is and why it is upon the planetary sphere.

However, it would be an infringement if Wanderers penetrated the forgetting so far as to activate the more dense bodies and thus be able to live, shall we say, in a god-like manner.

This would not be proper for those who have chosen to serve.

The new fourth-density entities which are becoming able to demonstrate various newer abilities are doing so as a result of the present experience, not as a result of memory.

There are always a few exceptions, and we ask your forgiveness for constant barrages of over-generalization.

---

I never had the access to this kind of knowledge in my previous lives there.
But from what I understand, this was mostly purposal.
I was always ruled by 3D laws.
So now it's surprising to see, there wasn't anything wrong or "sick" in me!

a reply to: midicon

The deeper true self, at least for me.

The player behind the body.

a reply to: midicon

I finally have found someone, who wants to talk with me about it...
Thank You.

a reply to: Agleaya

That's part of your problem right there. I take that back, that's your whole problem.

You are filling your head with so much nonsense that it becomes impossible to find what you need. Why are you doing that? It's because this life isn't enough for you, you always want more.

I asked you what is a soul? A simple question that requires a simple answer and you deflect.

You don't answer what a soul is and yet you wax lyrical about it.

I ask again, what is a soul?

I'm not asking Ra or some such. It's easy you only need three words.

ETA

I see you have answered. Your deeper true self. What is the self?

a reply to: midicon

my true self