The poetry of Beto Ochoa, Prose from a spiritual warrior


The Poetry Of Beto Ochoa~ Prose from a spiritual warrior

Thursday, June 27, 2013


I set my finger in the stardust
And traced a winding line
The path of my ancestors
Tracked from the dawn of time

Sparkles winked as the line took form
And glinted in my eyes
Past and future were one and same
Freedom wakened in my mind

Then all my worldly thought of want
Was set upon the scales
Only light and peace remained
The end of all travails

What wonder then that we are light
And left here all alone
Pray forgive you brother’s sin
As he forgives your own

Then on that day we all repent
We’ll raise our eyes and see
The sky will rend and Heaven return
And we, once more, stardust will be


Sunday, June 16, 2013

Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn

The point of my poetry here,
Is to convey some understanding of my death experiences
Passing through the dimension between this existance
And the next
Not once, but twice
And that the understanding on the other side
Is fantastically overwhelming
It is too much for this consciousness
And fades as life, this life, returns to its own balance
But there in its wake, are fragments of rememberances
That the nature of time,
And the power that pulls life right out of the mud
Is part of our collective trek through a miasma of energy
I became aware of this energy after my first death
It was directional, like the flow of a river
If you could imagine yourselves standing immersed in a river
And that the water is flowing past you
And your every movement and thought and deed
Ripples and swirls the water
And creates a record of these things
As it flows around and through you
And like a river, it is circular in nature
No one part existing at a different point in time as another
All in existence as one thing
Yet our awareness is of only the moments
Fragments so small in the scope as to be smaller...
Than the quarks man pursues in his tunneled tombs of science 

Now all doubt that America is a Police State has been removed,
And our pathetic denials are whitened sepulchers,
We must say it every day
We must throw open every window
And raise all the shaded words that attempt to hide it
That people of this nature
Who would by force steal and destroy freedom
Are here, have always been here, and always will be
 My poem, Nanking, is a testament to their evil


"Gradually it was disclosed to me
that the line separating good and evil
passes not through states,
nor between classes,
nor between political parties either
but right through every human heart
and through all human hearts.
This line shifts. Inside us, it oscillates with the years.
And even within hearts overwhelmed by evil,
one small bridgehead of good is retained.
And even in the best of all hearts, there remains ...
a small corner of evil, that cannot be uprooted

Since then I have come to understand the truth of all the religions of the world:
They struggle with the evil inside a human being (inside every human being).
It is impossible to expel evil from the world in its entirety,
but it is possible to constrict it within each person.” 

"We have been happily borne
Or perhaps have unhappily dragged our weary way
Down the long and crooked streets of our lives
Past all kinds of walls and fences
Made of rotting wood, rammed earth, brick, concrete, iron railings
We have never given a thought to what lies behind them.
We have never tried to pene­trate them with our vision
Or our understanding.
But there is where the Gulag country begins
Right next to us
Two yards away from us
In addition,
We have failed to notice an enormous num­ber of closely fitted,
Well-disguised doors and gates in these fences
All those gates were prepared for us, every last one!
And all of a sudden the fateful gate swings quickly open
And hands, unaccustomed to physical labor
But none­theless strong and tenacious,
Grab us by the leg, arm, collar, cap, ear,
And drag us in like a sack,
Then the gate behind us,
The gate to our past life,
Is slammed shut once and for all"

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My families came to Texas when It still belonged to Spain.



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