The poetry of Beto Ochoa, Prose from a spiritual warrior


The Poetry Of Beto Ochoa~ Prose from a spiritual warrior

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"

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

We cannot evade life's course, but we can school ourselves to be superior to fortune and also to look unflinchingly upon the most painful things.

Yet, what a real living human being is made of seems to be less understood today than at any time before, and men — each one of whom represents a unique and valuable experiment on the part of nature — are therefore shot wholesale nowadays.

Few people nowadays know what man is. Many sense this ignorance and die the more easily because of it, the same way that I will die more easily once I have completed this story. Each man's life represents the road toward himself, and attempt at such a road, the intimation of a path. We can understand one another, but each of us can only interpret himself. If you hate a person, you hate something in him that is part of yourself. What isn't part of ourselves doesn't disturb us. I realize today that nothing in the world is more distasteful to a man than to take the path that leads to himself. Each man had only one genuine vocation — to find the way to himself. Only the ideas that we actually live are of any value.

I live in my dreams — that's what you sense. Other people live in dreams, but not in their own. That's the difference. You, too, have mysteries of your own. I know that you must have dreams that you don't tell me. I don't want to know them. But I can tell you: live those dreams, play with them, build altars to them. It is not yet the ideal but it points in the right direction. Whether you and I and a few others will renew the world someday remains to be seen. But within ourselves we must renew it each day, otherwise we just aren't serious. Don't forget that! You must find your dream, then the way becomes easy. But there is no dream that lasts forever, each dream is followed by another, and one should not cling to any particular one. The world, as it is now, wants to die, wants to perish — and it will.

Hermann Hesse

About Me

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



View My Stats