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If I take refuge in ambiguity, I assure you that it's quite conscious.

quote by Kingman Brewster Jr.
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God Is My Refuge

We invite you God to this place.
God is my refuge,
My refuge and my strength.
I will not be shaken all of my days.
God is my refuge my refuge and my strength
I will not be shaken, no
All of my days.
God is my refuge my refuge and my strength
I will not be shaken all of my days
And I wont move from your presents of your holiness I will sing
I will take refuge in the shadow of your wings
And I will move from your presence of your holiness I will sing
I will take refuge in the shadow of your wings
God is my refuge my refuge and my strength I will not be shaken all of my days
Sing it again church
God is my refuge my refuge and my strength
I will not be shaken all of my days
And I wont move from your presence of you holiness I will sing
I will take refuge in the shadow of your wings
In the shadow of your wings
In the shadow of your wings
In the shadow of your wings
You are great god
Oh you are great
You are great god
You are great

song performed by Lifehouse
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Is She Conscious

Is she conscious
Is she really wide awake?
Is she conscious
Of her beaatiful mistake?
Is she conscious
As she moves among the crowd?
Shes got thw world upon a piece of string
Shes got thw world upon a piece of string
Its so
He was ugly and she was beautiful
He was ugly and she was so
Is she conscious
Is she asleep or just afloat?
Is she conscious
Of the letter that she wrote?
Is she conscious
Of the music in her ears?
The queen of sheba could have shined her shoes
The queen of sheba could have shined her shoes
Its so
He was ugly and she was beautiful
He was ugly and she was so
Is she conscious
As she moves across the room?
Is she conscious
Of the weeping of the moon?
Is she conscious
As she leaves the door ajar?
Is she conscious
As she gets into the car?
I dont even wanna say her name
I dont even wanna say her name
Thats all
I wanna sing it from the toppest tower
I wanna sing it from the toppest tower
Thats all
The queen of sheba could have shined her shoes
The queen of sheba could have shined her shoes
Its so
He was ugly and she was beautiful
He was ugly and she was so
Is she conscious
Of the chauffeur as he drives?
Is she conscious
As the ambulance arrives?

song performed by Waterboys
Added by Lucian Velea
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Is She Conscious

Is she conscious
Is she really wide awake?
Is she conscious
Of her beaatiful mistake?
Is she conscious
As she moves among the crowd?
Shes got thw world upon a piece of string
Shes got thw world upon a piece of string
Its so
He was ugly and she was beautiful
He was ugly and she was so
Is she conscious
Is she asleep or just afloat?
Is she conscious
Of the letter that she wrote?
Is she conscious
Of the music in her ears?
The queen of sheba could have shined her shoes
The queen of sheba could have shined her shoes
Its so
He was ugly and she was beautiful
He was ugly and she was so
Is she conscious
As she moves across the room?
Is she conscious
Of the weeping of the moon?
Is she conscious
As she leaves the door ajar?
Is she conscious
As she gets into the car?
I dont even wanna say her name
I dont even wanna say her name
Thats all
I wanna sing it from the toppest tower
I wanna sing it from the toppest tower
Thats all
The queen of sheba could have shined her shoes
The queen of sheba could have shined her shoes
Its so
He was ugly and she was beautiful
He was ugly and she was so
Is she conscious
Of the chauffeur as he drives?
Is she conscious
As the ambulance arrives?

song performed by Waterboys
Added by Lucian Velea
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Morning Refuge Prayer

i take refuge in the Buddha
who shows us the path.
i take refuge in the Dharma
that teaches us to walk in compassion.
i take refuge in the Sangha
the family of living beings working together for peace.

i take refuge in Jesus
in the way that He lived and died.
in the Kingdom of Heaven within us
that heals the sick and feeds the hungry.

i take refuge in the Tao
in the uncarved block.
in water flowing over rocks
finding its own way.

i take refuge in the Great Spirit
in the embrace of Mother Earth.
i take refuge in the wind and rain
in the thunder and lightning,
in the stillness of night.

i take refuge in the howl of the wolf,
in the eyes of small children.
in the truth that breaks down the wall
between living and existing, between sorrow and joy.

poem by Eric Cockrell
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It Is Not

Conscious of structure.
Conscious of order, law and discipline.
Conscious of those to whom is given respect.
Conscious of tradition and ideals...
And the effect this has on one's mindset.

Conscious of a faith that goes much deeper,
Than the faking of an acceptance of rituals.

Conscious of life,
And the limits of it lived.
Conscious are those,
Who are aware that this life...
Is much more than it is perceived,
It is!
Since it is not what we have been led to believe.
And a consciousness of those conscious of this,
Is what has been received.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Affluenza

An affluenza suffered has gone.
Moan on.
But they've got to snap back.
Because that affluenza traps

And it's hard,
For them...
To sacrifice their trinkets.

How will they live,
Without their bangled baubled beads?

But that affluenza suffered has gone.
And many with pretensions hate to have it even mentioned.
But that affluenza suffered has gone.
And a healing has to happen if they want a conscious back.
Since that conscious that they had has laid them flat on their back.

Yes,
An affluenza suffered has gone.
Moan on.
But they've got to snap back.
Because that affluenza traps
How will they live,
Without those bangled baubled beads?
The ones they use to wear around to get the people teased.

But that affluenza suffered has gone.
And many with pretensions hate to have it even mentioned.
But that affluenza suffered has gone.
And a healing has to happen if they want a conscious back.
Since that conscious that they had has laid them flat on their back.

Yes,
An affluenza suffered has gone.
But many with pretensions hate to have it even mentioned.
Since a healing has to happen if they want a conscious back.
And that conscious that they had has laid them flat on their back.
But many with pretensions hate to have it even mentioned.
Since a healing has to happen if they want a conscious back.
And that conscious that they had has laid them flat on their back.

Yes,
An affluenza suffered has gone.
Moan on.
But they've got to snap back.
Because that affluenza traps
Moan on!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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While Silence Is Her Refuge

He crushed her being,
spat on her education,
raked her self-confidence
burned her plans
charted in the kitchen
where her work was never done.
Violence upon violence
visited her scar-ridden body
The pain so severe
she could not even scream.
Silence was her refuge.

Her wounds ran much deeper
than sisters could imagine
But she swam alone in the
sea of her nightmares and anguish
fears covered, cries stifled
Silence was her refuge.

The crowd had a million ears
but not one for the moans
of a sister’s tortured soul
It taunted her for her questions
crucified her for her speech
Word of pain was infamy
The crowd rubbed salt on the
raw, bleeding wound
Since then, silence became her refuge

A daughter now does the work
that is never done
Her spirit protests not
numbed by her mother’s death
and her own, for like her mother
she died a hundred deaths
and will die a hundred more
because silence is her refuge.

The crowd does not know
that silence betrays
The crowd itself has run
a million times
to silence for refuge
It still does.
When will the crowd realize
that silence is a foe?
It harbors violence
and squeezes the blood
that waters and keeps alive
the tree of death

[...] Read more

poem by Cheryl L. DaytecYañgot
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There's Power In Ambiguity

She knows there's power in ambiguity
And she lords it over me
Not even flaunting it like some gift but shoving it my face
Being rude and ignoring me enough to make question are we even friends? !
And nice enough to keep me close, leaving me to crave more, she sends
These mixed signals and I can't keep pace
While her true feelings remain hidden as she wields her power
I can feel it sap my strength hour after hour
I can't do this forever
O these ties I wish I could sever
But there's nothing I can do because I'm pushed far away like a stranger
Yet drawn closer through nicety to my greatest danger
And overwhelming desire
It's ALL her
But she wields ambiguity, the greatest weapon: ' Not Knowing'
The cruelest response: not showing: affection or love when its given you
Being incapable of saying those words: I love you too
Much less to be the one who starts the compliments
But the one who repulses me, like I'm some sort of offense
The ambiguity
Is just stronger than me...
If 'Not Knowing' is the worst
Then the one I supposedly love is my curse

poem by David Knox
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Give Me Image

Enough!
Enough of this...
Self righteous ambiguity!
Fed by those seeking consciousness.

Give me image.
I have yet to have enough,
Of this 'truth-as-I-see-it-life-I-live'.'.

Give me image.

How else can it be expected,
I keep my pretensions alive and thriving?
Do not rid from me my freedom,
To exist living for images I see fit to project.
I can not bare the acceptance of the reality...
Thrown in my face I am suppose to respect!

Give me image!
Do not strip me of my need,
To seek quality delusions to please, eat and feed.

Give me image.
So that I may feel free,
To live in the midst of unending fantasies.
And aspects of threatening truth...
Disturbs my mentality!
As I witness it pursue the awakening of masses.
Pass me my rose colored glasses, please!

Enough!
Enough of this...
Self righteous ambiguity!

Give me image.
I have yet to have enough,
Of this 'truth-as-I-see-it-life-I-live'.'.

Give me image.

Let those images forever in my mind,
Find within me reason to exist!

Give me image.
And enough...
Enough of this,
Self righteous ambiguity.
Fed by those seeking consciousness.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Beating On Your Drum With A Conscious Done

Beating with a meaning when you come,
Thumping on your drum!
Bummy dee bum dee bum.
Beating with a meaning when you come,
Thumping on your drum!
Bummy dee bum dee bum.
Bummy dee bum dee bum.

Bummy dee bummy dee bummy dum!

When you come.
Beating on your drum with a conscious done.
Know your parade has faded.
When you come.
Know each beat you keep is overdone.
No one there is left to feel,
The zest and zeal you hope appeals.

Bummy dee bummy dee bummy dum!
Bummy dee bummy dee bummy dum!
Bummy dee bummy dee bummy dum!
Bummy dee the dummies when all dummies have gone.
Bummy dee the dummies when the dummies run!

Bummy dee bummy dee bummy dum!
Bummy dee bummy dee bummy dum!
Bummy dee bummy dee bummy dum!
Bummy dee the dummies when all dummies have gone.
Bummy dee the dummies when the dummies run!
Bummy dee the dummies with the honey and the money.

When you come.
Beating on your drum with a conscious done.
Know your parade has faded.
When you come.
Know each beat you keep is overdone.
No one there is left to feel,
The zest and zeal you hope appeals.

Bummy dee bummy dee bummy dum!
Bummy dee the dummies when the dummies run!
Bummy dee the dummies with the honey and the money.

Bummy dee bummy dee bummy dum!
Bummy dee the dummies when the dummies run!
Bummy dee the dummies with the honey and the money.

Beating on your drum with a conscious done.
Bummy dee the dummies with the honey and the money.
Beating on your drum with a conscious done

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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If I take refuge in ambiguity, I can assure you that it's quite conscious.

quote by Frank Boyden
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Therefore, be ye lamps unto yourselves, be a refuge to yourselves. Hold fast to Truth as a lamp; hold fast to the truth as a refuge. Look not for a refuge in anyone beside yourselves. And those, who shall be a lamp unto themselves, shall betake themselves to no external refuge, but holding fast to the Truth as their lamp, and holding fast to the Truth as their refuge, they shall reach the topmost height.

quote by Buddha
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Refuge Of The Roads

I met a friend of spirit
He drank and womanized
And I sat before his sanity
I was holding back from crying
He saw my complications
And he mirrored me back simplified
And we laughed how our perfection
Would always be denied
Heart and humor and humility
He said will lighten up your heavy load
I left him for the refuge of the roads
I fell in with some drifters
Cast upon a beachtown
Winn dixie cold cuts and highway hand me downs
And I wound up fixing dinner
For them and boston jim
I well up with affection
Thinking back down the roads to then
The nets were overflowing
In the gulf of mexico
They were overflowing in the refuge of the roads
There was spring along the ditches
There were good times in the cities
Oh, radiant happiness
It was all so light and easy
Till I started analyzing
And I brought on my old ways
A thunderhead of judgment was
Gathering in my gaze
And it made most people nervous
They just didnt want to know
What I was seeing in the refuge of the roads
I pulled off into a forest
Crickets clicking in the ferns
Like a wheel of fortune
I heard my fate turn, turn turn
And I went running down a white sand road
I was running like a white-assed deer
Running to lose the blues
To the innocence in here
These are the clouds of michelangelo
Muscular with gods and sungold
Shine on your witness in the refuge of the roads
In a highway service station
Over the month of june
Was a photograph of the earth
Taken coming back from the moon
And you couldnt see a city
On that marbled bowling ball
Or a forest or a highway

[...] Read more

song performed by Joni Mitchell
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Here In My Heart

(gayla borders/susan ashton)
Wondering, waiting
Restless for a sign
I thought you walked so slow
In my haste I left you behind
Caught in the pace of this madness
Searching for shelter I find
That here in my heart theres a refuge waiting
Here in my heart you just wont let me go
I could run away run away
But you stay here in my heart
Meaning, purpose
Got lost in pursuit of my dreams
Ive been longing, aching
In quest for a love thats supreme
I couldnt see you were reaching
But I shouldve known all along
That here in my heart theres a refuge waiting
Here in my heart you just wont let me go
I could run away run away
But you stay here in my heart
Theres a refuge waiting
Here in my heart you just wont let me go
I could run away run away
But you stay here in my heart
I couldnt see you were reaching
But I shouldve known all along
That here in my heart theres a refuge waiting
Here in my heart you just wont let me go
I could run away run away
But you stay here in my heart
Theres a refuge waiting
Here in my heart you just wont let me go
I could run away run away
I could run away run away
I could run away run away
But you stay here in my heart
(here in my heart) here in my heart
(here in my heart) here in my heart
(here in my heart) here in my heart
(here in my heart) here in my heart
(here in my heart)
(here in my heart)

song performed by Martina Mcbride
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The Ancient Banner

In boundless mercy, the Redeemer left,
The bosom of his Father, and assumed
A servant's form, though he had reigned a king,
In realms of glory, ere the worlds were made,
Or the creating words, 'Let there be light'
In heaven were uttered. But though veiled in flesh,
His Deity and his Omnipotence,
Were manifest in miracles. Disease
Fled at his bidding, and the buried dead
Rose from the sepulchre, reanimate,
At his command, or, on the passing bier
Sat upright, when he touched it. But he came,
Not for this only, but to introduce
A glorious dispensation, in the place
Of types and shadows of the Jewish code.
Upon the mount, and round Jerusalem,
He taught a purer, and a holier law,—
His everlasting Gospel, which is yet
To fill the earth with gladness; for all climes
Shall feel its influence, and shall own its power.
He came to suffer, as a sacrifice
Acceptable to God. The sins of all
Were laid upon Him, when in agony
He bowed upon the cross. The temple's veil
Was rent asunder, and the mighty rocks,
Trembled, as the incarnate Deity,
By his atoning blood, opened that door,
Through which the soul, can have communion with
Its great Creator; and when purified,
From all defilements, find acceptance too,
Where it can finally partake of all
The joys of His salvation.
But the pure Church he planted,—the pure Church
Which his apostles watered,—and for which,
The blood of countless martyrs freely flowed,
In Roman Amphitheatres,—on racks,—
And in the dungeon's gloom,—this blessed Church,
Which grew in suffering, when it overspread
Surrounding nations, lost its purity.
Its truth was hidden, and its light obscured
By gross corruption, and idolatry.
As things of worship, it had images,
And even painted canvas was adored.
It had a head and bishop, but this head
Was not the Saviour, but the Pope of Rome.
Religion was a traffic. Men defiled,
Professed to pardon sin, and even sell,
The joys of heaven for money,—and to raise
Souls out of darkness to eternal light,
For paltry silver lavished upon them.

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous Americas
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The Cenci : A Tragedy In Five Acts

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

Count Francesco Cenci.
Giacomo, his Son.
Bernardo, his Son.
Cardinal Camillo.
Orsino, a Prelate.
Savella, the Pope's Legate.
Olimpio, Assassin.
Marzio, Assassin.
Andrea, Servant to Cenci.
Nobles, Judges, Guards, Servants.
Lucretia, Wife of Cenci, and Step-mother of his children.
Beatrice, his Daughter.

The Scene lies principally in Rome, but changes during the Fourth Act to Petrella, a castle among the Apulian Apennines.
Time. During the Pontificate of Clement VIII.

ACT I

Scene I.
-An Apartment in the Cenci Palace.
Enter Count Cenci, and Cardinal Camillo.

Camillo.
That matter of the murder is hushed up
If you consent to yield his Holiness
Your fief that lies beyond the Pincian gate.-
It needed all my interest in the conclave
To bend him to this point: he said that you
Bought perilous impunity with your gold;
That crimes like yours if once or twice compounded
Enriched the Church, and respited from hell
An erring soul which might repent and live:-
But that the glory and the interest
Of the high throne he fills, little consist
With making it a daily mart of guilt
As manifold and hideous as the deeds
Which you scarce hide from men's revolted eyes.

Cenci.
The third of my possessions-let it go!
Ay, I once heard the nephew of the Pope
Had sent his architect to view the ground,
Meaning to build a villa on my vines
The next time I compounded with his uncle:
I little thought he should outwit me so!

[...] Read more

poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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The Task: Book VI. -- The Winter Walk at Noon

There is in souls a sympathy with sounds;
And as the mind is pitch’d the ear is pleased
With melting airs, or martial, brisk, or grave:
Some chord in unison with what we hear
Is touch’d within us, and the heart replies.
How soft the music of those village bells,
Falling at intervals upon the ear
In cadence sweet, now dying all away,
Now pealing loud again, and louder still,
Clear and sonorous, as the gale comes on!
With easy force it opens all the cells
Where Memory slept. Wherever I have heard
A kindred melody, the scene recurs,
And with it all its pleasures and its pains.
Such comprehensive views the spirit takes,
That in a few short moments I retrace
(As in a map the voyager his course)
The windings of my way through many years.
Short as in retrospect the journey seems,
It seem’d not always short; the rugged path,
And prospect oft so dreary and forlorn,
Moved many a sigh at its disheartening length.
Yet, feeling present evils, while the past
Faintly impress the mind, or not at all,
How readily we wish time spent revoked,
That we might try the ground again, where once
(Through inexperience, as we now perceive)
We miss’d that happiness we might have found!
Some friend is gone, perhaps his son’s best friend,
A father, whose authority, in show
When most severe, and mustering all its force,
Was but the graver countenance of love:
Whose favour, like the clouds of spring, might lower,
And utter now and then an awful voice,
But had a blessing in its darkest frown,
Threatening at once and nourishing the plant.
We loved, but not enough, the gentle hand
That rear’d us. At a thoughtless age, allured
By every gilded folly, we renounced
His sheltering side, and wilfully forewent
That converse, which we now in vain regret.
How gladly would the man recall to life
The boy’s neglected sire! a mother too,
That softer friend, perhaps more gladly still,
Might he demand them at the gates of death.
Sorrow has, since they went, subdued and tamed
The playful humour; he could now endure
(Himself grown sober in the vale of tears)
And feel a parent’s presence no restraint.
But not to understand a treasure’s worth

[...] Read more

poem by William Cowper
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The Four Seasons : Autumn

Crown'd with the sickle and the wheaten sheaf,
While Autumn, nodding o'er the yellow plain,
Comes jovial on; the Doric reed once more,
Well pleased, I tune. Whate'er the wintry frost
Nitrous prepared; the various blossom'd Spring
Put in white promise forth; and Summer-suns
Concocted strong, rush boundless now to view,
Full, perfect all, and swell my glorious theme.
Onslow! the Muse, ambitious of thy name,
To grace, inspire, and dignify her song,
Would from the public voice thy gentle ear
A while engage. Thy noble cares she knows,
The patriot virtues that distend thy thought,
Spread on thy front, and in thy bosom glow;
While listening senates hang upon thy tongue,
Devolving through the maze of eloquence
A roll of periods, sweeter than her song.
But she too pants for public virtue, she,
Though weak of power, yet strong in ardent will,
Whene'er her country rushes on her heart,
Assumes a bolder note, and fondly tries
To mix the patriot's with the poet's flame.
When the bright Virgin gives the beauteous days,
And Libra weighs in equal scales the year;
From Heaven's high cope the fierce effulgence shook
Of parting Summer, a serener blue,
With golden light enliven'd, wide invests
The happy world. Attemper'd suns arise,
Sweet-beam'd, and shedding oft through lucid clouds
A pleasing calm; while broad, and brown, below
Extensive harvests hang the heavy head.
Rich, silent, deep, they stand; for not a gale
Rolls its light billows o'er the bending plain:
A calm of plenty! till the ruffled air
Falls from its poise, and gives the breeze to blow.
Rent is the fleecy mantle of the sky;
The clouds fly different; and the sudden sun
By fits effulgent gilds the illumined field,
And black by fits the shadows sweep along.
A gaily chequer'd heart-expanding view,
Far as the circling eye can shoot around,
Unbounded tossing in a flood of corn.
These are thy blessings, Industry! rough power!
Whom labour still attends, and sweat, and pain;
Yet the kind source of every gentle art,
And all the soft civility of life:
Raiser of human kind! by Nature cast,
Naked, and helpless, out amid the woods
And wilds, to rude inclement elements;
With various seeds of art deep in the mind

[...] Read more

poem by James Thomson
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Rokeby: Canto II.

I.
Far in the chambers of the west,
The gale had sigh'd itself to rest;
The moon was cloudless now and clear,
But pale, and soon to disappear.
The thin grey clouds wax dimly light
On Brusleton and Houghton height;
And the rich dale, that eastward lay,
Waited the wakening touch of day,
To give its woods and cultured plain,
And towers and spires, to light again.
But, westward, Stanmore's shapeless swell,
And Lunedale wild, and Kelton-fell,
And rock-begirdled Gilmanscar,
And Arkingarth, lay dark afar;
While, as a livelier twilight falls,
Emerge proud Barnard's banner'd walls
High crown'd he sits, in dawning pale,
The sovereign of the lovely vale.

II.
What prospects, from his watch-tower high,
Gleam gradual on the warder's eye!
Far sweeping to the east, he sees
Down his deep woods the course of Tees,
And tracks his wanderings by the steam
Of summer vapours from the stream;
And ere he pace his destined hour
By Brackenbury's dungeon-tower,
These silver mists shall melt away,
And dew the woods with glittering spray.
Then in broad luster shall be shown
That mighty trench of living stone,
And each huge trunk that, from the side,
Reclines him o'er the darksome tide,
Where Tees, full many a fathom low,
Wears with his rage no common foe;
For pebbly bank, nor sand-bed here,
Nor clay-mound, checks his fierce career,
Condemn'd to mine a channell'd way,
O'er solid sheets of marble gray.

III.
Nor Tees alone, in dawning bright,
Shall rush upon the ravish'd sight;
But many a tributary stream
Each from its own dark dell shall gleam:
Staindrop, who, from her sylvan bowers,
Salutes proud Raby's battled towers;
The rural brook of Egliston,

[...] Read more

poem by Sir Walter Scott
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Beauty is holistic

Be clean; you are conscious of skin.
Do yoga; you are conscious of body.
Do prnayama; you are conscious of energy.
Do meditation; you are conscious of mind.
Being conscious of it is strengthening of it.
Then which woman can resist you?
12.08.2001, Pkd

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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