Thursday, May 23, 2019

Black Sheep of the Family

8:29 PM 0 Comments
"The so-called 'Black Sheep' of the family are, in fact, seekers of liberation roads for the family tree. Those members of the tree who do not adapt to the rules or traditions of the family system, those who were constantly seeking to revolutionize beliefs, going in contrast to roads marked by family traditions, those criticized, tried and even rejected, those, by General, they are called to release the tree of repetitive stories that frustrate entire generations.

The 'Black Sheep', those who do not adapt, those who scream rebel, repair, detoxify and create a new and blooming branch... countless unfulfilled desires, unfulfilled dreams, frustrated talents of our ancestors manifest themselves in their rebellion looking to take place.

The family tree, by inertia, will want to continue to maintain the castrating and toxic course of its trunk, which makes its task difficult and conflicting... that no one makes you doubt, take care of your 'rarity' as the most precious flower of Your Tree. You are the dream of all your ancestors "
- Bert Hellinger

Art by Jeremy Enecio

Shared on Facebook by ShamanTube

Friday, May 17, 2019

I P.E.N. Thee: Wake Up Atom (Adam)

6:10 PM 0 Comments
Cosmic Artist By Alex Grey
♪ Row, row, row your atoms
Gently down the stream of consciousness
Merrily merrily, merrily, merrily
Life is but a dream ♪

Out of the skull of illusions comes the brain; and once that is gone, there is nothing; a mere void, a trifling pretense of something that was once there, something that occupied space and time and preoccupied time and space; but now neither exist except for then. Then when there was once a skull filled with a brain utilized in this thing called life that now no longer exist; but was once existent then; then whence attached to a body. And oh of the body, 'what was that'; a thing clothed in skin, wrapping the bones that encased the skull and trapped the heart in a cage. And what is this of the heart, given literary significance of painful sorrow and joy, when but the heart is just a organ, it beats neither for you nor me. Simply an instrument beating to the rhythm of the lungs. And what is it of lungs but repetitive cycles of filtered pollutants; perhaps even recycled atoms of once upon a 'what was that'. Oh but air, without such there'd be nothing; no gamma waves, no beats, nor sighs; just layers of lifeless flesh, once upon a body. Now a corpse slowly decomposing, awaiting for the dust to settle or burnt remnants of shattered ashes to clear the air. Merely, practical particles; atoms degeneratively converging toward another and yet another form, in a endless loop of looking back wondering,'what was that'; of the skull, of the thing the skull encased, of the flesh, of the caged heart, of the polluted lungs, of the circulating air. Until at long last; thought itself becomes but a thing once thought; unaware that any of this, 'what was that'; convoluted conversation perhaps once existed. Oblivious, forevermore; evaporated into the abyss of never ending nothingness. Having ever so
Creation of Atom by Natalie Doud
briefly emerged from a once upon a time; whence a pendulum jiggled beyond the realms of possibility, creating the greatest optical illusion ever.

Author: Jeane Michelle Culp (ndpthepoetress)
© #922-3-z6-118710-4

Tuesday, May 07, 2019

Rest In Peace

11:04 AM 0 Comments
There is a Graveyard on my way to and from work. It is plotted along a winding and twisting road, much like life. Across the road there is a ditch. Given any windy day, you will see the ditch filled with flowers,💐 wreathes... from the graveyard⛼. I understand that's how the gushing gusty winds blow. However; I can't help wonder if it could be ghosts,👻 spirits throwing the flowers....as if to say,🖐️Hey you didn't bring me flowers🌹 when I was alive, so don't bring me flowers now🥀 😢. So please, 'Don't wait until your loved ones are dead to give them flowers', shower people now with flowers.🌹 , kindness, affection, hugs🤗.....❤️ And if you can't afford flowers; there are plenty of free discarded flowers, in a ditch across from the graveyard near me.
*I would have liked to have shown the sad picture of this elongated flowery filled ditch, however; I didn't want to risk life and limb on this winding dangerous road and become another permanent resident⚰️ in that graveyard!😛   ~ndpthepoetress of BindingInk.org
Art by Gypsie Raleigh

Sunday, February 03, 2019

True Colors

12:30 AM 0 Comments
My 'personal action' is to continue to promote the IDEAS®: Inclusion Diversity Equality Acceptance Solidarity for ALL by saving Humanities 1 Human at a Time, 1 Book, 1 Poem, 1 Quote, 1 Song... at a Time. Join us on Facebook STOP and: S.ee T.he O.ther P.eople.

In my opinion, whether because of ones health, accent, lifestyle, color of skin… whether rejected or ridiculed or some other means of communal castration, no matter how small or large any difference or the bullying or any consequence thereof be; the complete eradication of prejudice will remain a centuries old vicarious plague spurred from societal statistical stigmatic stigma, hysterically injected into the ill-reputed frail failing intellect of the majority who damningly dare to declare what differentiates from the norm. For example; I recently read about a son spurned by his own flesh and blood, “a vicious parent shaming still its child”1. ‘*Revolted by his father’s injustice’, the son left home at an all to early age, set upon a journey to prove or find his roots. Regrettably; during his mission, he was essentially met with a series of harsh condemnations. Ultimately; the son becomes consumed with self-delusion and an insatiable appetite for revenge to be inflicted upon those who once dared to flaunt their popularity, while others refused to embrace his uniqueness cloaked in natural flaws.

Fortunately "2the pen is mightier than the sword", so he merely immerses himself into his literary work. At last the world is his stage and he could not have chosen a better place. For whom among us has not been psychologically moved or entertained by words upon a page. Or our attention drawn to a character in a play, opera, movie, or a mere sit-com? And so with pen and paper the son makes his plight known for others to read then mourn, scorn, ponder, or wonder. Except to him, his anguish was the worse of anyone. Nonetheless; in due course the son grew into his own isolated culture rejected existence. After some time; a Woman professed, “*Evidently God has made us for each another! I am like you…” Soon afterwards the son married her, asserting; “*Blessed be the sorrows I have borne… Heaven was keeping such unhoped consolation in reserve! Until today I feared myself doomed to eternal singleness and to tell you the truth it was a heavy burden to bear”. Though; had he truly loved her for herself and not out of a seemingly Narcissist reflection of himself; then when her true colors came beautifully shining through, he would not have (for shame or other matters) discarded her much as he had been cast off by the population. Yet he did flee from her side; “*to abandon the career of literature, to escape into the desert and if possible shun for ever after the sight of living creatures. To seek, indeed, like Alceste”. Oh but as fate or merely an ill-fated wind would have it; the son landed not far from where as a child he had begun his journey away from his parents home. I surmise that perhaps feeling like the odd man out, surrounded once again by the publicly accepted; here in this familiar place is where he may have learnt the greatest lesson of all, which is; nothing in life is ever as it seems.

Every part I read about the spurned son seemed a humanistic enough story plot, the emotional afflict of discrimination, a temporary successive solution, love, loss, lessons learnt… except this is a tale of the feather type. Written in 1842 by Alfred de Musset; whence combining a vast array of birds with a stylish flare, a story takes flight. Amid the author’s intertwined unraveling assemblage of vividly artistically painted printed words, emerges a subtle view about a struggle with the centuries old trials and tribulations of the societal injected statistical stigmatic stigma, known as prejudice. “^How glorious it is and also how painful to be an exception”.

And so begins:

*The Story of A White Blackbird by Alfred de Musset (Histoire d'un merle blanc)


1. George Eliot (Mary Ann Evans), O May I Join the Choir Invisible!
2. Edward Bulwer-Lytton, Richelieu Act II Scene II

Related Links:

Stop Bullying

Not In Our Town 'highlights communities working together to stop hate'.

Friday, January 04, 2019

The Art of Healing

1:34 PM 0 Comments
*Music: Waiting Arms (2017) by..

This is the art of healing. Drawings by Tina Walker. Her continued journey out of the past and into the present. She is more than a survivor of bullying and other emotional scars; she is a successful woman, a champion of weight loss... She is a nurturer of her faith upon which she is building a foundation for the todays and her future. May you find some comfort in her art; knowing whatever you are going through, you are not alone. There is healing with time, faith, hope, and a lot of work. Find your constructive outlet; express yourself, let the healing begin!

#art #healing #journey #survivor #bullying #emotionalScars #emotions #weightloss #faith #YouAreNotAlone #YouGotThis #expressYourself

Tuesday, December 25, 2018

I Believe

11:32 AM 0 Comments
I believe above is reserved for the Sun, Clouds, and doves
Moon and Stars, planets like Mars
And if I could stretch beyond the blue, perhaps touch Gods’ hand too.


I believe below whence water flows with youthful woes
Of innocence gone as age has marched on
There transcends our Once Upon a Time Childhood Friends

Maybe where Sindbad the Sailor crossed or perhaps where City of Atlantis is lost
There Snow White and the 7 Dwarfs, Jack Frost, Frosty the Snowman are standing on wharfs
As The Gingerbread Man, Hansel and Gretel run to greet us as fast as they can
We see Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty each with their own fella
The Old Woman Who lived in a Shoe, Puss in Boots, The Elves and the Shoemaker have good news

The Billy Goats Gruff, the Three Pigs, Three Blind Mice, along with Goldilocks and the Three Bears want to prove they weren’t a bluff
The Ugly Duckling is inside Atlantis with The Phantom of the Opera, Beauty and the Beast - all chuckling
And the sweet Tooth Fairy still leaves coins as a treat.
United at last is The cow who jumped over the moon, The cat and the fiddle, and The dish who ran away with the spoon

Hickory dickory dock, that dang mouse won’t stop fiddling with the clocks
Jack be nimble Jack be quick and Little Jack Horner continue to do their tricks
While The Little Men dance with Little Red Riding Hood, swim with The Little Mermaid, and court The Little Women
The Goose That Laid the Golden Eggs and Humpty Dumpty play pegs
Dumbo and Pinocchio speak their own mumbo jumbo
The Princess and the Pea, Johnny Appleseed, and Jack with his Beanstalk are a glee


Things are a spinning as Rapunzel and Rumpelstiltskin are a grinning
Peter Pan, Tinker Bell, Tom Thumb, Thumbelina want us to join them soon as we can
Along with Alice, to sip tea with the Easter Bunny in the Atlantis Palace.

Of all this I do not doubt, so let me just point out
I believe in Santa Claus and Jesus too, do you?


© - Jeane Michelle Culp (#r3779xy1988CC€)

Wednesday, November 15, 2017

Treads of A Murder

8:29 PM 6 Comments
In the cloak of darkness the heart pounded detrimentally inside her chest, as if insistent on immediate release; while perspiration dripped from numerous sweat glands she never knew her flesh had. Suddenly, the body she was hauling tumbled to the ground and descended along a steep hill. Panicky, she ran toward the already rotting carcass. In the hurried course her high heels broke as she toppled onto the mossy wet leafed ground, tasting dirt from her moist glossy lips. Her nose was within a few inches of the cadaver, the stench reeked with a combination of dumpster garbage and human sewage waste. Sickeningly nauseated she some how managed to rise, brushing the earths remnants from herself with her now bloodily scratched hands. Then, as if without any forethought whatsoever; she grasped the stiff body and lugged it toward a nearby river bank. Briefly, as if to catch a breath; she sat on the moist ground surrounded by the night. Her fleeting thoughts interrupted abruptly to realize she had not brought a shovel. Frantically she looked around in the moonlight. Broken twigs were scattered amidst the thickening, as she hurriedly threw them aside to at last find a short broken, rigid tree limb. She began to dig furiously right there beneath her feet, until the depth was sufficient. By now the crack of dawn was awakening, worn out she clasped the foul body, dragging it inside the hole. Her bare, scuffed raw hands clumping dirt rapidly over the grave. Content with her undertaking, she staggered toward the river. Achingly she knelt down to fling the icy water onto herself, simultaneously seeming to cleanse some of the filth from her skin and mind. Exhausted, she began the journey toward the hill top where her car was parked. Finally she arrived; fumbling with keys until the door unlocked, she climbed inside. Idle, hands on the wheel; she reflected on the nights’ escapade. If only someone had driven a little slower, perhaps none of this would have happened. Or if someone merely attended to the matter themselves when the incident occurred, than maybe she would not had to taken care of the dreadful situation herself. Still trembling; she shifts her car into drive and pulls onto the blackened road. The muddy rear frame of her car had only one bumper sticker visible: God Bless the animals that cross to and fro, for they know not which way to go.

Written By ©ndpthepoetress (- Jeane Michelle Culp) {copyright #98s7750940}

Monday, September 11, 2017

The Power of One

12:30 AM 0 Comments
One
by Cheryl Sawyer

As the soot and dirt and ash rained down,
We became one color.
As we carried each other down the stairs of the burning building
We became one class.
As we lit candles of waiting and hope
We became one generation.
As the firefighters and police officers fought their way into the inferno
We became one gender.
As we fell to our knees in prayer for strength,
We became one faith.
As we whispered or shouted words of encouragement,
We spoke one language.
As we gave our blood in lines a mile long,
We became one body.
As we mourned together the great loss
We became one family.
As we cried tears of grief and loss
We became one soul.
As we retell with pride of the sacrifice of heros
We become one people.

We are
One color
One class
One generation
One gender
One faith
One language
One body
One family
One soul
One people

We are The Power of One.
We are United.
We are America.
---------

Cheryl Sawyer is a professor at UH Clear Lake in the counseling department.

*Permission to post poem One granted to BindingInk.org by Dr. Cheryl Sawyer School of Education University of Houston – Clear Lake

Wednesday, August 09, 2017

Down The Rabbit Hole

9:40 AM 10 Comments
What the Bleep Do We KnowThe concept of combining quantum theory and spirituality was originally introduced in a 2004 movie entitled has now been expanded upon in an extended version of the same film released August 1, 2006, What the Bleep - DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE QUANTUM EDITION.

1The BLEEP – Quantum Edition explores the latest scientific discoveries that explain the mind-body connection – making them understandable for the everyday, ordinary person. In addition it puts forward revolutionary experimental evidence that we, and our world are not separate, but connected.

2Part story, part documentary, and part elaborate and inspiring visual effects and animations, this extended version features a new opening 3following the journey of divorced professional photographer Amanda (played by Academy Award winning actress, Marlee Matlin) as she comes to understand the sources of her depression and slowly changes her life. During the process Amanda 2afinds herself in a fantastic Alice in Wonderland experience when her daily, uninspired life literally begins to unravel, revealing the uncertain world of the quantum field hidden behind what we consider to be our normal, waking reality.

The movie's documentary inserts include the world’s top in the field of physicists, neurologists, anesthesiologists & physicians, molecular biology, and spiritual teachers, mystics and scholars who 3aexplore the links between quantum mechanics, neurobiology, human consciousness and day-to-day reality and talk about the consciousness, psi research, physics, biology, emotion and addictions.

There are in this Quantum Edition. One of my favorite animations is when 4Amanda peers through her camera at the wedding reception. She sees into the guests’ bodies and watches Cells running rampant with their molecules of emotion. But this rabbit hole soon turns inside out as the Cells find their way out onto the dance floor to cajole, coerce, and excite the partiers into their favorite brand of emotion. Animations similar to this help us 5examine how the brain captures and processes information, and how that influences thoughts and actions. Making the case that humans can become addicted to certain emotions - love, rage, humiliation - just like a drug, and it takes willpower to break the cycle.

The fourth new character in this version is the animated Dr. Quantum by the pioneering physicist . Dr. Quantum leads viewers through an exploration of quantum physics including the Double-Slit Experiment and Entanglement. My favorite is Dr. Quantum - The Flatland.

I found the most intriguing part of this movie to be the Water Crystals by . He proves that 6thoughts and feelings affect physical reality. By producing different focused intentions through written and spoken words and music and literally presenting it to the same water samples, the water appears to "change its expression". 7From Mr. Emoto's work we are provided with factual evidence, that human vibrational energy, thoughts, words, ideas and music, affect the molecular structure of water, the very same water that comprises over seventy percent of a mature human body and covers the same amount of our planet.

Also beautifully detailed in his book “”:

“Imagine if water could absorb feelings and emotions or be transformed by thoughts. Imagine if we could photograph the structure of water at the moment of freezing and from the image "read" a message about the water that is relevant to our own health and well-being on the planet. Imagine if we could show the direct consequences of destructive thoughts or, alternately, the thoughts of love and appreciation. The Hidden Messages in Water introduces readers to the revolutionary work of Japanese scientist Masaru Emoto, who discovered that molecules of water are affected by thoughts, words, and feelings. Dr. Emoto shares his realizations from his years of research and explains the profound implications on the healing of water, mankind, and earth.” Beyond Words

Thank You Love

As C. Norman Shealy, M.D., Ph.D stated, “6aHalf of the earth is water; our body is three-quarters water. Water represents the interface between the 4th dimension in which we live and the 5th dimensional sphere of our soul.”


In conclusion; ‘What the Bleep - DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE’ is more than entertaining, it is education. All that remains is the one enduring question "How Far Down The Rabbit Hole” are you willing to go?" Cause the deeper you go down the ‘Rabbit Hole’ the more you learn, the more you discover, the more you understand, the more you see that ‘we are not separate, but connected’.

“If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn't. And contrary wise, what is, it wouldn't be. And what it wouldn't be, it would. You see?” Lewis Carroll (Alice in Wonderland)


1.
2.

Wikipedia:Double-Slit Experiment and Entanglement



Related Posts: To Curse, To Ponder, To Wonder or Not

Permission to use photo #'27. Animation characters' from the Press Room, High Resolution Stills from What The Bleep Do We Know!? granted to Binding Ink.org by Webmaster.

Sunday, July 02, 2017

Thursday, May 11, 2017

Angel Without Wings

10:30 PM 0 Comments
Angel Without Wings an original Mother's Day Song written by Dirk Parker for his Mom
Mother's Day Song


He Is Strike Down
He Is by Dirk Parker & Bennie Parker
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Strike Down by Bennie Parker & Dirk Parker
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Saturday, April 22, 2017

Dear Sometimes Heads Have Got to Roll

8:00 AM 4 Comments
Mesoamerican Mythology By Kay Almere Read, Jason J. Gonzalez
Charcoal Crunchers
"A present-day Tzotzil tale tells why weird creatures called Charcoal Crunchers no longer exist. A long time ago, a man was married to a charcoal crunching wife. Every night her head would leave her body and bounce over to the fireplace to eat hot charcoals. Occasionally the head would leave the house and thud around the neighborhood.
One night, the husband had enough and rubbed salt on her empty neck so that when she returned she could not stick her head to her body again. Annoyed, she bounced up on his shoulder and stuck there, causing him great discomfort. Some days later he convinced his wife to temporarily leave his shoulder so that he could climb a tree to fetch some pine nuts for her. Once up in the tree he refused to come down and she could not bounce high enough to reach him. Banging around the tree she accidentally crashed onto the shoulder of a passing deer and stuck there. The startled deer ran off and carried with it the last Charcoal Cruncher."

Makes you think twice doesn’t it? :)

*Cited From: "Charcoal Crunchers." Encyclopedia Mythica from Encyclopedia Mythica Online. http://www.pantheon.org/articles/c/charcoal_crunchers.html