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talking to myself

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personal stuff

Entries in this blog

 

Remote Viewers who Plunge into Unknown Realities

Of Mice and Pen Remote Viewers who Plunge into Unknown Realities by PSI TECH President & Remote Viewer Joni Dourif Imagine if you will, only the vast surface of the ocean… You have seen its reflective cover many times. It’s expansive and it’s expressive. You take notice of it more when it curls up and crashes down and makes loud roaring sounds. But most of the time you just assume that it’s there “doing its ocean thing.” It has always been there, on the edge of your awarene

markdohle

markdohle

 

People Have NDEs While Brain Dead

Dr. Michael Sabom is a cardiologist whose latest book, Light and Death, includes a detailed medical and scientific analysis of an amazing near-death experience of a woman named Pam Reynolds. She underwent a rare operation to remove a giant basilar artery aneurysm in her brain that threatened her life. The size and location of the aneurysm, however, precluded its safe removal using the standard neuro-surgical techniques. She was referred to a doctor who had pioneered a daring surgical procedure k

markdohle

markdohle

 

Shattered image

Times come often for me When faced with my own pretensions, Standing broken before my shattered image The broken shards lying around me, My soul bleeding from truths ragged edge Seeking to hide from love’s infinite gaze. I seek dark places in which to hide Calling the mountains to fall upon me, Self-loathing my companion, My heart like granite, Lifeless, Cold and bitter. To no avail do I seek sanctuary, The light in my stone like heart abiding, Allowing me not the iso

markdohle

markdohle

 

Talk on grief

We all begin life fresh, We are born, Some into loving homes, others not, Some have parents that support them, Others into abusive households, Men and women passing on what they were taught, Unable to break the cycle. Perhaps the majority land somewhere in the middle; With parents who are good, but struggle with responsibilities overwhelming, Perhaps the beginning the most difficult. In any case we are all on a journey, We are pilgrims Moving forward on the ro

markdohle

markdohle

 

Inner struggle

Temperance I sometimes want to just let go, let it rip, Throw things, break windows, just yell, A sort of freedom desired, short lived, With results, or the fruit’s thereof, binding, Perhaps leading to a kind of insanity if it becomes a habit, Causing more problems than solving. Or, Holding everything in, pushing it down, Hiding behind a smile, Or just plain not showing inner emotions, A secret, lest others see the chaos within, churning, brewing, cooking, Lea

markdohle

markdohle

 

Before the before

In the before Where even nothing had no meaning, No energy was, Nor matter, Space and time where simply not yet, Then....... Time began, Matter and energy in space micro-infinite Exploded in light Space began as energy expelled, Expansion speeding up Universe flying apart Hurling through space, Until, Energy gone, only cold inert space left. The end comes from beginnings. Beginnings have causes The uncaused with no beginning the source of all

markdohle

markdohle

 

Dark anima

Upon a throne severe she sits, Made of stone enduring, The color of ancient bone Stable, Unmovable, Clothed in grey, her face set, stern. Buffeted by life’s sorrows and tragedies, Passing the test that endurance brings. The sword in her hand, not for battle against others, If wisdom has been attained. Rather a symbol of discernment cutting through illusion, Leading to compassion that is seen in her eyes, By those with the courage to engage. Wisdom comes from the embraci

markdohle

markdohle

 

Shadows

He wanders forlorn, From room to room, Opening doors, Seeking a way out, A closet perhaps a doorway to freedom, Leading again only into darkness; No exit found, A world of Kafkaesque proposition. Trapped in a castle not knowing why, Or how he got there. An endless journey, Seeking things that are no longer…… Of the past, Shadows real as if present, Imprints from the past taken as if ‘now’. Forgetting, Seeking over and over again, Mother, Father, Brothers an

markdohle

markdohle

 

The caw

The Raven jet black Cawed loudly, Breaking the winter silence. In winter months their call echoes, The sky empty of other songs, Melancholy in its timber. Bringing to mind images of emptiness, Sadness, Life’s losses never to be found, Such a sound the Raven’s Caw, Healing in allowing remembrance to flow.

markdohle

markdohle

 

Anything underneath?

When you dig up the floor of reality, what lies beneath? The floorboards on which we stand, does it cover only nothingness? Does all energy dissipate? Will the universe cool down and simply stop in the artic cold of deep space? When my eyes finally close for the last time, When my hour glass shatters, what remains? Is eternal oblivion really the answer? Eternal what? Oblivion is not even darkness, Darkness is something, Nothing is simply no-thing. Is God possible? Can som

markdohle

markdohle

 

Real

It is more important to be alive than holy, To be open to others rather than pious, To be a sinner rather than a prude, To be aware of oneself before judging others. The greatest saint and the lowest sinner, Brothers and sisters journeying together, Pilgrims on the rocky path of life. Perhaps in God's eyes not so far apart, Each has depths unseen where grace does its work, Hidden, In secret, The chaos of life the binding force for it all. We are told not to judge the hear

markdohle

markdohle

 

Passage

There are many rites of passage that most people go through as they journey down the road of life. Some of these passages are pleasant, others not so much….. then of course there are those that can terrify. I remember my first day of school like it was yesterday, 53 years ago. To say I was scared is an understatement, but I went, mostly because I had no choice, parents have a way of convincing children that they need to move forward. Also beneath the fear there was also an excitement and th

markdohle

markdohle

 

Unchallenged

In the morning the tree stood proud For all to see. Old, twisted from years of fighting the elements, Trunk long and strong with limbs thick and rugged, spreading shade, Roots deep in the earth, moist and fertile. Centuries it existed alone, Unchallenged, Marked with wounds from storms, Fiery strikes from the sky, It beauty deepened by such. Until one day it came, Its destiny, Winds strong, Clouds dark and low, Churning in dark beauty, Lighting came Struck in sh

markdohle

markdohle

 

The last 7 years

I suppose that the last 7 years have been extremely interesting and enlightening for me and I have the internet to thank for that. In 1999 I sat down in front of a computer, learned how to connect to the internet and dove right in. Within a couple of days I was downloading, uploading, emailing, and getting drunk over all the information that was available to me by the simple click of an icon, or the typing in of an web address. It was like my brain became global; well I guess it did. For me

markdohle

markdohle

 

Hidden Treasure

Simple, so obvious, Yet often overlook.....what is really sought, Often in ways self destructive, As if we also seek to block that which is desired and longed for. Sin, or ignorance, labels do not matter, The fruit is the same. Love, The treasure hidden, Is what we are made for Buried in a field of confusion, Longings that really build walls, Deepening loneliness, Until, if ever, what is needed is learned. Love first, Give, Seek to understand and love

markdohle

markdohle

 

Secret

In a small little known town, A college stood unknown by most, Famous in its own way, by the few needing to know. Therein taught by a man of art, Undistinguished by sight, Yet in all others truly great in what he had to offer. He had a way, A path seemingly unique in the way it was trod. Art became alive for those privileged to hear, His poetic praises for beauty created, Each piece lovingly presented, Making art alive. People around him blossomed for reasons often unkno

markdohle

markdohle

 

Stigmata

In the souls of those we meet, Our loved ones, Strangers, Hated ones, The good and the evil, Those beautiful And all the others more plainly garbed with natures gifts, Bear the wounds of Christ. Each wears the invisible stigmata, Deep pain often not felt, It effects however, are. Addictions, Loneliness, colder and darker than an artic night, Promises not kept, Passion for union never experienced, Harm done to others and of course to oneself, These are the fruits

markdohle

markdohle

 

With caution tread

The doe stood still, As I slowly walked by that moonlight night, Her graceful body finely sculptured, Streamlined, With perfect curves. The illusion of delicacy created by its simple beauty and symmetry, A deadly illusion if tested, For strong of muscle and sharp of hoof, With razor edges sharpened is she weapon-ed, Created for either defense or flight, To a degree perfected beyond man’s simple powers. A creature wild, apart from our projections of gentle beauty, Surviv

markdohle

markdohle

 

Closer than our skin

Allow thoughts to cease and simply rest, A task seemingly difficult to achieve, The mind has a life of its own seeking something to grasp, Holding back the peaceful void, filled with simply the moment. The desires, worries, fears and so much more, Rivet our attention flinging here and there, Often without true purpose. Addicted to not looking inward where true peace beckons, That would allow seeing the many dramas of life for what they truly are, Passing events, soon to be forg

markdohle

markdohle

 

Empty oblivion

The soul young in world were all souls are such, A place were children play, In ways not often understood by the form that it takes, Often rough, Violent, Pain enough for everyone and all are invited, Yet joy also, Often eclipsed by the childishness often displayed. None escape the sand box in which the games are played out. In a world were doubt is pervasive, Even true believers, Though often denied, Or perhaps it goes unnoticed protected by fear, Harbor d

markdohle

markdohle

 

Cold morning

The cold morning beckoned me from my bed early, Embraced by the quiet, waiting, Cloudless sky deep blue, soothing in its beauty infinite. Stars hidden by the silver light of the winter moon Casting my shadow behind me, The silence deep allowing the mind to rest. Before me the path bathed in beauty, Cast in silver upon the dark pathway, Slow steps, frequent stops, With only the moment real.

markdohle

markdohle

 

When the time comes

When the Christian finally comes to understand who it is who stands before him or her. Labels abandoned, Seeing deeply what faith demands, The truth we are asked to embrace. The highest and lowest, Best and the worst, Only subjective constructs With no reality before infinite love, Only the image and likeness seen. When that time comes If it ever does, Will the light spread to others. False boundaries, Evil illusions, The reflective image hated, Se

markdohle

markdohle

 

Courage and humor

Courage and humor In the mid-seventies I used to deliver bread to some of the stores in Atlanta. One of my favorite stops was at a Big Star store at Ansley Mall. The mall was situated in a predominantly Jewish section of Atlanta with a large population of elderly. I would often wonder about the many oldsters that I would see there, most of them quiet; either shopping or sitting outside waiting for the bus, talking among them selves, enjoying each others company. Others seemed lost in their

markdohle

markdohle

 

Nothing to be done

I saw her one morning at the airport, waiting for someone to pick her up, lost among the hurrying throng that swirled around her, unnoticed, and soon forgotten if even seen. Why she attracted my attention I do not know, but she did, and I guess that is enough. She was plain, poorly dressed, and she appeared so tired that if she dropped to the ground and took a nap, it would not have surprised me. Sadness rolled off of her like cold from ice, fog like, it muted her effect on her surrounding

markdohle

markdohle

 

My friend William

Slowly the disease gains it deadly ground, The minds bright light slowly dimming, Often forgetting where he is at; The year he inhabits long part of history. Thinking he is somewhere else. Calling out for help to find his family, Now long dead in their graves sleeping. I want my mom, he says to me sadly, Please give me a dollar so I can go home. Over and over we have this discussion, The same conclusion foreknown by all but him. The loss of short term memory at times a bles

markdohle

markdohle