Senseless and hurt, the path has shown us that we cannot keep turning our sight away from the boundaries we have set for the sake of security. These limits have been imposed by those who want to contain us within their ways. The solution I propose is to find out by ourselves who we truly are, but what does this mean?

I’ve been tampered with,
                                                 guilt?
I can’t feel anymore,
                                              death?
tell me softly,
                                           sweetly?
                       am I free?

There are no clouds
                                 holding my fall.

Weary from the excuses,
                                I breathe deeply,
a sour taste expands,
                            those restraints melt
and I float away.

Is this oblivion? No,
                             I am a citrus flower
drifting toward
                                      the orchard
of my blossomed
                                        identity. 

This time no one will stop me;
                             no armour nor chair,
no title nor cycle,
                            no money nor promise,
no more praise nor disgrace
                  will return me to those chains.

I’ll craze you suffering, ‘cause
                           I am freedom itself;
           nothing less!

Now is your time to observe the natural beauty that you are, being… Being free is not a path, but a constant inspiration, a passion flowing deep within, revealing the source of the real, you. But who are you? Do you really know? Or are you a shadow of those who impose those chains making you believe you are what they desire from you?

Toward Liberation is a poem by Lina Ru on Poetic Journey by Lina Ru - Visual Poesía Experimental Acoustic Poetry

Sobre la montaña reposa una rosa, el viento la azota, pero la dulzura la mantiene firme en las rocas que la tocan.

¿Por qué forzar nuestro punto de vista cuando el que en la verdad habita no tiene nada que temer y menos que convencer?

Camino sinuoso,
océano a la espera,
rugen los templos
que imploran certeza,
pero por eso
tiembla.

Los manantiales hablan,
te reclaman justicia
con inocencia
mientras tú, callas,
vislumbrado por la ignorancia,
te ahogas, calas,
entre el delirio de la fragancia
prohibida, tu orgullo.

¡Atiende!

Que mientras duermes
te están robando la calma,
que mientras arrullas
te están comiendo el alma,
que mientras navegas
te ahogarás en las flamas
del que calcina
tu felicidad.

¡Y, despierto!

El agua que brota
alcanza mis botas,
absuelve mi pesar
hasta besar
mis pies,
aquellos
que absorben
la humildad
que me enfrentan
a la verdad,
el océano
soy yo.

Dulce, dulce duerme, pero muere. Dulce, dulce despierta, comienza a crear y ahí no hay más muerte. ¡Despierta!

Olas de mi despertar is a poem by Lina Ru on Poetic Journey by Lina Ru - Visual Poesía Experimental Acoustic Poetry

There was a group of people who sought to control everyone. The act of control gave them the illusion of security, but why? They did not understand who they were. In order to compensate that inner void, they created goals. The oldest man of the group was about to die. Death was the only threat that could not be controlled. So, one night after waking up from a bad dream the old man realized that the more he controlled others, the less he understood himself. He knew death was around the corner, and there was no more use in lying to himself.

Death was the ultimatum! Although he had created all these goals, he realized that he would succumb to nature; the same nature that he had constantly had been destroying for nearly a century. This realization provoked a deep pain within the depths of his chest. It was the first time he had felt his oppressed soul. All these years, he had thought that he had been free because he had pressured government officials or even changed the law whenever he needed to break it. He always got all the things he wanted and possessed all that he had dreamed. However, deep inside laid the truth: The old man had never really known liberty, and now falling into death it was shown to him that:

Oppressed soul
till
sentient goal
keeps the call
till
insentient crawl,
always sore,
never whole,
is this us?

Suppressed
till
ruining soul,
running gold
made of foul
oh!
never free,
always sore,
is this home?

Popsicle prickles
wake up from
the trick o’ tickle
of
strawberry lips,
cherry trips,
merry go guilt,
who
is the fibber?

Deny the liar
their lair!

Seek power
and
become a coward!

Let flower
and
become a tower!

Stop being foolish
and
better let flourish
who you really are.

The old man died. He learned too late what had all those years remained hidden beneath layers of sorrows and fear:

There is something within oneself that knows truth beyond suffering.

But you? Yes, YOU! Will realize this truth before it is too late to breathe?

Note:

Greed has corrupted our identity to the point that we no longer know who we really are. We are mindless goal seekers. We destroy our surroundings believing we have a right to destroy. Why? Oppression and repression has become the norm, and this has led us to perpetuate lies rather than the striving toward truth. People are dying of hunger while others fight endlessly in a game of offense and defense. How can we change our surroundings?

Do you really want change? Do you really want a better world? Search deep inside of you, find out who you really are, and challenge tradition. Do not follow authority. Be critical. Do not let any group of power control your morality. Find out for yourself what really brings fulfillment to your being! Let the lies that have brainwashed your true identity vanish from your belief system! Remember that those who seek to control are less powerful than those who let the storm pass but remain peaceful in place. It is time for you to stand up! Do not let those who believe to have power move you! Let the truth set you free!

Popsicle Prickles is a poem by Lina Ru on Poetic Journey by Lina Ru - Visual Poesía Experimental Acoustic Poetry

Nuestra alma se desborda por ver los sucesos de violencia y censura que hoy tocan dí­a a dí­a en México, Chile, Venezuela, Libia, Siria y el resto del mundo. Les recuerdo que sobre todo en estos momentos de sufrimiento extremo es cuando hay que redoblar nuestro esfuerzo de amor.

Dicen algunos que la solución es más violencia, pero les recuerdo que la historia nos ha enseñado que el miedo sólo trae más agresión, y peor aún, un deseo de control desatado por ese miedo culmina en una dictadura o un estado militar. ¿Cómo evitar la violencia de fondo? Poco a poco, uno a uno, reconocer (sin importar la ideologí­a, filosofí­a o religión) la verdad del amor que ilumina desde el interior al exterior.

Les convoco a través de este poema a que luchen por ser rectos y amorosos, honestos y dedicados, honrados y generosos, y es más, a que encuentren en su alma al amor que luminoso evaporizará a la agresión primero en su interior y así­, uno a uno, se conquistará de amor hasta abrazar al universo.

¡Despierta ya! ¿Estás harto del sufrir? …Eso sólo se cura con el amor.

El lamento
de una madrugada vací­a
penetra la humedad
de una madera
insensible
corroí­da
por la
corrupción.

Llanto
sobre
canto.

No dejes
que la impotencia
domine tu ser,
suelta al control
y reacciona
con amor.

Canto
sobre
llanto.

Que la balada
que suene sea
la del ángel,
en cuyo baile
mí­stico se
encuentra
un tesoro
al vislumbrar
a la verdad
de frente
sin mente,
sin miedo,
con amor.

¡Abre tu corazón
al espejo volteado
al interior y contempla!

¿Qué ves?

Responsabilidad,
generosidad,
libertad,
sí­,
al amor mismo,
tú.

¿Realmente quieres verlo?

Llanto sobre canto,
canto sobre llanto;
las notas son amor.

Me uno al canto por la paz y amor
por medio de la racionalidad
cuyo sí­mbolo debe ser
la ética y moralidad
de lo incondicional.

Cantemos todos en uní­sono:

Soy el amor mismo.
soy el amor,
el amor,
amor…

Una obra de arte viva.

Canto sobre llanto is a poem by Lina Ru on Poetic Journey by Lina Ru - Visual Poesía Experimental Acoustic Poetry

Al ejemplo del Pelón y su legado,
que criaron ideológicamente al Muertero
que fue sepultado por su legado:
Dos ratas de closet en un desierto,
otros dos hermanos cuyo tormento
siempre será la verdad.

- ¡Corre… rata!

Si te alcanzan es porque no necesitan correr
para sobrepasar a tu corrupción.

Dormido sobre la acera de los recuerdos,
como águila en nopal pendiente de la rata
que asecha desde su altar de trajes blancos
con diamantes en los dientes
y gobiernos a sus pies,
estoy.

Mi madre gritó
a la hora de atender
al huésped:
- ¡Despierta!

Voy corriendo,
pero…

La casa de huéspedes está vací­a,
la habitó una rata que todo se comió,
le llaman salina a lo que nos dejó:
un manantial de deudas
cuyo sí­mbolo es la sal
de la avaricia y una voluntad
enferma de irracionalidad.

El hombre que construye
a través de la ignorancia
sigue taladrando
su propio cementerio,
pero su ceguedad
lo lleva a sepultarse
entre flores de plástico
y recados de falsa solidaridad,
nunca fue populista,
sólo fue popular,
pero hasta eso se le agotó,
se fugó pero se cegó.

Nos inventan soluciones
que el pópulo alaba
para conquistar,
pero te recuerdo
que la única verdad
es la que viene
del abismo de amor
que llevas dentro
cuando observas
desde el fondo
de las causas:
un jardí­n sagrado
cuyo fruto
es la plenitud.

¿Despertarás?

Quizá, y si lo haces,
observa a las ratas
que vací­an tu casa
con compasión.

¡Ama!

Sólo así­,
te librarás
de su poder
porque tú
aprenderás
a ser diferente:
libre y pleno
por llegar
a ser el amor
mismo al fin.

Querido polí­tico:
Ten cuidado con lo que pides
porque se te puede hacer realidad,
y ¿qué harás con tal responsabilidad?

Aprende a amar,
sólo así­ te salvarás.

Flores de plástico is a poem by Lina Ru on Poetic Journey by Lina Ru - Visual Poesía Experimental Acoustic Poetry

Hemos sido educados sólo en el pasado, pero ¿acaso alguien te ha contado sobre la educación creativa? ¿No? ¡Presta atención!

La educación del pasado es la que nos ata a la idea del capitalismo o socialismo, pero la educación creativa es aquella que se ilumina como un sol en el momento presente y se transmite en la actualidad en vez de ideologí­a. Si crees que alguna de esas opciones te darán libertad, te equivocas. El humano si corrupto será un dictador, no un liberador sin importar que manta se coloque tras su supuesta espalda desnuda.

La corrupción es el egoí­smo que ahoga al amor. El quebrar la ley es sólo la evidencia, pero el dere-chueco se justifica diciendo que tú eres muy malo y ellos tan… buenos. Sucede que en el poder ellos son parte y jueces, sin importar su corriente ideológica. Te marginalizarán si no te dejas moldear a sus deseos por eso, ¡despierta!

La queja ataranta
la garganta
y la reseca
como
árbol torcido
que intenta
enredado
ser recto.

El que GRITA
las debilidades
del otro
aún no observa
las suyas.

Su mirada
ahogada
en sedimento
agrede
sentimiento
porque él
no es valiente.

El que desgarra
y así­, arrebata,
se arremete
a sí­ mismo
creyendo
que convoca
cambio,
sólo atenta contra
el estado del arte
que se lleva dentro
cuando los ojos
se encienden
de amor.

Por eso
paciencia
caminante,
elige camino
que no ha sido
caminado.

Recuerda
que nadie te verá
en revuelta,
sólo camino dejas.

Te siguen tus pisadas
hechas un intentar de flores,
resulta que ese
es el privilegio de ser
el primero en andar.

Asegúrate de regar
con tu alegrí­a
para sembrar
el aroma
que exuda
amor
para que
en tu ausencia
el viento tome
tu lugar,
así­ todo tu esfuerzo
encontrará su hogar
y tú en silencio
por fin podrás estar.

¡Ya basta de revoluciones sociales,
es hora de cambiar tu propio interior!

La queja sólo brinda dolor, calla tus pestes y actúa. El reino que pisas es el efecto de tu propia condición. Si estas realmente harto deja atrás el adoctrinamiento y edúcate de verdad.

Sólo así­, lograrás superar la ideologí­a si te educas en la creatividad y su estética porque el terror del dictador es que tú seas una obra de arte…

¡Ah! Y el internet… ¡LOL!

Crédito de la Imágen de los dictadores: http://www.ishr.org/

Paciencia caminante is a poem by Lina Ru on Poetic Journey by Lina Ru - Visual Poesía Experimental Acoustic Poetry

I had thought I no option, but to conform myself to that which surrounded others’ expectations. I thought that apathetic zombies were the only terrorists in a world confronted with fear, but I was wrong. If we had dared to realize that it was us who created those rules in order to constrain those who we label as dangerous strangers, then perhaps we could have been saved before the Great Plague of the Four Twos.

The Plague destroyed everything, except your soul. The Great Plague took our little boxes of belief and exposed them to the Sun. Is the Plague perhaps our only hope to regenerate everything that has been lost?

It was then, exposed to the burning reality that I realized:

The corrupt government and their pals, the corporate bullies, told me that I had to follow their rules because if not I would be labeled as The Undead #666. I was not the zombie, but I would be labeled as one. I would become an outlaw, whereas true zombies would be praised and reproduced in order to maintain a false state of security.

I would be prosecuted for a single crime: creative and critical thinking that led me to trash their wills through my love of paradoxes. I knew that there was no right and wrong, but their “right” was selfish and abusive. There was no guidance, but their own authority. We had a big problem. There was no good beyond life, but there still were earthly dictators that told us what should the truth be: their wills.

What changed with secularism? Nothing. We only replaced myth with corporate and socialist dictatorships. Both are the same using different emperor’s clothes. Are you aware of this? Please, wake up! The walls of Eden have fallen, but you still are alive in another form that the bullies can’t conceptualize:

Intensity and immensity
as an exploding sun of love;
being fulfilled
as only paradoxes can.

What is beyond good and evil?
The fullest love, but
what is that?

I am everything,
but I am nothing.

How can I be both?

I am everything,
but I ignore it all;
I am only able
to see myself
as a child lost
after an innocent
fall.

I can run into the stars
through my body of atomic reactions
that reaches the heavens
through my unknown,
you.

You or me,
the one way path
is blinded with belief,
but as one becomes two,
the truth is amplified,
not in cognition
but in intensity,
and in immensity;
I become free.

A grain of sand
appears to be nothing,
yet it is everything
in order to create
the figure of love
that I am
as I press
my body deep
into the whirls
and twirls
of time.

My hurricane
transforms
those who touch me
as we learn the curves
of the repetitive
internal rhymes
which are desires.

In movement,
I am aware
of the rules
of this
paradox.

I begin
to play.

In rhythm,
I am both.

In process,
I am both.

In freedom,
I am both.

Both means
becoming
myself
multiplying
selves until
the multiples
become a self,
the parselfadox.

I am a ghost
not aware
of its ways:
alive and dead
à la même
chose!

The cat without hat,
the box is a belief,
the parselfadox,
my host.

In solving the parselfadox,
I become a magician
within a spelled h-o-a-x.

Seeing beyond thinking,
creating beyond feeling ,
bringing meaning
into being
openness
as I understand
I am not dead nor alive,
but both and none
at the same time.

The box has no cat.

¡Surprise!

The cat is the box.

Things move while
you are not seeing them,
so your story is neither
here or there,
it is nowhere
and everywhere.

It is alive and dead
if there is no capricious
belief waiting to dissolve
your delicious
paradox.

There is freedom if I am able to more away from belief into the realm of open spaces where there is nothing to tie me into a particular position. In this space, I do not have to defend myself from you because I understand your position as much as I understand mine. I am able to see through you until I become you. You see me because I expose myself to you until there is no more me.

I am that which I breathe, but I am also separate from it. I am the tree whose oxygen I take (but I am not) until the tree posses my carbon dioxide, and then we both are one, although still being separate in our minds.

In this together, we are able to transform ordinary consciousness and manifest ourselves through paintings, poems, stories, sculptures, gardening, architecture, humanities, philosophy, history, management, leadership, and furthermost because everything becomes a part of you as you become a part of them through an art that leads into the inexorable of still being me although being you, the paradox of life.

The paradox is the enemy of the dictator’s multiple costumes.

You can’t wear what isn’t there, and if it is there, how can someone wear that which we cannot see? Observe deeply because it might be there although appearing not be in order to make you believe in them.

Use this knowledge and create a spell that will release us each time it appears that they might start to suffocate your voice.

Freedom is everlasting if you are able to observe beyond the appearances, almost touching reality which is:

I won’t tell you, but if you observe the oceanic openness within… You might just realize the truth right now.
How? Stop judging and start observing, then use your analytical and synthetical head but seeing clearly in order to experience the fullest love as an expression of the paradox!

Intensity and Immensity is a poem by Lina Ru on Poetic Journey by Lina Ru - Visual Poesía Experimental Acoustic Poetry

In a retirement center, lives a grand Madame who tries to convince everyone that one can act within goodness through the use of reason which is the key to freedom. I do not believe her, but she charms everyone her convincing speech because it seems all of us posses a certain degree of elaborate judgment.

How easily we are enchanted by those who expose their beliefs if they sound convincing enough! Who cares about facts! I do! I do! I really do care about the truth! Why don’t you?

What is really good has to be based in truth, and that can only be found in a non-judgmental awareness within a whole we haven’t yet realized yet. We are seeing the truth all the time, but don’t realize it. Can you see the contradiction here?

Someone did! A silent observer that will never be convinced. It was my grandfather, the observer, who once said that most people are asleep in a sea full of shrimp, but now because he is dead I can only hear the wind reminding me to follow my own breath rather than the chatty old Mam. In his silence, he found that through pure attention one can melt that which is supposed a vast ocean of belief into an icy truth that breaks all chains.

The mask
of will blows
our minds
with desire.

The winds’
intentionality
at its tightest
formality,
a mask
of necessity
marking our face.

In such heightened
state of belief,
one becomes
the slave of will.

One cannot see
as our facade becomes
that which seems
to be free.

So much it seems
that is no relief
to the affliction
of impotence,
but violence.

Will in order,
Will with reason
to live in freedom,
they say,
but do not let
them know
desire itself
and not
themselves
who owns
control.

Do you think
you are free?

But have you realized
freedom is not in thought?

The most treacherous
delusion is being trapped
in chants of independence
while being chained
to your own beliefs.

But first,
realize the trap
so you can actually
escape from your thirst.

Trapped in the expectations
of those beliefs,
trapped in the desires
of those who grief,
trapped in the hush
of untamed time.

In such state of affairs,
there is no place to run.

In a world of aggression
we inhabit for they say
that all that cannot
be possessed
has not been desired
with enough power
and so they resolve:
Nothing is unwilling,
only keep billing
those willing.

Where does
actuality lie?

While the colorblind cry
for more power,
the attentive release their wills
waiting for the flower of reality
to bloom through their
multicolored breath
as one becomes one
with the wind.

The exhalation of perfection
is the seed that gives birth
to that which cannot be willed
but only attended
as the opening of petals
in a delicate flow
of rivers and foam
that falls into
the ocean
of love.

Is death the only bliss? I tend to disagree, but I never follow the rules because I contradict myself a lot. Ha, I have to confess I am a paradox who is not afraid of saying that I do actually agree with the Madame, but I also disagree. We need to reason our way through delusion, but at the same time paradoxes need to be felt and not reasoned in order to understand them.

Perhaps you can solve paradoxes through intuition and not analysis or synthesis, but then how are you going to express immaculate understandings?

Therefore, in the perpendicular point of the cross lies a paradox which is love floating in peace. Are you able to observe how the paradox is solved? Is it solved if there is no reason? No, but yes. Yes, but no. Both and none.

Illuminate with love and observe with clarity, could that represent luminous love? No, but yes. Yes, but no.

At the end, remove the mask and perhaps, this time when you will… It won’t be desire, but consent that rips apart chains.

Mask of Willing is a poem by Lina Ru on Poetic Journey by Lina Ru - Visual Poesía Experimental Acoustic Poetry

Flying in the perspective that many fear to reach, one can set an example. Thus, our world becomes a better place because there is no more violence because there is no more impotence but innocent liberty.

In such child liberty, one can become ONE with our dreams, so it can become a reality. A child knows no difference between dreaming and memories, and they play making it a reality.

After dreaming,
memories come into being,
so I become a poet of eternal dreams,
a dreamer within the vastness of the unchained skies,
an enchantment for those who dare to leave the known
and soar into the unexplored lands of their souls.

In the vastness of its fertile imagination,
a mechanical seagull is rendered
as a magical voice of reality,
the one that soars in the rhythm
of the multicolored wind.

Each rainbow song is a cloud of spring rain
that can be touched if I extend my arms
through the window of my aircraft
which is my mechanical seagull
that wishes in its flight
to rediscover
the real significance of truth:
being limited but creating,
being mechanical but expanding,
being analytical but feeling,
being but dreaming
in eternal freedom as wings
that are able to open
the windows of my soul
to the dreams spread around
the vastness of the peace
I call forever space.

¡Dream!

Fly as ONE with the wind
to change our entire life.

Perhaps, the difference between the inner and the outer is not as we have been taught to believe… and so, dreams are real just as memories were real. To say dreams are not real is to say that a shadow does not exist because you cannot see the creator of the shadow. Reality has a lot of visual tricks. Whenever we remember a memory, it comes into the present and by doing so it becomes alive again just as dreams.

If so, how heart do you dare to fly? Go into your dreams and beyond! Dreams are real. The proof is that if they weren’t, then the concept would not even be present in our minds. There would be no concept of dreams, and there is… So, dreams are real. How real are they? Well go into them and beyond, then realize it by yourself…

Video collaboration with Miro Kantarsky and Josef Kosik.

Poet of Eternal Dreams is a poem by Lina Ru on Poetic Journey by Lina Ru - Visual Poesía Experimental Acoustic Poetry

Contempla para ver la belleza de todo lo que te rodea, abre tu alma a la inspiración de ser libre a través de prestar plena atención a lo que te rodea y verás como te llenas de amor luminoso.

Ese amor entra desde el lugar central para nuestra galaxia, desde el sol para tocarnos el corazón y así­ brillar como pequeños soles dispuestos a expandir su luz. ¿Estás observando a la luz o se te cega la vista por no estar acostumbrado a su cálido brillo?

La luz del universo
se asoma a través
de nuestra ventana,
la atmosfera.

Es el atardecer
que cesa de
creer y admira…

¿Cuántas noches más
hemos de mirar al vací­o
pensando que estamos
solos?

¡Despierta
de tu sombra
y observa!

Mira
más allá de las formas
más allá de los focos,
mira allá en el espacio
de los espejos
volteados
hacia el interior.

Es el amanecer,
el atardecer
volteado.

Toda derecha,
tiene izquierda,
pero todo
derecho-izquierdo
tiene centro
y el centro
es uno,
tú.

¡Contempla
para ver el todo,
las partes
y su extravagante
fusión!

Tú eres el que observa
al universo tocarte con su luz,
¿estas despierto?

¡Observa!

Y verás
la belleza del ser.

¡Sólo si aprendes a contemplar con el alma abierta a lo que te rodea podrás liberarte de la verborrea que nos enferma la razón!

Luz del universo is a poem by Lina Ru on Poetic Journey by Lina Ru - Visual Poesía Experimental Acoustic Poetry