daen couch-davidson ≈ my mother was

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Spinning-Silhouette-Optical-Illusion

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A Sufi

. 

in reality, can spin on the axles of reality, and see many different worlds

(these are pre-tech types, who still carry the spiritual gifts of wells of understanding,

they have been thru the ropes; they have no greed or lust, they are not easier

seduced by external situations, they understand why and what they are, mature beings)

.

having been brought up in the restaurant and bicycle repair business

and having lived in the apartment behind the shop with a fun loving

irish chef-dad, and pianist mum, my mother was a sufi

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when i was born in the suburbs

i, always the slowest kid in the family

sitting for hours, watching trees and things

following ants home

having to memorize where i lived, by counting my foot steps

tall too soon

mum was so happy when i said, we did not have to go to my graduation

.

(she was not p.t.a, material; they wanted a type of conformity, a very competitive group of materialists, where one upman shit, and herd mentality reigned; she was the unknown factor, for many years, not surprising some well known poets in this city, have written about her, as the lucid beauty,
she could read a soul, with her white light, she helped so many lost souls, find a
harbour)

.

she was not the pompous type, look at my house, ain’t i better then them,

my mother was geniunely kind, and wise, and never never bartered to the detriment of
her spiritual self; her beauty was real and deep, not a superficial covering, brassy
and ultimately empty; cruel from insecurity, that was not my mother

she never ever lost her dynity as a queen in the spiritual realm, and turned heads
from that natural glory

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a highly incarnated soul, nothing to do with education, and the monkey business

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my poor mother, would take a big belt of liquor

to get her thru the day, and on occasion sleeping on the kitchen

floor, when i was six, like a baby; perplexed and exhausted by my

strange inner world, talking to dogs and disappearing sometimes

.

forgetting where i was, did not realize that i had developed an

astral body, having incarnated from a tibetan monastery,

having been a very developed monk in my last life time

(i had strong, reflections of that, and did indeed study
tibetan buddhism, in a few groups)

.

it was only latter that a nephew who was big into physics

told me of the martial art form, called the drunkard

where the opponents fight, looking totally drunk

.one of the most difficult martial arts

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and all those years, wondering why my mum

was a bit different
though her humour, and ability to tell jokes, irish, what do
you expect

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was really a very developed martial art student; no wonder she
enjoyed the company of the chinese so much and them her

.

i also find great friendship with the chinese, we swim together,
personal history, is nothing to them, only the now

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when she moved from the suburbs
(i became myself telepathic at ten, and a straight A student,
because i could see the answers, in the air, coming from a long
line of ancient seers; i was always sleeping in class, and my teacher
would ask me a question, and i would wake up knowing, in retrospect
i was in a lucid state, unlike other students who were frothing at the
bit with nervousness, i felt deep compassion for their inability to understand

partly why i became a teacher)

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my esoteric teacher affirm this, years later, saying i communicate with natural spirits, irish what to do

i come from a long line of illuminated idiots, in the sufi tradition

where the future, comes faster at you, then the past

idiot means knower in sufi terms, often being able to not get caught
in the projects of others

.

the metropolis is where she was happy, a tavern dweller in sufi lingo

storytelling and mingling with many different types, not defined by
house, or income, the poets world, of allegory and symbolism, where
the lucid ones live, the real seers

she was an artist in the kitchen, and garden

she could mingle with the races

with the grace of a swan

and was so loved

.

for her smile, people asked, are you afraid to get

cancer, and she always with a surprised laugh,

knowing herself, said no..in a very musical way,

she knew that she was too loved to go down that road

she thought it was a totally absurd question

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always up for a story and a laugh, my mother was a sufi

.

i am learning now the martial art

of the drunkard, and surprised

maybe its incarnation, i came in knowing it

it is not at all difficult

and surprisingly when i am out walking

whatever is coming at me(if i sense negetive energy)

moves away quickly

with a look of respectful fear

.

in my drunkard performance(they fear what
looks unbalanced to them, which is exactly
the point)

also being a professional potter
for 20 years, the centre, is second nature to me

i can go off, and get on, my mother was a sufi

.

no wonder my mum, had such a laugh,

but never ever, to the ignorant
she would never challenge the honest people

it is hysterically funny

leave it to the chinese

to create such a simple

and yet effective means

of terrifying aggressors.

and pretty repulsing types
(repulse monkey)

of humans, that possibly

may cause extreme boredom

the ones propped up, for big

events, that yell read me, read me

.

and i, i just want to

stay small, and have tea

and linger in the non event

areas, tired of the hypes

and manifestations

sometimes nothing

is wonderful

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11/08/2013

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One thought on “daen couch-davidson ≈ my mother was

  1. bette says:

    for all the misunderstood women, who have big heart, and great knowledge within their essence, and continue to struggle, to manifest and love, at great odds

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