Not a mopping being…
… just a mopping experience
since this July,
with no end in sight,
for no reward but the
of our community debt
that had been growing
be asked to start
blessing through me
–me seemingly just toiling
outside closed apartment doors–
people who had been feeling higher
on the crumbling social ladder
by judging others
all these blessed
having human experiences
in a state of constant prayer.
Three years online today
Glowing with faith thanks to
all our heavenly and earthly friends
💜 💜 💜
💜 💜 💜
I created much of the above synthesis
during intervals of watching
the following video.
As a composer and pianist at heart,
a global Greek and quite Scorpionic myself,
I’ve always soared with Yanni’s soul expression.
Thanks also to his synastry at work with his violinist,
this live performance sweeps the audience off their feet.
In this illusion of time, may we be awakening to
more and more joyful Divine Love
Until The Last Moment:
doesn’t actually mean
they always have to smile.
You don’t see them around, for
they don’t have enough to go around.
Homelessness looming over their heads.
they still share your building so gratefully.
You’re struggling middle class, they outcasts,
their endless effort cancelled out by sabotages
so heavy you don’t have the nerve to listen to.
You cannot handle how they make ends meet.
You’d rather share more reasonable challenges.
So you prefer accusing them of avoiding you,
of being too anything to change their lives.
They are among the ones who change all,
and exactly therefore they could never
live up to this world’s expectations,
now not even to your stereotypes
of the servitude of poverty.
They’ve been serving more
than you can imagine.
Their humility is
to be accepted
as readily as the
power they exude,
so gentle and yet scary,
because it makes you ponder
that under this load of theirs,
you would be crushed for sure.
Alien to your alliances, they seem
lost in the abode of Hades and yet
glowing with enviable brightness.
So easy to keep stepping on them,
guiltlessly increasing their debts,
saying you do hope for their best,
that somehow they (o paradox)
find some decent jobs and be
paying even more taxes,
keep the system alive,
to become normal,
functional cogs of your
whose fakeness sickens you
with fear-based metaphysics.
But the system works for you.
They are Not here to destroy it,
but regardless of their intention,
it’s them, its rejects who threaten
your worldview in a silent way,
the economy with loud collapse.
Your reflection in them’s weird,
their mirror here for a reason.
Do they ever force it on you?
Don’t they applaud your
ensuring the survival
of you and yours?
they will feel
if your turn comes
to be in their shoes.
Freude for them is
too deep an ode,
a constant like
and one day
talk behind their back
and even feel jealous of
genuinely happy people,
know it is deep suffering
they have been transmuting
that makes them appreciative
of the purpose of everything,
every good or bad thing
in Everyone’s life.
Their breath is
not of this
are the ones who
This is how
to be breathing
in this illusion.
You always share
their every breath.
Why not make yours
a blessing for them too?
Open to higher consciousness
and transform this world in Love.
Bow to the divinity in one another
and be genuinely happy.
It is time.
A good time
for spreading sacredness.
Leon From Hades to Light, Summer of 2016
L = Leon
M = Michael; a 70-year-old fruit vendor in our weekly market, whom I had not seen before and have not seen again since about two months ago, when our below-described encounter took place, in an initially inside-and-out cold morning.
M: (still talking to his previous male customer, to whom I believe he has just given away some fruit) “… Only your love; I want nothing else. And never mind them in high places; they cannot undo what we are.”
L: “Good morning.”
M: “Good morning.”
L: “60 cents per kilo, these oranges?” (He has better-looking ones on his bench, with 1 Euro per kilo)
M: “Yes; but allow me; you’re not buying anything unless you try first…” (in no time he takes a little knife and deftly peels a ripe orange, leaving its base for me to hold it by)
L: “No no, thanks, it’s not necessary…” (*I disagrrrowl*, goes my stomach)
M: “It’s OK, son” (offers it to me, turns to serve another customer, returns as I am swallowing the last mouthful of sweetest fragrant sunlight)
L: “May you always have its sweetness.”
M: “You too. Here (handing me a plastic bag); choose what you like.”
After a while I give him back a half-full bag to weigh, and as I am handing him a couple of coins and am about to thank him and leave, I feel him serenely staring at me…
M: “What is your name?”
L: (hesitating for a breath, a little overwhelmed by the somehow otherwordly, ageless radiance coming through this elderly man’s quietly kind demeanour) “Λέων.”
Μ: “Come here, Λέων (actually he comes round to me, to the customers’ side of the bench). Open your bag. These are from me. They are fine inside, it’s only their skin, see? Squeeze some nice juice out of them.”
L: “Thank you so much… If you knew how we are struggling…” (I cannot keep these words from flowing out of my heart; I feel like I am talking to an all-understanding, most compassionate angel in human form)
M: … (keeps on silently filling my bag, knows I am not whining or expecting any response, feels my gratitude and I… as we stand side by side… I feel his blessings enfold me like a warm blanket!)
L: “And your name?”
L: … (Michael? My guardian Archangel? Thank you Heaven for always hearing!) “Thank you so much Μιχάλη.”
M: “Be well, son.”