Cycle of Incarnation(Rebirth)*

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  • phoenix_luna 49w

    Oh well... Before the day runs out, happy birthday to this Sagittarius...♐

    #pod @mirakee @writersnetwork

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    My brown button eyes had lost their polish. Lost in the ocean's vastness, life had taken the wind out of my sails. Unready to accept the inevitable, that I was losing the illusion I never had to begin with, I became as one whose life was determined by the weather... Strange climates of negative feelings arresting the corners of my mind. I became wary of things that weren't and I tried to fix things that weren't broken.

    I was breaking . I lied I wasn't.

    Slowly, I watched my life ebb into a game of consequences. Every move I played turned sour, every defense was a wrong move, every step was a wrong defense and every attack was a wrong step. Until, I became a frozen pawn in a lonely, forlorn corner — stale and stuck — my center lost its footing. Without my centre,things began to fall apart

    I was lost. I lied I wasn't.

    I had sleepless nights, unanswered questions, culminated unheeded worries. I was too busy for pastimes. I couldn't avail myself the luxury of solitude and silence was too loud a noise I couldn't bear. I continually abhorred hobbies as I incessantly laid my life in comparison to others till I had at least a thousand versions of myself in clusters of others. I was committed to an unfruitful cause and every time I failed to accomplish a feat, I plunged into a destitute despair and lent my ears to whispering fears.

    I forgot to unwind... Or did I?

    And I was almost charred before I knew. I hated seconds. I dreaded minutes. I just couldn't find "my meaning" in hours that rolled by.
    My life — a concerto of varied ambivalence.

    Then it dawned on me — the world, like a motionless trance revolves in cycles of seasons, and that, like chess, sometimes, life causes us to move backwards before proceeding forward. Life makes us stale, so we can view our footing. Life makes us unbalanced, so we do not grow comfort in less. Life makes us lose, so we can crave the hungry pangs for a win. Life chastises,so we can learn from mistakes. Life gets us lost, so we can find ourselves anew. Life sets us back, for a greater comeback. Life happens, so we can happen to life.

    I finally realized:

    I needed to go blind
    So I could see the light

    I needed to be numb
    So I could feel the sting

    I needed to go dumb
    So I could discern the Voice

    I needed to go deaf
    So I could hear myself

    I needed to be alone
    So I could learn never to take for granted a good company

    I needed to be abased
    So I could learn better to abound

    I needed to hate myself
    So I could understand what loving others feels like

    I needed to be hurt
    So I could comprehend forgiveness better

    I needed to be lost
    So I could change the sail of Soul

    I needed to be sad
    So I could find happiness in the treasure chest of my inmost self

    I needed not to be
    So I could better acknowledge the reason for my being

    I needed to be sick
    So I could learn to appreciate the graceful gift of a day

    I needed to lose myself
    So I could learn never to lend clusters of myself out

    I needed to die inside
    So I could understand what having life feels like

    I needed to retreat
    So I could revive my spirit's purpose

    I needed to retract
    So I could redeem myself from chaos

    I needed to be plunged in the dark
    So I could learn to trust the shadows

    I have lived my life like a weather report, yet,I have enjoyed the blessing of true friendship, the blessed bond of family, the kindness of angels in the guise of strangers, I have learnt to spin the thread of gratitude on sullen days and I have enjoyed the greatest wealth — healthy health.
    I have lost control one too many times, I have been hurt,I have experienced pain like sitting on a bunch of needles turned upside down in a haystack...ouch!
    I contemplated suicide and coma was the best vacation I imagined, yet I have had the rare privileged of experiencing Divinity 's grace in my little paper town, I have had Providence watch over me in my many sleepless nights.
    Whene'er I look at the heavens, the sky in all her perfection and nature in all her glory— God's love signet to me.

    I have led a charmed celestial life on this mundane edifice and I am grateful for the harvest of sorrows, with ripened buds of sweetness.

    Many wonder why I bear the name "phoenix_luna"

    Like a phoenix; I have died so many times inside. Many a times I have been charred,I have made mistakes and I regretted some actions, but as I gradually learnt to redeem and collect myself from the chaos around me — in silence and solitude, with love, patience and perseverance, till I finally understood the language of letting go (a necessary unwinding tool), still balancing my core — I rebuild myself from ashes.

    I tell you, life is an endless cycle of losing and finding yourself - a puzzle piece that fits - again.

    Luna; Night is characterized by darkness and darkness is light to the moon. The moon can only be her truest self when the night is heavy with darkness. She knows there's darkness around, but she chooses to reflect beauty in the night. I am like the moon. She also has phases, whether half, full, crescent, etc. She understands the normal ebb and flow of seasonal moods, she understands when she's been too strong for long and she knows when to retract some light to herself and reflect the rest. Retract and reflect.
    Have you ever wondered why she seems to smile always? She reminds me of Pollyanna - The Glad Girl. Pollyanna didn't pretend that all was well and good, yet,she understood that good things can be carved from unpleasant situations.

    I am Luna. I am the moon reflecting the light even in my darkness.

    I am Phoenix. I get lost again and again. I am consumed by flames I lit for myself, I make mistakes, yet I learn from them and rebuild myself from ashes.

    My chi is strong. I am a warrior. I am a woman. I am a fighter. I am a victor. I am strong. I am fierce. I am a believer in everything good, glad and brave. I do not dabble in my defeat. I draw my strength from Providence's fountain. I am perfected in my weakness.

    I am a Sagittarius. I am the Archer's arrow that never misses its mark. I do not learn to survive as some mortals strive to do. I am a celestial daughter.

    I thrive... I thrive... I thrive... I thrive... I thrive... I thrive... I thrive...

    I am the white lotus that blossoms in the mud.

    I am Victoria;
    This is my letter to the world.

  • phoenix_luna 53w

    Eerie melancholy rhythms of the morning
    We didn't want to see the awakened sun
    Yesterday's moon held no silver lining
    The stars, too, cold, quiet and undone.
    Droplets of red drizzling down
    Flags the misery of despicable doom
    Martyrs we are ! And sorrows our fate crowns
    Young compatriots moulded from gloom
    For the cause of Justice and right are we slain?
    If the labours of heroes past in vain lay
    How then lofty heights do attain?
    "Peace and unity"; shrieked voices filter the day
    The sun is black and the moon is red
    Curators of truth, we pay corruption's price
    Our lives to part and penance to shed
    To wit our souls, mighty redemption suffice.

    And our blood blesses the soil
    Woe betides those unlawful foe-men
    Under the guise of garbed soldiers embroil
    Whose ill-fated distress leads them into crabwise warring yen
    The government and the gullible,
    Emissaries in pandemonium's game
    For the hope with which we expect tomorrow's fable
    Our lives, becomes like a casted pur with a renowned name
    Days becomes as fleeting shadows
    Ah, no! What's good sorrows this country fair had wrought
    T'wards the black gibbet our gloom glimmers in rows
    As sacrifices to the shearers, our souls are brought.

    But yesterday is past. The past is a fading whisper.
    Beside yon frailing mountains in vain sheds
    Unbraided phantoms of quizzical strata
    'Tis a land whence the dead in human food once fed
    Where grief was carved a gaily tale by tongues employed
    Whence evergreen meadows shrink into estate of drab shrubs
    And garnished hours become memories to avoid.
    To attain emancipation - a signet to grub
    In a land where strength loses its denied courage
    Un-like mysteries forgotten. Miseries remain.
    In memory of loved ones whose lives were stolen by carnage.
    Lead me! Oh, lead me from this vale of wilting pain
    On-to the hub where vengeful souls patiently cry
    Travel I must - a penitent plea to swell
    In deep sunken words, a bard to imply
    To wit an amazing grace, some gloom to repel.
    The sun has set, no more to rise
    In gray ignominy, upon those luscious verdant bowers
    For all beauty away from it defies
    And leaves it as pains of deserted towers.
    Today marks a month after the #LekkiMassacre (20 Oct. - 20 Nov.)...the day the government oorchestrated the death of young, peaceful protesters, within their constitutional rights. Whilst they held their flags and sang the National Anthem, the Army acting on orders given from who-knows-where fired sporadically at them.
    I have never been the same...#BlackOctober #ptsd

    I'm dedicating this less- than- worthy piece to the fallen heroes of 20-10-2020
    #pod @mirakee @writersnetwork

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  • phoenix_luna 54w

    Novel November

    And so, the year begins to ebb.

    Seasons wane into whispered prayers, as all things pomp and regal webs itself in ember scars, leaving October to bear the brunt.
    You're cold... and you don't even understand why.
    Is it the whistling winter? Or has your heart lost its fire?

    Things come. Things change. Things go. I tell you "life is a spiral tunnel of unending phases flowing in high and low tides". To be or not to be? Is certainly not the question but your 'self' in question. You're either here or there or you cease to be. Invisible cords of scarlet are like braided collars wrapped around one's neck and blindly you're towed towards a path predetermined by forces beyond your control. Society, government or birth-givers? It's your pick!
    Several ties unsevered sells you into a lifetime of unreckoned servitude. Oh! The dooms and glooms when you're plunged in despairing doubt; the sinister realization that you have lived for others and not a cent remaining for yourself — this pain I cannot forbear.
    Only heaven knows how hard it is to lead another's life.

    The root of your problem lies in this crafted words: 'Que sera sera'. Who says whatever will be, will be. Silly excuse for life's tricks. However whatever is meant to be will be. Life certainly doesn't dwell solely on chances and coincidences,but those actions and choices that propels them. Life isn't by indoctrination; if it was, I would have inked thesis and theories in fourscore and twenty books. Life is by experience fueled by our decisions.
    The value of a moment depends on our choices, and how we choose to experience it depends on our actions. Tit and Tat. Give and Take - that's how life works.

    Sometimes, certain quests for solitude lands you in sucide's solicitude. You don't necessarily need to pull the trigger, or hover above the ground; the feeling of being lost is as depressing as death. Feeling lost is dying while living. It starts from one worry and graduates to another. Worries are like tumultuous chagrins wrapped in clusters around your mind.
    An unheeded worry is suicide's chicanery tool weaved under peaceful turmoils. Such sweet suffering symbols.
    Solitude cum solicitude are paradoxical puns filled with oxymoronic irony — wanna debate? I'll bring food — pancake or pudding, what's your choice?

    Fragments of moments, you once enjoyed becomes bizarre thoughts you earnestly desire to get rid off. I always say "life is filled with simple complexities", you never know when and most certainly don't know how. Subtle nuances like delusions of illusions - you had the big picture, you kept snaps of it in every closet of your mind. And now that the year begins to ebb, what happened to those resolutions you first made?

    Fizzles of mirages. Corona crowns with callous carnage. Sullen heydays of riveting humdrums and delirious doldrums. Systemic plans becomes a haphazard nightmare.
    I understand. I clearly see the twinkling wrinkles shadowing on your forehead.
    Fizzogs of fogs, clouding your mind, leaving you to the unnerving wrench of silent voices. "Tut-tut-tut-tut" - your conscience pitifully pangs. Here goes yet another odious rant about things you have not done, expectations falling short, shattered plans, failed responsibilities.
    "Not again". You unfortunately sigh. You're tired and they don't understand.

    But life plays by twist and turns and November fits it all into place. The end of a route is the beginning of another. To be or not to be, is not the question. You're meant to create what you want to be. By so doing, you soar beyond stolen moments, surf through waves of high and low tides in graceful demeanour and rebuild your loss from the dross. Who says a mess can't be moulded into a mesmerizing masterpiece.
    Oft times, life throws you into a specific spur-of-the-moment. The undeniable and annoying reality. Nevertheless, it's not the circumstances surrounding the reason that matters. It's you and what you do at that moment that matters.
    Think of these spontaneous incidents as halting at a checkpoint. A place where life inspects the lessons you've garnered so far. Every path you tread, good or almost good, prepares you for a certain test/ checkpoint, which in turn strengthens your morale.
    You are well able.

    November comes with a prognosis that the year is gradually coming to an end.


    Count your blessings and toss away your losses. And if they still come into view, turn on some music, hum it away. Worry not about things you can't change. You can't scoop up spilled milk, and if you can, who says a mess can't be mesmerizing.

    The year's coming to an end
    Glory in its sunset.
    And if you feel every where's bereft of colours, look at your skin, admire its tone.... Wow, what a beautiful creature.
    My soul's in need of some healing.... Maybe I should trick myself into some nice treats...

    Dear November, chocolates... Maybe?��
    #pod #ptsd
    (@writersnetwork- thanks for the kind repost... means a lot����❤)

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  • phoenix_luna 57w

    Before I begin to unearth drafts, I have this important restitution to make @zohiii
    Zoey, buddy and bhai
    Since March/April and ever since that Zodiac challenge, I've always been looking forward to September.
    Four weeks ago, when I decided to pay a passive attention to the virtual world, my conscience (A Brutal Taskmaster) had been sorely sending signals (day and night) that I would miss that very special day I've anticipating for to bask in its fullness for months (six months, I think)... And unfortunately, I did.
    I'm deeply sorry... You have to forgive me if you want my conscience to finally let go of my throat... ��

    Reminiscing moments, when I just boarded this train, I remember a wallflower sprinkling petals in form of stardusts on my pathway, by simply reaching out and planting thoughts in the comment box. I was astounded.
    "Maybe I could linger longer here".��

    Spending days, weeks and months here — I learnt quite an innumerable bunch, through your poems (there must always be an awesome and amazingly woven quote to treasure), your kind and sometimes funny words, your aptness to teach, help and learn. Every thing speaks in strong volumes... Like a reverberating orchestra.��������
    You're one of those rare few who, through their lives portray the axiom that kindness cannot be breached by continental barriers.��✈���� You, my brother, are an angel in the guise of a human��. And I am greatly indebted to you, thou worthy Libra.��

    Of a surety, some ones whom we see and cherish , do not place us at utmost value, as little as we'd even expect. However, there are some preserved few, though we cannot see and may not even see in this lifetime, but whose virtual presence has made living worthwhile.��
    Rest assured Zoey, you're forever in my prayer list.

    Every day the sun comes up, we're gifted the with the ability to renew our birth... Although, it's almost a month after the official date; here's what I wrote while I was away.

    I hope I'll be immensely forgiven after this.
    I hope my conscience will finally get her rest...(I think I can feel her hand slowly wading off my neck... Thank heavens!)

    From a co-Slytherin.
    Your Sagittarius Sister,
    (I don't need to translate in parseltongue, do I?)��

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  • phoenix_luna 58w

    Now I've written this and I don't even know what it means; I think I'll deceive my brain by reading a book, and let my eyes shut out the words eventually...

    #pod @mirakee @writersnetwork

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    That's what I'd like to call this particular phase when I try to fetch creativity from broken cisterns.
    Some days, where I just brace myself to catch those lethargic letters wandering sparsely in my mind, some centrifugal force pulls it all down into gravitational doom.

    "WE ARE ON STRIKE" - Jouska's nosy workers plague my head.

    Cuts of inspiration wrapped in shrouds, visits a mind closed for vacation.

    Tell me something I don't know.

    Today I'm going to write, and I'll write well... Zilch, Nada, Non, Nay and No.... My mind becomes a concave mirror turned inside out.
    Fortunate Newton! Miserly me.

    Days I long for time and tranquility; to read a book and be charged with words, to bask in nature's exquisite delight, to watch a movie and reprise roles in my psyche...
    Days now, I just stare blatantly into outer spaces, listening to melancholy playing hallucinating rhythms, reminiscing fizzogs of blissful days of yore... Days where my heart found a place in words. Days of riveting activity now inducted in inertia - my partner in comforting distress.

    No one understands but me. The unsettling mess indue in my bowels cum the inebriate quibbling betwixt my mind and heart. The misery of the known unknowns besieging my being.
    Savage bolts from the blue - infamy's nectar.

    Some days I seek the quiet; to enjoy the hallucinating luxury of solitude, the delusion of grandeur, semblance of serenity, the surreal kalopsia.
    Life still finds a way to rob me of my unreal reveries. There must always be something. Give it a name whatsoever; an unsolved misery, unsoothing worries, unquiet fuss, untouched mess, unreturned affection — A cycle of varied distractions — the hullabaloo of the day.
    Like Gilda, I moan "my lost joy, my happiness, my exhilaration with life".

    Vile and vain; my flaws accentuate each day, as I lay my life in comparison to others. Life isn't a competition, but we're certainly in a race.
    These past weeks, I've watched chronos lead humans in quickened zest. Like running hares racing to a finale of golden carrots.
    Does this make me the tortoise in the tale? I certainly don't want to think so.

    Some other days; I feel the lurking shadows - my infamous twin - cascading over my being with impeccable gloom.
    Maybe I'm not a writer. Maybe I won't write anymore.

    No! Perish the thought. I'm not permeating that through my senses.
    If Dr. Peale was here, I would have asked for more dose of his positivity medicine.
    But, you know what? I'll pick up my pen. It will definitely remove an ounce of weight off my heart.

    Today - not tomorrow - today I'll write.
    Then, almost immediately my eyes swindle on a page that reads in big letters " Pizza with Mozzarella...." Now that's enticing, and before you know it, distraction again has piped out an hour or two.

    Albeit, these past weeks, having slowed down to grasp the remaining apparition of my reflection. I realized how bereft I was. I had given out much more than I could retain, such that when I craved for more to nourish and nurture, none could suffice. I was losing my Spirit's lights gradually.
    I realized the problem wasn't my accentuating flaws.
    The real problem was the fact that I didn't love my flaws enough to turn them into flowers. I didn't embrace the bruises around my halo, be my own light and soul's pulsar.
    I'd forgotten the rapturous sounds of music, the inner joy found in literature's reveries and the revered intimacy nature provides.
    I was almost charred before I realized.

    "MAKE A DETOUR FROM THE RACE", a voice authentic whistles past my ears.

    Now life stretches before me in borrowed hours, with my hourglass filling every millisecond.
    I'm going to live.
    I'm going to live my life.
    I'm going to live my life by my own lights.

    Trusting my instincts- the only wisdom my heart affords. I'm walking tiptoed on fate's pace with faith hemming my steps on Divinity's power for sanity and grace. I hear eerie melodies from destiny's psalms, though I still do not know how to craft life's carved path. But I know for a surety never to squander another present day.

    I'll ransome my life and redeem misspent moments past. I'll ease my spirit and please my self. I'll create boundaries and care and nourish my soul. I'll live by my own lights, and embrace nature's nurture. I'll savour beauty in the common place, and restore order within and without.

    I know, I know, but I'll still express my love to the world and keep a million more ounces for myself.

    Today, today, I'll seduce myself to write something today...


  • phoenix_luna 63w

    The call of the void,
    Strong and profound
    Through the vastness of my mind
    In her, I find a home
    'Tis a city of lights
    Where roses are like Angels lined
    Safe and wanted, she receives me
    Nature's lover and Musique's muse
    Hemmed within are vintage presses
    La rue has it all inscribed;
    The chills and l'amour, the glees and glams
    And sunkissed territories caroused in exuberance.
    Ah! Aye, my joie de vivre is tied beneath the tower
    Where my heart is indited
    Under visible shadows
    'Tis a city of lights
    E'en darkness is but rare sight
    Though blue, my soul may'st seem
    Moulin Rouge offers the cure
    Whilst I drown my waning ebb of sorrows
    In Siene; serene and soft
    Her beauty blesses my forlorn gaze
    'Tis a city of lights
    And outstanding wonders her caverns hold
    Paris holds the key to my heart
    And the walls of Montmarte knows the art.

    "Here, have a flower on me
    Forget where you're from
    You're in France
    Children come..."
    (Paris holds the key to her heart - from the movie Anastasia)
    #pod #beauty #muse #townc #soulc
    @mirakee @writersnetwork @writersbay

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  • phoenix_luna 63w


  • phoenix_luna 63w


  • phoenix_luna 63w


  • phoenix_luna 63w

    Three… Two… One
    The world is an ugly ball of chaos
    The reality you seek dwells in the secret corners of your heart
    To taste its nectar, you must shut your eyes and open your heart.
    Three… Two... One
    Blind pathways leads to stairways where wild things that leaps forth and back abides.
    Only dreamers can harness wishes into coins and toss them into rivers
    Only seekers carve songs into forlorn wells amended by fate
    Search your heart, close your eyes,
    Relinquish your quest to the inquisitive hirns of your mind
    Let imaginations be your guide, and fantasies your fate.
    Permeating every essence is the power to create a youniverse that expunges the dystopia orbiting your world.

    Have you asked yourself why you've always been a part of the creation process… And your mind rallies around crannies unbeknownst?
    Why your pen is the demon you cannot kill?
    Why your poem is the pain you cannot cure?
    Why words are like blood spilt on paper, and every message are refulgent reflections of your triad- body, spirit, soul?

    Have you ever wondered…
    Why you feel caged in constant servitude to your psyche; a debt you'll pay until death
    Or how nous manipulates your entire being - when pleased; it unleashes the demon insatiable within until the last pint of blood is shed onto lines and spaces.
    When angered; you're shut in a block where the only light you see is pitch black and the only echo you hear is silence.

    Often, to quench the thirst for more, you crave for paths uncharted
    Wherewithal the answer you seek lies within the crafted corners of inner creativity -
    Submit control and answer the call
    Your wishes are one way ticket onto fantasy island
    The only requirement is to close your eyes and divulge a million and one dreams, where imagination is a compass navigating through corridors
    Empowering you with the ability to design the version of the world you wish to see…
    Mayhaps a land where unicorns shed silver tears
    Or ever green meadows where rainbows grow on lilies
    Perchance a world where phoenixs are monarchs
    And dragons ride on roller skates
    Or a twist, where Cinderella becomes a martial artist
    And Belle steals the last petal off the rose

    It's all there… An island of possibilities

    Three… Two… One
    Close your eyes
    Wave the wand
    Paint the colours
    Wield the power
    Weave the magic
    Chant the mantra
    Bibidi Babidi Boo

    Let imaginations guide you into gateways of the surreal, where kalopsia is an illusion painted in perpetual mysteries.
    Rid the delusion. Read the mystery.

    I am the myth your mind admits
    The seams beneath your dreams
    The fantasies your mind sees

    After tasting a writer's fantasies and a reader's imaginations, there's no moving on… There's only addiction.
    I really don't know how this fits��

    #pod @mirakee @writersnetwork
    (#aubic — the first @writersbay challenge to inhabit the #universec of my mind... Ever since it was initiated...)
    #imaginations are weird sometimes...

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