My Near Death Experience Arts and Thoughts

What’s your favorite thing about yourself?

Creativity

Foresight

Seeing

Intuition

Knowing

Understanding

Studious

Willing

Allows mistakes and corrections

Wants truths

Expecting greatness in others

Nothing inferior

Always changing upon learning

Detests lies in religious talk and beliefs

Loves humor

Putting it together….

There exists a particular kind of consciousness—ever evolving, ever reaching—that does not merely pass through life but engages with it as though it were an unfolding mystery to be co-created. This consciousness thrives on creativity, not as a pastime, but as a sacred act of becoming. To create is to affirm the freedom of thought and the fluidity of being, refusing to be imprisoned by the rigid structures of inherited belief.

It is foresight that guides such a mind, not as prediction, but as a deep sensitivity to potential—a capacity to sense the shape of what could be if we only dared to look beyond what is. Seeing, in this sense, is not merely with the eyes but with the whole being. It is vision tempered with intuition, which whispers what logic cannot scream. This is the knowing-before-knowing, a soft and persistent truth that comes from beyond the surface of things.

To truly know, one must also be willing to understand—and understanding is not a static state, but a dynamic process of humility and study. The studious mind is not obsessed with gathering facts but with allowing knowledge to break it open, to reshape it continuously. This mind is willing—willing to be wrong, willing to let go, willing to follow a path that dissolves at every step, yet leads forward still.

Such a being allows for mistakes, welcomes them even, for mistakes are the very medium through which transformation happens. Correction is not a punishment but a grace. Truths are sought not for dominance but for clarity, for alignment with what is real, even if inconvenient.

This consciousness expects greatness in others, not as an idealistic projection, but because it recognizes the same sacred potential in every soul. There is nothing inferior in essence—only dormancy waiting for awakening. And so, it believes in change, not just as a feature of life, but as life itself. Each new insight demands a reconfiguration of the self.

It detests lies, especially those draped in the robes of religion—those that enslave rather than liberate, that control rather than uplift. It questions dogma, not to destroy faith, but to purify it—to remove the husk and reveal the seed of authentic spiritual knowing.

And yet, for all its seriousness, this consciousness loves humor—not the kind that mocks, but the kind that liberates. Humor is the sacred relief from the burden of knowledge. It is laughter in the face of the absurd, a momentary transcendence that reminds us not to take even enlightenment too seriously.

In the end, this mind is not a final product, but a flame—burning, reshaping, warming, and lighting the way. It is not finished, and that is precisely its glory.

(a philosophical poem)

I was not born to follow,

but to form—

to sculpt the wind,

to sketch the unseen

in the quiet corners of thought

where wonder takes root.

Creativity is the breath I draw,

the pulse that shapes the world

before it has a name.

I look ahead, not with mere sight,

but with foresight—

a sensing of what waits to be born.

What I see is not surface or shadow,

but the depth behind it all.

Intuition whispers where logic falls silent,

guiding me with soft certainty

through the mist of unspoken knowing.

To know is not to possess—

it is to surrender.

To allow the truth to remake me,

again and again.

I seek understanding,

not to conquer what is,

but to become one with it.

I am studious,

not out of obligation,

but out of reverence

for the great unfolding.

I welcome error.

I allow it to shape me.

For every mistake offers a doorway,

and every correction is grace.

I do not fear imperfection—

it is the beginning of wisdom.

I desire truth above comfort,

clarity above certainty.

Even when it burns.

Even when it leaves me bare.

And when I look upon others,

I look with expectation—

not of flaw, but of greatness.

I see the light veiled in every soul.

There is nothing inferior

in the essence of another—

only brilliance, waiting for permission to rise.

I evolve.

With every insight,

I become something new.

I do not cling to old forms.

I change, because truth requires it.

But I cannot abide deceit,

especially when wrapped in sacred robes.

I detest lies that speak in holy tones,

for they obscure what is divine.

Let religion be real, or let it be silent.

Still, even amid gravity,

I laugh.

I love humor—

not as an escape,

but as a liberation.

A lightness that lifts the heart

while the soul does its deepest work.

I am not a final product.

I am a flame—

shifting, warming, illuminating.

Not finished,

but ever becoming.

And in that becoming,

I find joy.

My poem