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my new little corner of the interwebs...

Welcome to another edition of My Bootlegged Book Club!! It's been a hoot dang (?) long time, I know, I know. But here I am, bootleggedly posting an excerpt from "The Constant Symbol", an essay written by the dear poet Mr. Robert Frost in July 1946, almost 67 years ago. In it, he addresses the form and function of the poem; the nature of its content once it is released into the public domain. The jab-and-dive living nature of poetry that speaks without saying, nods without claiming...

"There are many things I have found myself saying about poetry, but the chiefest of these is that it is metaphor, saying one thing and meaning another, saying one thing in terms of another, the pleasure of ulteriority. Poetry is simply made of metaphor. So also is philosophy--and science, too, for that matter, if it will take the soft impeachment from a friend. Every poem is a new metaphor inside or it is nothing. And there is a sense in which all poems are the same old metaphor always.

we're neck and neck,
us and them
the separation of truth and a deadly grip
the blindfold can't win
these are the times
when decisions are set
these are the days
when revelations come a tweet too late
brutality exposed
savage hearts lost in false stories
behold
these are the hands over hands
ripping out the plague
balancing on the razor's edge
the warriors walk into the darkness 
not knowing which poisoned branch to cut first
time taken from planting what's good
now spent on pulling the dead wood
weeds of the dumbed-down
polluting the uprising
but together the lights strive,
keep the love shining
go 'head get angry
they can't stop us now
they can't stop up now
go 'head try to scare
they can't stop us now
they won't stop the stare down
gets to a point where you can't keep waiting,
letting time tell you what to do
killing time on pleasing just you
gets to a moment
the now where you're living,
when everything you ever wanted to do
is waiting on you to live it through
live it through
'cause they can't stop us now
they won't keep us in the know
when the truth is shining in the silence
live it through
protected by the sincere souls
living it through
they never could
they can't stop the truth
they never could
watch out for the trick,
the turnin' back of time
future truths still cloaked in black
see history as already done
give up the victory
and surrender
to your heart
to the highest
singles waking 
one by one
they can't stop us now
go on live it through
there's a band of believers
find em and align your heart too
and shout it out, me and you
they want us to live apart
and think like drones
but we're gonna stand together
and think of One
* one love, one heart, carry each other *
they can't stop us now
they can't stop us
oooooooohhh
they can't stop this
nooooo-ooohhh
can't slow it down

Some lines of mine inspired by Kanye, from a well stored up, up, up
come on get your cups, cups, cups...

Truth Saves

you want the solution to all these problems
ones like they're trying to own us, our genes, His seeds
here I'll give em to you I got it  --
no I didn't come up with the answers
I'm not that stupid
I just took my chances and listened
But not to just any
Hustler on TV
What's ironic is most men don't want to hear it
They wanna keep on struggling, like it's a damn party
Holding on to their issues, holding on to the fear
Thinking that's what makes them
want your pain to scar up,
wear it proud like you got some
some truth out of hatred
some wisdom from material gain
When the truth is you stand where you started
still running around in their game
Was the loneliness your winnings?
Did the sickness make you vain?
First step:
stop pretending
Next one is bow down
no not to a self-made queen
put your damned desires in the ground
let that shit fertilize what's worth growing
but don't worry there's exceptions
cause every system needs em
a little space to breathe n
here it goes:
it's a dovetail
that's where we find peace
take your fire, your anger, your need for needs
and use it in service of the only one who owns it
nothing here belongs to you
nothing here belongs to me
trust that this life as most lead it is nothing but fleeting pictures and dreams
take it, next level:
what you got when you found love,
that's a piece of a piece
but quickly it'll break if you forget it in heat
so merge your wants with an action
and do it for the G
here comes step three:
abandon all forms of religion
surrender unto Me
Yea, it's that simple
Now what will you do
Listen and love
or continue to bleed?

Keeps the doctor away

My main man Hafiz on the ones and twos of truth and cool:

At This Party

I don't want to be the only one here
Telling all the secrets -
Filling up all the bowls at this party,
Taking all the laughs.
I would like you
To start putting things on the table
That can also feed the soul
The way I do.
That way
We can invite
A hell of a lot more Friends.

I believe that the feelings that I get come from what I give, and that what I give is what I have. And what I have, where did that come from? It came from deep inside, from seeds planted over many, many lifetimes, growing out when they need to see the light. It came from the mirror effect of self-exploration and inquiry reflected by other kindred seekers. Well, it comes from you, too.

But can I believe you? Because the fact is, I don't have you. Does that mean I manufactured it all? Well, two things. What isn't manufactured but a very few precious things in this material world? And second, I never wanted to have you. Not in the way most people want to have one anothers, have relationships nowadays, anyway. What I guess I felt, what I idealized and projected, maybe even manifested, was a having that consisted in the sharing of the feelings we give to one another, have for one another, all just to take this life-situation higher. Isn't that the best way to love? As far as I can tell, it's been hard, and it's been lonely as hell. But in the process is the highest truth.

Yet, maybe I was mistaken. Mistaken in my placement.
I did one time, believe you. And for a time after that, a time where you seemed to act against your heart and word, I withdrew my faith and placed it on another rung, on a foundation I hadn't actively intended to start from. Luckily for me, something, someone out there is looking out for my highest good. Maybe it's my momma who prays for me, some angel called to soothe. Maybe it's my inner heart which never wanted anything but the truth; for nothing but the truth would ever do, you see? Either way, some knowledge I wasn't really looking for -- but needed -- was given me.

And what I received was a wave of perfect harmony, floating me to easy decisions, safe and healthy commitments. I found myself back in learning mode, in a room where students of another caliber gathered to understand better those things hardly any schools teach these days (did they ever?). This institute for higher learning isn't like what you pay a fortune for. It's not the same four year party-with-an-exam kind of score. Not to say that all institutes of higher learning are. But now that I think about it, it was kind of a party. A spiritual party dedicated to the most high. And boy were people high. Yet so, so, down to earth. So, so cognizant and careful. Caring and helpful. Smart and free of pretense; like another dimension where everything made perfect if not wonderfully complex sense. Somedays I wake up and wonder: did that actually happen? When I go back, will it still seem so real? Did I take enough with me, to carry on the special feel? It's not all in my hands I guess, a mess of a test to hand someone who likes control; but a beautiful lesson in letting go and letting the trust flow.

One day, wondering, I asked my teacher about that kind of lovin I'd only known for another, which I found myself being taught to give to the creator.
So to my teacher, I asked her:
"What if that love, the one that can't be let down when placed up high, what if you direct that towards another human being in the same way, with no expectations, with the same unconditional bounty and grace and devotion we're meant to give to the divine?" (paraphrased)

"Well," she started, "They will disappoint you."

Ah. Yes. It was so simple, wasn't it? And while my head wanted to pretend like it wasn't disappointed, my heart knew the ache because it'd felt it.

I nodded, still trying to negotiate the truth, reasoning internally, that it'd have to be the place you came from wouldn't it? Can't be disappointed if you have no expectations but then again, you can't continue if you're not expecting love. But to trump it all, wouldn't that real kind of love go on anyway, over and beyond expecting a fruit to taste?
So I believed you. And I believe her. And I believe in the realness of the invisible.

I also believe that while man makes mistakes and can't be trusted, and will be fooled and disappointed, cheated and led astray by his own kind, his own kin, his own brand of what some call sin; that there's a smidgen of power I contain to continue on regardless.

It takes a kind of artist to understand the superior value of process. And I guess it would take a kind of genius to learn the right process and then build smarter, better, truer with it; compressing his impulses for the sake of diamonds, reaching for the presence as the final accomplishment in timelessness.

Time will tell if I'll ever believe in a man again, the way I did, the way the best part of me can. In the meantime, I believe in that love; in the strength it gives as it forces you to process it, slowly takes away the things you don't really, truly need.

Finally getting around to watching The Artist is Present today. Two seconds into it I'm deeply moved of course because her whole ethos and drive are so dead on and powerful. And then...

Allie Mae is my alter ego. Conceived unconsciously somewhere between 2010 and now,  born this morning the minute I decided to run with it. To run with the crazy creative notion of letting the wacky stuff you say and invisible characters you embody behind closed doors come to light for the levity of it. And, of course, because it's me we're talking about, making it align with some higher purpose... Or so I (Allie) hope...

Allie Mae is a sweet, fun-loving, open-hearted good-girl with an accent that betrays her roots.
She's here to share her humble wisdom and random musings on topics yet unknown and known; on love, happiness, yoga, and successful life.

Part performance art, part acting, part real-deal consciousness, join Allie Mae's wacky and lovable character every now and then for a dose of her mad little head and heart of gold.

Preface

Ever feel like you've been carrying around a ton of emotions, experiences, ideas, concerns, memes, thought streams, subjects, faces, problems, solutions, rhymes, scenes, colors, cities, dreams and screams? You know, like you're just about due for a giant mind-dump but have been stuck-up, holding it in for the right moment instead as life takes you by the hand to another land, another grand day-bleeding-into-night. And when that right moment comes you find yourself semi-censoring yourself because you want to walk that fine line of decorum/honesty, interest/discretion, human decency and mystique, all-too elusive in a brave new world where over-sharing is the norm and under-thinking its side-kick? Well I'm goin' for the jugular and it might just end up being an E-book. Are those hot right now? Because although I spend a fair amount of time on the inter webs, that browsing is limited to the sphere of a few blogs, Facebook, Instagram and that good ol' Google Reader feed I'm getting ready to say goodbye to. Thank God for Lena Dunham, that episode of 'Girls' which kindly informed me that E-books might actually be "a thing". But that show is semi-fictional so I can't be entirely sure. There's that fine line again.

Yea, well here it is.

Or maybe here it isn't.

Here goes something. Will I press 'Publish?' That's for the end to tell. Today, well today it's Monday, May 13, 2013. 12:12 AM, Hamburg Germany. Will I run down a dream shared by countless and inked by few like Hunter S. Thompson -- that off-the-rails blabber mouth -- or perhaps that Kerouac fellow, too lost and found for our (and by 'our' I mean all aspiring gypsy-writers) own good? Or will my pages be marred by modern ephemera, serving only to betray my timeless messages with artifacts which date me and my wanderings, belie in neon lights the true grit still at the bottom of my suit case? This is where the beloved reader, you, my dear counterpart, come in. I have faith in you, in your poetic heart to take these words and allow them entree in that land which knows not the bounds of judgement and instead hears the meaning behind the mayhem. This is my hand, outstretched in black-and-white words on a page, outstretched in a human effort to connect to that longing laying dormant in everyman's heart, to lay bare my own longing as it took shape in flight, en route to God knows where...

Since 2003

Been on the road since 2003, or so it feels. Ok, not actually that long. But that's when I left home. And wouldn't you know it, that's when the road really starts. Ask any travelin man-boy or rarin' teenage girl ready-for-the-world when things got real and they might just tell ya -- "The day I left home". In some cases, these tumbleweeds may not even have a say in the matter. Home leaves them. Home ain't never held them, for they were born in a world free of warm blankets and careful curfews, watchful eyes and doors and curtains. But there I was, tumbled out of my parent's cozy suburban home on a peaceful tree-lined street which also happened to be named after a tree. Sycamore. Sycamore Ave. Sycamores, as luck would have it, aren't so good at hiding their growth. They're an open-book kinda tree. Which is slightly, sadly, ironic since there's always a chance a beloved tree will one day take shape as a book. But the thing with Sycamores is that they shows scars of brown and grayish bark, scabby and molten from a pushy, stretchy growth more readily than other trees. That's due to their rigid exteriors, forced open by an inside that just can't bear containment.

So there I was, all metaphorically scabby and broken, looking for a new home as I raced my way optimistically and with visions of fashionable soirees into the arms of a city half-way around the world. Seems I'd held this city, that dear and lighted city of Paris, in some part of me as already a local, for when I arrived I immediately made contact with a real, no holds barred Parisian. Yes, ladies and gentleman of the jury, this first encounter of mine was one in which I was brusquely and blurrily molested for the 1.5 seconds it took for me, a native Queens girl, to shout expletives in English at 7am in the 13th arrondissement whilst angrily and, if I shall admit, fearfully, pushing a drunken offender off of me. It didn't help that across the street from the block-style 60's youth residence, the one established "to help build a Europe that would be open to the rest of the world, to combat racism and to foster cultural exchanges among young people around the world" was an asylum for recovering addicts and the mentally unstable. Looking back, I probably had thoughts of psychosis myself as the months wore on in this new city, far, far away from home; broke as I had become under the weight of movable feasts and the lack of funds.

......................................

I feel the eclipse in its wake
The kicked up dust,
my fresh and ready face
Hardened in all the right ways
Soft as the love that nudged me into place
Lost my senses in the sway
Now my mind's got the space
the space it needs, the ground to take
the roots around the seeds we scatter,
like our cares to the wind
Awaken hungry for the dream
Because I know too-well its taste
Seen the promise land,
felt its warm embrace
as he cut another side
in the middle of my night
3 am, not a single headlight leading wrong ways
Safe where it counts
Wrapped in the sounds of another time and place
Timeless, as it cuts to the chase

***

the walls, would be smart to draw them up
up around your good sense,
understanding when enough of their words
are actually not right at all
not for you
not for the standing order you hold in hand
the one to become a better man
so the thoughts of others
that drive you to reflect
all the broken things
can dissolve by your permission
to take your eyes just north of the horizon
and with that sight
breathe easy

***

on and off
flashing like a misplaced yellow warning sign
in the middle of a barren road at night
on and off
goes the cake
goes the eating
goes the leaving
goes the coming
back for
more
on and off
pleasure
renunciation
pleasure
renunciation
where is the more
the more beyond the cycles of
on and off
on and off,
where you are neither
who you think
nor who you are
but who you
always were

Is it me, or just the deep beauty of this? Dang, Dove.

Sitting in the airport just a few minutes from leaving this wondrous place I've come to know and love as a home over the last 6-months... Eagerly anticipating the next leg of this journey called life and relishing the one just past.

I wrote this stream-of-love poem in January during a pilgrimage, in a temple in Puri, near a tree over 500 years old, under which countless mysteries and miracles did unfold.

India, I will miss you and I will see you again. You have my word. You have my heart.

In India inside is out. And outside comes in. Whether or not you like it or want it or think you need it. Dogs, cows, men are dead in the street at your feet or above your head as the case may be. The weather is made to enter the homes and the homes are made in a meek attempt to keep it out and keep you cool. Darkness is light and light is so bright when the smiles of locals turn on. Even though their teeth which they brush in the early morning in the street are yellowed and crooked. Her streets will make you feel miserable if you are offended by defecation and smoke, noise, pollution and sewage afoot. If you can't dance around the tragedy don't come to her shores. You'll surely be tossed left and right in
your mind and slammed as by the waves of her ocean or frozen further as by the snow in her mountains or burnt to a crisp of nothingness by her sun larger than in other parts; but it will be for your own good. It will break you open like no teenage love can and it will let you bleed right on the street in front of people who barely bat an eyelash. But that blood will be the sweetest relief to ever seep from your veins and you'll be so far beyond caring if you're loved and needed because you will be in love with something greater than a person faking to need you to make you feel whole. So far beyond faking a role you thought was real for the sake of picking something up because you once felt so empty without the covering. You'll be so far beyond commenting on the dress or smell or events to fill the time, the air, the space between you and the rest of the human race because you will be so deep in it you won't need to point and stare like you never saw such a thing. It will see you and you might feel naked but no one will comment or care and there you might find a gap for freedom to slip in and your ego to fall down around your dirty, dust covered soul. And your mind will be silenced, will stop chasing the wind of emptiness you thought could fill you in, on and on and on again. Aloof to public opinion moreover your own voice of unreasonable dry and sterile vision will soak up the sounds that force you to listen to ancient truths in language that speaks to invisible energy inside you never knew lived, deeper than the sheen of newly found proofs, realer to your needs than justified closed-circuit cold n cut-up clues. She will make you understand. You will be attracted on the other hand. Your small soul might come out to play with the Supersoul in the light of day. And if you're fancy and full of buttons to push your machinery, God help you, will heat up and burn out and all the plastic guards you wield to protect yourself will melt like the trash piles of non recyclable matter -- dead and bringing you to the senses that quietly shake and shatter in your once empty now reality-filled head. You won't be holding on to your Louisiana purchase, clutching property with greedy need and seeking more through sight of dull eyes with a dumb sheen. She will force you to forget you ever thought you could possess anything more than the spirit that free love, true love reflects. That love will lift your consciousness so high you will finally feel good with humility brining you down with the top of your head on the ground, praying, praying, praying that you'll never forget how. She dares you to try and put your finger on it, hint: it's near your wrist where the pulse rests to show your heart is doing it, doing it all for the best. And chanting in the streets you will run into shy smiles too sweet and knowing to protest and hand shakes to send you on your way with a wish as blessings will pour if in a search for absolute truth you once did, still do invest. Let go. Roll in the dust and live a little more than you ever thought made sense. Steep in the source where it pleases that source. And if you can believe, if you dare believe, you might, for once, really be free

Here's the thing: art and its myriad forms behaves like the people it comes from - in cycles, in generations expressed as movements which dynamically create and respond to trends; fashion trends, linguistic trends, and perhaps if the artist is truly a thinking-man, to socio-political agendas in trend-form. These days, art mostly reflects what the puppeteers (who have embodied the artist in such subliminal and devious ways that artists think it's them talking but the real them--the soul them--is heavily covered up and manipulated) dictate. These products known as art behave in relative terms, interacting with the flux of a material world, the material mind, and the false ego of a man who deals only with that kind of world. Sometimes the world an artist pulls from is purely internal, perhaps even spiritual. But if an artist is anywhere near mainstream or immersed in/familiar with life as the masses live it, s/he will not in any way, shape or form have the distance needed to deal with purely internal, radical or spiritual fodder for creation. That's why artists who make it really big, really fast won't last unless they distance themselves from the success. That success will bring them too far away from what's interesting enough to inspire. As a side-bar: that's why love (it's usually actually lust, let's be real) is such a powerful source of inspiration for art. It's a private little world that no one can really get into besides the two lovers. But as we'll see: even then there's a hitch, a glitch and stitch in time to slow down the forward-flow.

Because music is the most popular form of art these days (if you can even call any of the music that's very popular "art") I want to emphasize that as a medium, music is especially a culprit in deterring any sort of interesting and freeing forward movement (notice the themes songs deal with are oh-so-repetitive). So from here on in, I will replace "art" with "music" and maybe one day I'll come back around to address art-at-large but quite frankly, the commercial/contemporary art market is a total joke of a sham you-got-duped game catering to elite wallets, falsely inflating the value of what is usually, quite simply, crap, and placating the egos seeking to obtain said synthetic value as extension-of-the-self. Lots of oohing and ahhing over maybe-pretty, usually uninspiring, definitely never educational objects during cocktail hours where the idea of being artsy and smart is more important than the actual fact. Plus there's free booze, schmoozin and a chance to show off personal (or merely second-handed purchased fashion) style. Zing, ding, ding.

So back to the matter at hand. Unless the art-product in question is dedicated to revealing transcendental and absolute truths, it will keep the artist and his audience attached to narrow and limiting themes for stretches of time, those cycles I was talking about up there. Then there's, what I've coined as, "The Milking It Effect". That takes us into the whole media game. How long can one artist milk the themes and ideas garnered from one album? How far can the smallest input take one whale and his/her hangers-on? The farther, the better.

As a natural progression from The Milking It Effect comes the whole selling-your-soul entrapment. The artist makes an implicit agreement that s/he will stay married to specific themes and feelings regardless of what s/he actually wants to feel or might feel in their present lives in order to deliver on a promise to the fans by, rightfully, convincingly embodying the pieces they are selling. Am I just stating the "duh" obvious? Perhaps through this repeated embodiment, s/he doesn't even have access to any semblance of present, true identity or sense of self.

Let's trace the evolution of a song. At first, it's most likely the artist dealing with a specific theme, situation, emotion in a cathartic way, creating a structure out of what may have been destruction, observation, an unknown that triggered curiosity into further exploration. Then, it becomes a mask, an identity that the artist puts on for the fans to share in. Over. and Over. and Over. All of a sudden, the artist is trapped by the paradigm because it sells. Now, s/he is nothing without this mask, this paradigm, this embodied expression of a stale situation. The soul's ability and mobility is limited (particularly during a tour) and this once-cathartic expression has now enslaved its creator, who is ruled by the senses, perhaps driven to escape the masked self by intoxicating the senses. The desire to remain relevant, appreciated, and understood is all that matters. Perhaps for more shallow 'artists', they're ruled by the $$bills y'all. But, really, no self-respecting artist is only in it for the money. They're in it to fill a space in their hearts, to share the love and feel the high off crowds of people all vibrating to the same harmony. It's powerful. It's real. No doubt about it.

The ultimate bottom line is: what vibration are you sharing? It's this ultimatum that will determine entrapment by self and other (the industry) or true social, personal and spiritual evolution -- Revolution; out of cycles that don't lead anywhere, out of this material body into a realized state of being with fuller and fuller knowledge of the big secrets behind the curtain and simpler and simpler adherence to a regulated lifestyle, to action which does not sabotage and bind. If you want to subvert, to fight from the inside, you better make sure you're well-seated inside yourself and well-versed in that 1 thing far, far beyond what is outside everyman's door.

Here's an interesting video where Prabhupada explains how the soul is eternal and changes bodies over and over.




He explains what (forgotten) "human sense" actually is - to seek the eternal body which matches our eternal soul and to stop repeating our births in this material world.

The common thread of logic is that nature facilitates your desire: if you like to eat meat, you will get a tiger's body, if you always like to sleep, you will get a bear's body, if you like to expose yourself you will get a tree body etc etc.

How? Our consciousness is directly related to the physical world and the desires the soul is conditioned to take on leave marks and impressions which will carry forward (karma), inciting birth after birth, until they are extinguished or fulfilled. You can imagine that the storehouse of desires have the potential to be limitless, and that we've all gone through millions of births.

How can one extinguish these marks, burn the seed of samskara? To start: by purifying the mind and senses. Then it's key to understand the hierarchy of power -- in an empowered being, the intellect takes its cues from the soul which is in communication with the unchanging and omnipresent Supersoul (the all-knowing God aspect present in all living beings). From there, the intellect communicates to the mind which controls the senses to obey the higher purpose and desire. In our current age, Kali Yuga, the age of quarrel and hypocrisy, it's all (all is) upside-down. The senses are in control: they say, I want this xyz, so the mind believes, yes I need to have cake, sex, meat, pleasure, alcohol, fill in the blank, to be happy, and immediately calculates how to obtain material fulfillment (because as long as the senses are in control, it's a question of the material world) without pausing to question.

As a result, the intellect is blotted out and dragged down and the individual soul desires are conditioned to obey the senses and take on sense desires, engaging in an endless cycle of chasing fleeting pleasures.

However, we can flip the script and liberate the soul from slavery to the outside. We can learn to instead listen to and feed the soul-desires which are where true (not-bound-by time or scarcity) fulfillment rests. Once we can make the choices to engage our mind and senses to tune in, we will gain the irrevocable knowledge, wisdom and control to become detached, to no longer be dependent on the externals (which will change and decay) in finding and providing happiness and fulfillment.

Some daily activities suggested for regaining control and purifying the mind and heart (so they can tune-in/hear) are: chanting the maha mantra, eating purified food known as prasadam (karma-free food), and engaging the mind in reading and understanding the transcendental science. If you're into physical modes, hatha yoga (and the various styles kundalini, Bikram, vinyasa etc.) regulates and calms the nervous system and the mind and detoxifies the organs. This modality facilitates mind-body communication and creates space for self-reflection, making the smart choices easier to understand, identify and commit to.

Feel free to email any questions or submit them here.

I'm here to awaken a new relationship in body, mind, heart and spirit:

To remind. To inspire purification. To stave off hard hearts. To shine the torchlight of knowledge in all the dark corners that keep fear, delusion and inaction empowered. To welcome hearty and relevant debate. To break the norms. To question senseless and destructive habits. To elevate consciousness and keep ego to the ground, listening to the roots. To uplift the similarities which bring us together. To tear down the ignorance that keeps us pitted against one another. To hold a space for comfortable silence. To speak to the eternal part of you. To light up the individual to step into her and his role of highest good and purpose. To find the balance. To call a spade a spade. To share what's true and steady in the flow of change. To take advice and lend an ear. To praise the noble. To admit. To walk the walk down the road less traveled. To lead the way in full disclosure. To share the compass and help recalibrate yours. To outline the necessary boundaries, and transgress the ones that aren't. To hug when it's not expected. To love when it's not deserved.

I'm here to Shake. It. Up.

Where are you?

It's dawned on my head
in an unshakable way
that what we see is what we see
because we harbor it
how'd it get there is an answer
you should look up, look into
you should take it upon yourself
to wonder
why do I believe
what I say
and think
and feel
and what about
any of those things
is actually
real?

Originally posted at MogaYoga

He said,

I am the Supersoul,
seated in the hearts of all living entities
I am the beginning,
the middle,
and the end of all beings
of lights I am the radiant sun,
and among the stars
I am the moon
and of bodies of water
I am the ocean
of vibrations I am the
transcendental om
of sacrifices I am the chanting of the
holy names
and of immovable things
I am the Himalayas
of all trees I am
the banyan tree,
of horses know Me to be Uccaihsrava,
produced during the churning of the ocean for nectar
of lordly elephants I am Airavata
and among men I am
the monarch
of weapons I am
the thunderbolt
among cows I am
the surabhi
of causes for procreation I am Kandarpa, the god of love
and of serpents I am Vasuki
and among the dispensers of law I am Yama, the lord of death
among subduers I am time,
among beasts I am the lion
and among birds I am Garuda [eagle]
of purifiers I am
the wind,
of the wielders of weapons I am Rama
of fishes I am
the shark
and of flowing rivers I am
the Ganges.
Of all sciences I am
the spiritual science of the self
and among logicians I am
the conclusive truth.
Of letters I am
the letter A
and among compound words I am
the dual compound.
I am also inexhaustible time,
and of creation I am Brahma.
I am all-devouring death,
and I am the generating principle
of all that is yet to be.
Among women I am fame, fortune, fine speech, memory, intelligence, steadfastness and patience.
Of months I am Margasirsa [November - December],
and of seasons I am
flower-bearing spring.
I am also the gambling of cheats
and of the splendid I am
the splendor.
I am victory, I am adventure, and I am
the strength of the strong.
Among all means of suppressing lawlessness I am punishment,
and of those who seek victory I am morality.
Of secret things I am silence,
and of the wise I am the wisdom.
Furthermore, I am the generating seed of all existences.
There is no being--moving or nonmoving--that can exist without Me.
O mighty conqueror of enemies,
there is no end to My divine manifestations.
What I have spoken to you is but a mere indication of My infinite opulences.
Know that all opulent, beautiful and glorious creations spring from
but a spark
of My splendor.
With a single fragment of Myself,
I pervade and support this entire universe.

An interesting break to take and ask, from this list:

What do you have (implying, "thanks, I'm set on what I've got")
What don't you have
What do you want more of
?

Intelligence
Knowledge
Freedom from doubt and delusion
Forgiveness
Truthfulness
Control of the senses
Control of the mind
Happiness & Distress*
Birth
Death
Fear
Fearlessness
Non-violence
Equanimity
Satisfaction
Austerity
Charity
Fame & Infamy*

*you can't have one without the, other

"Late Poem"
by Cynthia Zarin

" . . . a matter of changing a slide in a magic lantern."

I wish we were Indians and ate foie gras
and drove a gas-guzzler
and never wore seat belts

I’d have a baby, yours, cette fois,
and I’d smoke Parliaments
and we’d drink our way through the winter

in spring the baby would laugh at the moon
who is her father and her mother who is his pool
and we’d walk backwards and forwards

in lizard-skin cowboy boots
and read Gilgamesh and Tintin aloud
I’d wear only leather or feathers

plucked from endangered birds and silk
from exploited silkworms
we’d read The Economist

it would be before and after the internet
I’d send you letters by carrier pigeons
who would only fly from one window

to another in our drafty, gigantic house
with twenty-three uninsulated windows
and the dog would be always be

off his leash and always
find his way home as we will one day
and we’d feed small children

peanut butter and coffee in their milk
and I’d keep my hand glued under your belt
even while driving and cooking

and no one would have our number
except I would have yours where I’ve kept it
carved on the sole of my stiletto

which I would always wear when we walked
in the frozen and dusty wood
and we would keep warm by bickering

and falling into bed perpetually and
entirely unsafely as all the best things are
—your skin and my breath on it.

This article on "The Blessings of Atheism" from The New York Times' Sunday review opinions page, and the 'believers' therein addressed, are simply misplacing the role and existence of 'God'. Suffering (employed in this article to defeat the possibility of a loving God) is part of material, human life, and ignorance is attachment to the physical and material entity, namely, the body and mind, which are causing this suffering. This is not God being merciless, this is man being ignorant of our true nature (I am not the body, I am not the mind, I am something divine). Sentimentality is the cause of all this grief, which if one were rooted in true knowledge, would be able to transcend via the understanding that our purpose is not to control and enjoy for our selfish pleasure -- to be the masters of external nature -- but to submit, and serve the higher potency of God, therein becoming the masters of our internal animalistic propensities and receiving automatic benefit from 'watering the root'. I admit, it might seem extreme to be cold and indifferent to suffering and death, but one could argue that that's just viewing detachment in an extreme way, or, "it doesn't matter til it's you in the hot seat". What I'm arguing against, is the use of suffering and death -- inherent results of material existence -- as reasons to refute the existence of God when we have the chance to look as suffering and death as reasons to serve God and be delivered from the material world (while still inhabiting it!) by this service. This isn't about squaring off in 'the next world' by doing good here in this world, this is about doing good now as the means and the ends, not for the benefit of the human entity, but to give the goodness up to the all-pervading God entity which, when served, naturally controls our material ignorance, and liberates us, a kind of service which true religion promotes. 

True empathy is serving the soul of man and not merely the body.

So maybe atheists are true believers with misplaced ends. That is, by merely engaging in charity and welfare service for the benefit of material man, we are missing the completion of the benefit chain. The big gap, the missing link that atheists circle around endlessly is that the common man we're lamenting over and giving charity to cannot make the most of this sort of goodness if he in a state of ignorance (which 99% of men/women are) regarding his true purpose (ignorantly serving body/senses/material reality instead of serving God) and his true Self (ignorantly identifying with his body and mind instead of endeavoring to realize the spirit soul, paramatma, that we are part and parcel of God). This does not mean give up your material duties and work to live in a cave, as the skeptical "yogis" out there love to say, or stop serving the 'materially-blinded common man'. This is about re-routing your service in the world to serve God directly, instead of your own limited material world of fleeting happiness, binding sense gratification, and misery-causing selfishness. And it is OVERWHELMINGLY possible for man to know if God exists. Man is just willfully ignorant in this endeavor, choosing instead to invest time and effort in sense pleasure and selfish materialistic life. There is plenty of scriptural guidance and transcendental scientific*** knowledge to satisfy even the most ignorant. Trouble is, one can't see what his eyes are not looking for.
For more information, start exploring Krishna consciousness.

***The definition of science:
1. The intellectual and practical activity encompassing the systematic study of the structure and behavior of the physical and natural world through observation and experiment
2. A systematically organized body of knowledge on a particular subject

When your observation and experiment lead to a body of knowledge which understands that the material world is inherently a never-ending cycle of birth, old age, disease and death (a systematic understanding of the behavior of the physical and natural world ie material world) you might come to the stage when you ask yourself, “Is that is? What else is there?”. That’s when you might be lead to understand your nature as either a slave to the senses or a controller of the senses. Seeing as most of the world is under the bondage of the senses, setting that example for our eyes to see and minds to believe, it is hard to understand that it is possible to control them, transcend them, and come to the understanding that those senses were given to us to serve a higher good, a higher energy which (although apparently malefic if you identify with material misery, death and the like as proof that there is no God, see my argument above) if put at the center, will inherently take care of you. That’s the transcendence of it all, get over yourself, serve the source of all-that-is (which you first have to leave room for in your skeptically-conditioned mind), and use the benefit of that service to apply it to the darkness in the world. Experiment!! 

If you're searching, don't stop there. Searching on its own is useless and any 'evidence' obtained from searching is merely speculation. Krishna consciousness gives you practical material answers and asks you to apply them in this life, for a better, higher life here and later (whether or not you want to believe in that 'later' part).

If this has piqued your interest and you're looking for some more answers and have more questions,
Here's a book that's a good start.

L: I still feel different though
A: different from what
L: From what I expect it to be I guess. Joining a belief or cause
A: it's not a belief or cause
     it's every human being's true nature
     that's just more delusion framing Truth as 'belief'
     belief is an extrapolation of faith
     faith is the deep knowledge that you are part of something greater
     a conviction
     belief is an opinion supported by a cause or group of people who have invented some rules
     but faith is connected to the unshakable source of all-that-is
L: Wow
A: and at the heart of that is the need to love
     it's the soul's purpose
     and we cover it up with lust
     and envy
     and greed
     because material reality drags us, our senses control us
     instead of us controlling our senses
L: This is so much right now. But.. Yes, I do hear this
A: haha well when you wake up you can read it again
     and take it with a nice hot cup of tea
     and take care of your self

Sometimes I wonder if God sits and laughs
at how little it takes to impress our silly human forms
He must be wondering
That's it?
You're just going to stop there?
And we do.
We don't go much farther
Yet there's a silent begging
Deep within us:
Shake the dust
from Me!
your real soul
Stop shooting
for this fool's gold
As Michelangelo said,
The greatest danger for most of us
is not that our
goal
is too high
and we miss it
but that it is too low
and we reach it.
The greatest danger these days,
is not that we're not
ambitious
creative
successful
enough
but that we're using
our skills
our talents
our abilities
for all
the lowest, easiest, silliest, most useless things
most tasteless things.
So aim high, my friends
Get out of your circle
your cycle
of comfort
Of same
sense
slavery.
And go for what might make you
truly
challenged,
not to prove that you can do it
but to admit that you 
are not the center of the world

Be full and content with it all coexisting. The spiritual and the base. The love and the fear. Let it swirl in you who are confident in the present and open to the ever-elevating heights of a future. Whatever you wish, if it comes from deep inside, if you hold to it not with clinging desperation — but with gently cupped hands, forming the motion, guiding the change as you listen for its desire and direction — it shall develop and grow with the seeds of magic inside, ready to continually reproduce as old layers die with the tides.

Transform again
So I can say I thought I knew you back when
Happily whisper to my heart in a wink,
I just don't know him like I did

Transformed again
While that dress I'm in looks foreign to your constant eyes
Still settles on your soul's remembered ties
Sparks your mellow memory in a nick of causeless time

Transform again
To please that eternal form
As it watches your forgetfulness
Lose your little self to the ultimate
Die to live, die to live

Transformed again
Squirming, emerging against the tides
Bashed into false dreams countless times
Finally waking restless mind
To the lightness of an ebbing sigh

Transform again
Questions cloaked in answers
Wrangled into extra time
Compromise broken control
And let your soul sweetly abide

Transformed again
An instrument in those knowing hands
Dropped the sound of suffering 
Deliver me your tonic place of rest
Appealing fallen to uncover best

Transform again
Lift the veil, recieve a taste
Bridge low lands and the mirrored page
Invest in cleansing ways to see the same
If you will, reunite on the eternal train

Transformed again
Calling out your name
From an ocean of darkness, this ever-changing game
Hearing, a new plant springs to sustain 
Roots to the source, an evergreen thumb digging to remain

Transformed again
By this love like a river
Feeding rapid flames in veins to steady
A nearer kind of me, simply and no longer
Transformed again

You were there, sitting in a vinyl chair, waiting for the needle to start pulsing. Contemplating the symbolism of void. The void, that feeling matched your emotions at the time, your insides. It matched the window you'd alternately crack open or shroud in darkness, depending on whether or not you needed to know there was a world beyond your own.
The void also housed your optimism, like a blank canvas you'd ever carry to allow you a freshness, an option of hope and possibility.
You wanted to understand that emptiness, so you drew four lines around it. Some neat little geometry to structure. But you also considered that with knowing something, came the possibility of forgetfulness, of complacency, of predictability. So you were pleased when the flip-side hit; that emptiness simultaneously casts out commitment to any one specific image, idea, or desire.
Some kind of safety reassured you there.
Now if only you could control the vice-grip of your desires and settle in the stream. Looking back, you wonder if that thought had ever crossed your mind until recently.
Needing understanding. You now wondered if the missing piece was not being understood, but showing understanding.
You wanted to understand but your soul, your soul wanted to transcend.
And your mind drew a faulty map.
Looking back, you wonder if you missed a step.