Soul Knowledge

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  • Wake before Me

    by

    I am the ground beneath your marching feet,
    the breath between your wars and prayers,
    older than your oldest empire,
    woven through your blood and air.

    I am the dream you keep forgetting—
    not distant, but the life you live;
    the soil that feeds your every hunger,
    the silent hand that learns to give.

    Through me you rise, through me you conquer,
    yet never turn to see my face;
    you crown your kings upon my body
    and call it power, call it grace.

    I have felt your endless cycles—
    the rise of flags, the fall of names;
    your history burns across my skin
    in different words, in identical flames.

    I am the echo of your choosing
    when fear divides and hate takes form;
    I tremble with each iron whisper,
    each missile born, each swelling storm.

    You think you choose—but I am breaking
    beneath the weight of what you do;
    your borders cut across my body,
    but I have never been split in two.

    I am the forests turned to silence,
    the oceans thick with unheard cries,
    the sky that chokes on ash and longing,
    the wound no wealth can justify.

    Still, I remember what you’ve buried—
    a quieter truth beneath your pace:
    you were not made to live in conquest,
    nor to erase your dwelling place.

    Yet I feel your ancient sleeping,
    the deeper current in your mind—
    a shared forgetting, vast and restless,
    that leaves your wiser self behind.

    You circle time and call it progress,
    repeat the same unhealed refrain;
    you build your future out of fragments
    and wonder why it feels like pain.

    I am not separate from your being—
    your breath is mine, your bones my dust;
    each war you wage upon each other
    returns to me, as all things must.

    And still I whisper: wake before me.
    Before my rivers cannot run,
    before the seeds forget their memory,
    before the last of me is undone.

    I am not endless in this form.
    I am not bound to always give.
    There are thresholds you are crossing
    beyond which neither of us live.

    Listen—
    not to the drums you’ve always followed,
    not to the hunger I once fed,
    but to the silence underneath them,
    where something truer waits instead.

    For I am also what could heal you,
    the deeper ground beneath your fear,
    the place where all your wars dissolve
    when you remember why you’re here.

    See me—not as a thing to conquer,
    not as a prize, a tool, a stage—
    but as the living field of being
    you’ve slowly driven into rage.

    I am your past and I am pleading,
    your present trembling in your hands;
    I am the future you are shaping
    with every choice you do not understand.

    Wake—
    not tomorrow, not in story,
    not in the ashes of regret—
    but now, while breath and root remain,
    while I am still not finished yet.

    Concept: Goma Thapaliya

  • The living walking as the dead

    by

    Beneath the noise of marching feet
    and banners stitched with borrowed pride,
    there hums a deeper, older pulse—
    a dream the waking mind denies.

    Not one, but all have dreamt it once:
    a crown of fire, a throne of bone,
    the promise whispered into dust
    that power makes the world our own.

    Again it blooms in different names,
    in gilded halls, in iron decree—
    the same old script, the shifting mask,
    a play performed unconsciously.

    Kings rise speaking tongues of fate,
    leaders crowned by fervent cries,
    yet somewhere in the hidden root
    the same blind hunger multiplies.

    It feeds on fear, it feeds on lack,
    on stories told of “us” and “them,”
    until the many move as one
    and never question who wrote them.

    How softly sleeps the greater mind—
    the shared, unspoken, ancient sea
    where patterns coil like resting snakes
    beneath the veil of history.

    Empires fall like loosened sand,
    yet nothing learned, just rearranged;
    new flags are raised, old wounds renamed,
    the surface altered, depths unchanged.

    Coins still glimmer in the dark,
    warm with the touch of countless hands
    that traded time and breath and earth
    for fleeting, fragile, shifting plans.

    And war—
    that oldest echo—still resounds,
    a drumbeat buried in the chest,
    convincing hearts it is alive
    only when it conquers, never rests.

    What strange design repeats this way,
    this circling loss, this endless start?
    A fracture buried in the whole,
    a quiet absence in the heart.

    For healing waits in silent rooms,
    in soil untouched, in seeds unclaimed,
    in moments no one stops to feel
    because the dream has not been named.

    The masses drift through borrowed days,
    through rituals of empty need,
    mistaking motion here for meaning,
    confusing hunger there for greed.

    And still the planet bears the cost—
    each forest felled, each ocean torn,
    as if the hand that shapes the world
    has long forgotten why it’s born.

    Perhaps the fault is not in kings,
    nor solely in the crowd below,
    but in the sleep that binds them both—
    the ancient tide they do not know.

    A mind that dreams itself as many,
    divided, desperate, incomplete,
    chasing shadows cast by shadows,
    never turning, never meeting

    the quiet truth beneath the noise:
    that power cannot make us whole,
    and wealth cannot restore the wound
    that festers in the human soul.

    Until that dreamer stirs at last,
    and sees the pattern, breaks the thread,
    the world will spin its weary tale—
    the living walking as the dead.

    Concept: Goma Thapaliya

  • All opposites were always within me

    by

    I am the woman who wandered through walls made of stone,
    Trying to soften my spirit so I would belong.
    I am the voice that was quiet for far too long,
    Hiding my fire in places where I felt wrong.

    I am the daughter of centuries learning to bend,
    Smiling through sorrow, pretending wounds could mend.
    I am the keeper of tears I refused to release,
    Searching for love while abandoning my peace.

    I am the spark that patriarch shadows could not erase,
    Though many tried to dim the light upon my face.
    I am the ache of being unseen in crowded rooms,
    A wildflower blooming beneath inherited gloom.

    I am resentment wrapped in delicate skin,
    Carrying storms where forgiveness had not yet been.
    I am the memory of every silenced cry,
    Asking the heavens again and again, “Why?”

    Yet I am also the dream walking into the night,
    Where I became the man beneath the dim moonlight.
    I am the voice that wounded; I am the voice ashamed,
    I am the heart that finally spoke love’s hidden name.

    I am the unconscious man falling at her feet,
    Begging forgiveness from the divine feminine I could not meet.
    I am the unconscious man who abandoned her flame,
    Then spent lifetimes hiding inside power and shame.

    I am sorry.
    I am sorry for dimming your sacred light.
    I am sorry for mistaking your softness for weakness in my sight.
    I am sorry for the centuries your spirit learned to hide.
    I am sorry for every moment I left your soul denied.

    I am the unconscious man begging her spirit to rise again.
    I am the unconscious man learning love beyond dominion.
    I am the unconscious man weeping before her holy fire,
    Finally seeing the goddess beneath buried desire.

    And the cycles reverses___

    Again and Again,

    I am the unconscious woman kneeling before the divine masculine heart,
    Begging forgiveness for tearing his tenderness apart.
    I am the unconscious woman who bound him to silent pain,
    Calling his burden “duty” again and again.

    I am sorry.
    I am sorry for chaining your worth to how much you could endure.
    I am sorry for asking your weary soul to forever reassure.
    I am sorry for expecting strength while denying your grief.
    I am sorry for making devotion carry inherited belief.

    I am the unconscious woman releasing the weight from his hands.
    I am the unconscious woman finally understanding his wounds and demands.
    I am the unconscious woman seeing the sacred boy inside the man,
    The one who only wished to love the best he can.

    I am both Shiva and Shakti dancing as one flame,
    Both the ocean and the wave returning the same.
    I am yin and yang in a sacred embrace,
    Darkness and sunlight woven through infinite space.

    I am the feminine rising from ancient grief,
    I am the masculine learning surrender and relief.
    I am the union where opposites finally cease,
    The sacred marriage becoming inner peace.

    I am no longer fighting reflections of me,
    No longer chained to who the world demanded I be.
    I am the wound and the healing flowing together,
    A soul discovering wholeness beyond all weather.

    I am the serpent circling eternity’s fire,
    Dying to fear and awakening higher.
    I am the prayer the universe whispered inside,
    The river of mercy where all divisions subside.

    I am no longer shrinking to fit into pain,
    No longer begging the broken world to explain.
    I am the light that survived every shadowed door,
    Whole unto myself now and forevermore.

    I am the stillness beyond duality’s sea,
    I am the truth no separation can undo in me.
    I am the divine feminine underneath the arrogant man.
    I am the divine masculine underneath a narcissist woman.
    I am forgiveness returning both to harmony.

    I am the soul remembering at last:
    all opposites were always within me.

    Concept: Goma Thapaliya (thought sources Kashmir Shaivism, Shakti Rising), Assisted by AI-Chatgpt