True-Self, U-Self, New-Self, Blue-Self:

my blue-self
turned new-self
correction:
New is old and I am actually renewed
instead newly reissued.

blue hues subdued
blue now soothes
peace and harmony hues
filtering the trues
from distorted views
the real definition of the blues
healing cues.

I am new
I am you
I am blue.

Arrogant Bastard: The Death of the Old Me

born out of wedlock,
a bastard for a child,
though given the name of joy
she played the opposite part
angry, unhappy, uninspired,
blaming.
Not free.
great actress though,
led everyone else to believe
led everyone else to their free
relatively.
fore they could only truely be free if she
was free.
But blinded by delusion
she took responsibilty for everyone's life but her own
and she ALWAYS,
felt alone.


born in a time of little forgiveness
she made books her only order of business

intelligent,
naturally
             manipulative,
              heredity
creative,
instinctly
                 bright,
                 religiously
truth-full
when necessary
                   good-hearted,
                   purely
honest?
hardly
                  grate-full
                  theoretically
appreciative?
of what?
she'd say: I see nothing but a lack of self-worth, self-love, self-esteem and self-respect
her environment was a relfection of her IN-vironment
she lacked self
so she lacked.

born an arrogant bastard
now transformed
into a heavenly beast,
a leader of peace
at the age of 23
she's ready
to take herself back
to have her self's back
to walk ever forward without looking back
her best friend is
forgiveness
her truth is strength
she is in this to win this
no longer the shit
she is it.
as she has always been
didn't need be born again
that is only a metaphor of her journey

Arrogant?
at her best she was always humble
but til this point she had yet to be her best
Bastard?
this is still a fact
but not a definition.
her parents weren't married when they had her
because they were determined to be married to her
til death do us part
with them in her corner
she could never be lonely
or alone.
she has found home
where it always was
in her heart
grieving the death of her lesser self
good morning
every morning
i look in the mirror and see art.
gazing into eyes of a future leader
her leading role as her true-self is a very important part.

by: bajá marie

I'm Drained:

I want to write but I'm tired. I promise there will be entries soon. I love you. I hope you love me too cuz I need love. I really do.

Christmas Resolution:

I don't make New Year's Resolutions. I feel like Jan. 1st is too late to break old habits and start new ones so I always begin mine on Christmas day and yesterday was no exception. While chanting 3 hours of daimoku (that's chanting Nam-Myoho-Renge-Kyo) I wrote this in my journal:

12/25/11 Merry Christmas !!!

I am talented, genuine but still impure.
Sooo to take control of my life and get the most from it I've decided to do an experiment. Starting today until Christmas day of 2012 I've decided to be 100% raw & 100% Buddhist! lol!

So for me this means consistent effort everyday to get the most out of my body and this life.

- 3 hours of daimoku a day + morning and evening gongyo
- Only fruits, veggies, nuts, seeds and water a day, all uncooked and all the time.

I gave De'Von til age 25 to get his shit together and be with me. I can't have him do that and I'm still in the same place. And because I'm special and I know it, I can do this. I can no longer put myself in the ranks of those of lower frequencies. I have to be me and do me things.

I'm ruled by the # 3
And I love fruits and veggies
So it only seems right that I make these srtides for me.
So I'm gonna start with one full year. And if all is successful on Christmas 2012 then I will extend my studies for another year and see where I am by 25 and if you know who is with me.

That's all I wrote and that's all I need my health and my faith.
Feed the body and the spirit with only the best ingredients.
You should never do an experiment that you can't conduct on yourself.
Consider me a scientist because if my hypothesis is correct then you will never be hearing the end of this.
But you got a year to find out. And if you haven't figured out what my hypothesis is then I can show better than I can explain. Because love is an action at the end of the day and I do love you.
_Bajá Marie

Words From Mentor:

Sooo as you may already know I'm a Nichiren Buddhist of the Lay Buddhist Organization known as the SGI which means Soka Gaikkai (Value-Creating Society) International.

The President of this organization is my mentor and he goes by the name of Daisaku Ikeda. I would like to share some of his words with you, in hopes that they will inspire you as they inspire me! Love YOU!

The eyes of a poet discover in each person a unique and irreplaceable humanity. While arrogant intellect seeks to control and manipulate the world, the poetic spirit bows with reverence before its mysteries. – Daisaku Ikeda

The institutions of human society treat us as parts of a machine. They assign us ranks and place considerable pressure upon us to fulfill defined roles. We need something to help us restore our lost and distorted humanity. Each of us has feelings that have been suppressed and have built up inside. There is a voiceless cry resting in the depths of our souls, waiting for expression. Art gives the soul’s feelings voice and form. - Daisaku Ikeda

Salute to Poets

By Daisaku Ikeda

There is a power in words,                  Poets!                                                                     that incites

an infinite power                                  Poets whose fine hearts                                      xenophobic rejection;

to revive, restore                                  feel the full torment                                            with low and ugly rumor

and make blaze anew.                       Of people’s pain!                                                 whose sole purpose is

                                                                                                                                                to degrade and demean;

There is a life in poetry,                      War, nuclear weapons,                                       with shrieked abuse            

a limitless, eternal life                         environmental destruction,                                                that destroys dignity

that can stir and arouse                      discrimination,                                                     tearing into the heart

a society to new vibrancy.                 The tramping of people’s rights -      like a lethal blade.

                                                                all these problems                               

Poets!                                                     are caused and created                                      This flood

Reflected in                                          by human beings.                                                                of deceptive, vacuous

your clear eyes                                     Thus there is                                                         and violent language

- like the still waters                             no misery or cruelty                                            has caused people        

of a lake-                                               beyond our power                                       to treat all words and language         

we can see:                                           as humans                                                            as suspect.

Clusters of people                                to resolve.                                                              Words are         

fleeing in confusion                                                                                                             the human heart         

through a field of battle.                    All people, everyone                                           and this doubt          

A wailing mother                                 crave and thirst                                                    has driven people

tenderly cradling                                  for peace,                                              into the dark and rampant isolation          

a tiny corpse.                                        everyone seeks and pursues                              of cynicism and fear,

An infant,                                              the goal of happiness.                                         distrusting everything

starving, emaciated,                                                                                                            including society

weakened and awaiting death.         All people                                                              and humanity itself.          

The trembling fist                                hold within themselves,                

of a young boy,                                   in their hearts,                                                       Ah, poets!

who writhes beneath                           a golden sun                                                         Now is the time 

the crushing weights of                       that can brightly light their own lives               to use the words

discrimination and hate.                    and shed far and wide                                        of compassion and truth, 

                                                                warm and brilliant beams                         the words of universal justice

Poets!                                                     of friendship and fraternity.            that roil and seethe within your heart,    

Through your keen ears                     This inner luster                                            to use these words to dispel

we can hear,                                         of life itself                                                     the dark and heavy clouds

as in an echoing valley:                      is the ultimate                                                       of language laden with

The self-mocking sighs                       font and source                                                    false and evil intent,

of young people                                   of new creation.                                                   to stir new winds

filled with mistrust and isolation,                                                                                      of hope and courage,

who sense no future                            Poets!                                                                     to bring about a

as they wander aimlessly                   Now is  the time                                                   new and golden dawn!

through thronging crowds.                 to raise your voices,                                           

The painful cry of Earth herself,      to call forth and awaken                             Mahatma Gandhi declares:

Oceans and atmosphere polluted,   the sun sleeping                                    “A poet is one who can call forth    

stripped and denuded of green,        in the hearts of people                    the good latent in the human breast.”

bound by atomic burdens,                 the world over.          

crying in distress                                                                                                                   Ah! The innumerable

as she continues to revolve                               Society is awash                                                  cruel fissures that split

on her grinding axis.                            with false discourse;                                            and divide our

                                                                with propaganda                                                 blue planet.

Divisions based                                    flowering tree                                                        Poets, arise!

on differences                                      - cherry, plum, peach and damson -                                Wait for no one,

of ideology,                                           uniquely valuable.                                               But stand up resolute

of state,                                                 Difference is                                                         and alone!

of national and                                    the quality that                                                   

ethnic identity,                                     enables us                                                             With our words

of religion,                                             to learn from each other,                                   and with our actions,

of class.                                                 to complement and fulfill each other,             let us till and turn

                                                                to respect and honor each other.                      the sprawling expanse,

The absurd, horrific                                                                                                             the desert aridity

and repeated reality                            Poets!                                                                     of people’s hearts.

of people                                               Let us throw new bridges   

turned against people                         across the gulfs dividing                                     The voice of the poet

viciously discriminating,                     people’s hearts!                                             who has chosen to stand alone

resenting, wrangling                             With the cries that issue                               calls out to and resounds with

and hating each other.                        from your soul                                                     the voice of another

                                                                turn the gears of history:                                    self-sufficient poet.

The deepest evil,                                  away from suspicion and toward trust            A single ripple

the ultimate source                              from divisiveness to harmony,                         elicits ten thousand waves.

of all conflict and tragedy,                               from war to peace.

Is the dividing heart,                                                                                                           When our cries of justice

Preoccupied with difference              We are all human beings.                                   swell to a symphony

it drives  people                                    The poetic spirit                                                 extolling humanity and life

to reject and exclude                          beats and throbs                                               and when its resonant tones

others.                                                    In our veins!                                                  Reach all corners of the Earth,

                                                                                                                                              wrapping and cradling it…

But this very Earth,                             All people are in fact

this lovely planet,                                                sisters and brothers                                              Then the deep red glory,

is a garden rich                                     capable of mutual love,                                     the dawning sun

with the full and gorgeous                  of coming together                                of peace for all people everywhere

blossoming                                            in harmonious unity.                                           will rise and lift

of diversity.                                                                                                                           into the sky.         

                                                                                                               

It is difference                                      All people

above all                                               have the right

that makes each                                  to live out our lives                             

Dedicated to the members of the World Congress of Poets, Sept. 2007

Who I Am?

My name is Bajá Marie
I ain't famous
I'm a nobody
but my energy?!?!
My energy is like crack
you get a hit of this smack
you always come back
So I don't worry
every situation in life is temporary
death is not permanent
only a sentiment
that transforms into a reincarnate.

I lost my train of thought basically what I'm trying to say is who I am is all that the heart conveys. and the heart does not convey with words, they are too shallow. Which is probably why I can't complete the poem.
I am art personified because I am the heart personified. You can't spell heart without art. I mean it has to be truth. My first love is dance. I started dancing at the age of three. I started writing poetry at the age of twelve because I got tired of my mom reading my journals and spitting it back to me in her own perverted perception. Poetry was my way of saying "Ma you wanna read in between my lines? Okay well try these on for size." Hahaha!!! I know my jokes aren't funny and I'm lame, I love it! Anyways I started singing at 17. I started coloring and sketching in July of this year and painting last week. Oh and I design my own clothes and jewelry when the free time finds me. I couldn't make this shit up if I tried and by Gosh I'm not bragging cuz I didn't choose this life, I just chose to be me. And me, Bajá Marie is not an artist but a heartist: a healer. Heart is the intent and art is the action.

Painted or Tainted Masterpiece in the Making

I painted this picture today.
Today I painted,
because only colors can express
this
pain-less
express:
     to puncture paper with cursive tattoo art
     to pencil in pieces of my heart
     both approaches
haunt me like my past life amongst roaches
worth-less
express:
       i love to be stroked
       i love to be painted
not tainted.

can you spare me this pain-less
express?

I'm a masterpiece in the making
so it's only right I spend my time painting
I'm an artist
I express art more as I grow
not
less

I share my art folks
that love making that creates folks
art
his brush taught me the stroke
so I thought he knew how to blend
to make my color more volumous and
vibrant
fuck a metaphor,
dick so good I cant speak
doctor's on the other end of the phone now
cuz the dick was soo good;
I cant speak.
I've lost speach,
my only language is the stroke
he used on me
and I paint
 mixing colors with black to dim their brilliance
covering the rebellious graffitti that praised
freedom songs
red, black, green and gold
all the other colors were robbed from me
when the flood gates opened
and I let him in
all because I was Indiana Jones'n
wanted to hear me moanin'
didn't realize I was fakin'
time was wastin'
now she's wasted
tainted,
in the eyes of the vast majority,
but she belongs to me
and I see
clearly,
she's just painted
not in permanent ink
picture not yet complete
not framed,
not penciled in,
not signed,
not praised,
but raised like the cheek bones in my Mona Lisa's smile (My friend Lisa, that is)
true art lovers won't use brush strokes to try to change it
they will just admire from afar
or stand by my side
and watch me
painting
this masterpiece in the making.
~Bajá Marie