Cerebro Soul
By Rain Kaleo
Cerebro Soul is an 8 year creative project that captures the essence of my spiritual awakening through surrealism. It’s designed to take readers on a voyage where common themes behind finding oneself are explored. Volume 1, Noël, The Journey Begins, is an open invitation to step out of the ego’s chrysalis and into the realm of the heart. Each piece, emotional imprints portrayed as lyrical poetry and prose. It’ll move you! Volume 2, Uterine Philosophy, The Journey Beyond the Self, is my interpretation of a Divine comedy. Here, readers will dive into the intellectual realm of the superconscious mind where reality is to be questioned; a poetry narrative within a poetry narrative sprinkled with a dash of poetry. The use of Latin provides an added depth and play to be googled at if truly desired. Lastly, Volume 3, Ark in Sky, The Fall and Rise, focuses on the author’s spiritual dichotomy: dark and light. The shadow self, an aspect that is taught to be suppressed through societal constructs or small talk pleasantries. The divine self, a concept perhaps still too woo-woo for table talk. Both pushing the envelope of comfort through unconventional poetry, prose, and insights. Together, they act as a call for self-reflection and a deeper questioning of life. The book has a nonlinear feel which ties together nicely in its totality. It enjoys the art of wording through neologisms, whimsy, and abstract tendencies all the while armed with the ability to talk about sensitive issues with a touch of grace. You haven’t stumbled here, this is your ticket, go pack a suitcase, and find yourself waiting within Cerebro Soul. Enjoy!
“And so they walked, as separate beings away from one another. The spectrum: a new insignia as one coined itself the cause of all. The other? Well, the effect that caused it all. The feud became unspoken refracted by their children through an array of thoughts ever-present, never-ending. Clowns caught in a circus'd house of mirrors, although they preferred the term human, the -e properly silent, forgotten.”
***
Extracts from the book:
Love Poetry
30518
“May you bear witness to this poetry
A love so great that laid dormant in me
No longer blind, I set you free
You are enough, always, and forever will be”
Would you ever dare; write yourself love poetry? I’ve done it for others once, twice, or maybe thrice.
Perhaps considered taboo in this society: an illusion of narcissism that taints an otherwise natural chemistry.
Today I’ve decided to hold a space of love within me and invite all to compose their own
eclectic symphony. Let it give you the courage and strength to do the same with a daring vulnerability.
And so it is!
To the mothering child that grew from within,
I’ve been your own mother for far too long and walking alongside you I couldn’t go on. I’ve seen you cry in utter silence to render yourself invisible to everyone else. The hardest things I’ve ever seen you do: to others, no, that would never be you. You’ve put yourself down, over and over child, how could you? Numbed and believed cursed is where I patiently waited to embrace you:
“My baby, it’s me! You don’t need anyone else! For what’s stronger than nurture, care, and love for oneself? You had to experience and learn from life’s mess. There’s no such thing as bad darkness:, without it, you would’ve never craved the best. I thank you.”
To the warring peace-maker that conquered her fears,
Words cannot express the strength that you possess: a warrior of your time without a proper quest. For decades you carried others’ burdens inside; it slowly broke your body but never your pride. Your kindness is strength but should never turn you blind. Precious to realize that these old ways must die:
“Death can go back to rest in the devil’s eyes. Your self-loathing has no bearing. Enough! Move aside! A second of love can move mountains within. I’m forever grateful to see beauty inside this old demise. I thank you.”
To the loving beloved reflecting all that is healed,
Innocent and so naïve, built by society and culture: “Who couldn’t have foreseen the misery?” Led to believe you were weakly incomplete, bound to spitten vows of false poetry:
“Love out of need won’t satisfy me for it’s based on fear of what’s missing, you see, but I’m not lacking so why should you be? Our love is unconditional, pure, wild, and free. Don’t ever convince yourself otherwise, your light emanates from me. I thank you.”
Finally, to the blossoming love that wished upon a dream: “Your one completed symmetric being has found infinity!”
~
The Empath and the Chrysalis
Empath is a valid word, yet my computer doesn’t like it. Asked to correct each time, but I like clicking
ignore! Words have meaning, and this one means more than simple empathy: it’s feeling others to the
point of losing your sense of sanity. Years kept asleep over nightmares of collective troubles. Being
around one single person used to be extremely overwhelming. I naturally mimicked never knowing my
true self. But, I wasn’t born to walk the same way I do today. Feeling the pains of all existence, I cried
my days away. A fortunate plague took this old futile pattern via domino effect, and I was made to
embrace this word Empath which cured a lifeless thing never mine to have had held, innocently
imprinted from the womb. Healing constructed pains with the hope to see a new light of day was a
great leap of faith: an inner knowing that I lived the life of a dormant butterfly.
Removing layers of lies I once accepted as mine revealed the secrets of life beyond my chrysalis.
~
Ah Ra Me-Ah
Her people cried, “Take from us, we have more than enough to give!” as the bosoms of thousands
roared silent through a painted ore. Bloodshed: just a colour to walk on. “This is our land,” they sang,
take off your shoes and walk among us! Feel the tapestry of our skin weaved before you!” Death stood
there held by a field of flowers, the kind that called for a strong sense of imagination. “Child,” it said.
“You were supposed to die invisible. That's what they saw you as, yet your face bleeds a name to be
heralded, as it's culled back to the Holy Land”. “Take from me,” she warred, “I have more than enough
to give!” Death took her bones, made a drum from her rotten snakeskin, and a drum, drummed,
drummed along the bosomed ore. Blood, her people’s dye, no longer stagnant, more than a reaping
colour, more than a rhythm, dead. “Take from us,” they raved, "we have more than enough to give!”
Their sound, Winds of Palace’d Chimes blowing as The Chanting Ones. Those who truly seek within
shall remain unknown unless they die invincible. Her name,
Ah Ra Me-Ah, She Who Sings the Songs of Truth.
~
i
Truly, i believe my consciousness is imprinted onto paper, like matter, as i write. As if it matters if more
parts of me become concrete, reborn, then obsolete, unlike myself in the “real world”, out there, where
i can dare someone else’s mind to validate my experienced existence, continuously! With a splash of
playful letters, my truths have learned to create different versions of me. By this explanation, i’ve come to clone or repeat myself a great many times. So at what point do i cease to deny that i exist in more places than i currently reside? Could i be the collective consciousness of all the “i”s i’ve ever read,
verbalized, written, or used? Did i become capitalized when I suddenly gained self-awareness, with all possible things in mind? And now, do I transcend humanity when my collected “i”s also imply some “you”s, “we”s, or other pronoun’d beings?
My God!
Perhaps, in this moment, I’ve evolved into multidimensionality as I connect to something greater than
what my “i”s can see.
~
Tomorrow
Tomorrow,
Tomorrow …
Tomorrow never came.
Waiting for tomorrow ...
Passion died in vain.
The Eve of tomorrow
Was branded as a game
Marked down upon her children
Forced out to sit and wait….
Tomorrow,
Tomorrow …
Tomorrow once again!
For the promise of tomorrow
Shall never be obtained
Enslaved to a petty garden
Raped for personal gain
Used for a pretty penny
Or treated like a snake.
So tomorrow,
Tomorrow …
Tomorrow’s turn to wait!
The Eve of tomorrow
Grounded in today
Sent from the Palace of Justice
Voice of the modern way
Speech from the Adam’s apple
Will dialogue among equals at play.
~
The Mirrored Perspective
I looked at her
Deep inside barricaded eyes.
Beyond her iris’d charms, annual rings of growth, or lack thereof.
Down the rabbit’s hole, I dove.
Like Alice on the other side, I wandered.
But, would I ever fall? In love that is.
Resign the hats that drove me mad; one day!
And yet somehow, somewhere, over the rainbow,
I dared a stare that day.
A plunge of hued blues and decadent sins.
And within her ocean’s pond of wonder
A lonesome map left as a clue:
The place where time stands still and true.
I found a door carved with a message,
A secreted line before I ventured,
“How I’ve longed for this day,” it said
Marked by foreseen sight, perhaps.
“The key?” I whispered. “You always had it,” she said.
...
“Hush now, little Alice, to look is to enter as one.”
ABOUT RAIN
"Writing felt like a gift given to me after going through what I can only refer to as a spiritual awakening. Journaling my inner world brought forth a deeper understanding, and more importantly, a want to heal fragmentalization. Eventually poetry flourished where I could no longer recognize who was in charge of the pen: traumas, emotional imprints, a higher intelligence? I’ve lived through a dissociative childhood, adolescence , and young adulthood. I’ve battled fibromyalgia, depression, anxiety, anorexia, sexual abuse, and suicide attempts. The start of that journey, 8 years ago, has propelled me into the spiritual arts world, in order to heal outside of a failed societal and medical system. We are mind, body, and spirit! Spirit, being one that is given the least nourishment and recognition. Today, I have my own business helping others through various energy modalities that I’ve studied. The book, Cerebro Soul, reflects this spiritual journey through surrealism.
To order a copy email:
cerebro111soul@gmail.com
