Michael Jackson was a shapeshifter...
Still dancing... Still moonwalking... Still morphing...
What shape will he assume next?
The countdown begins...
Five... Four... Three... Two... One...
Stay tuned...
And keep your eyes on the eyes...
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At the New INNER MICHAEL
A SPIRITUAL MESSENGER ?
Visit The Author's
Keep your feathers in your own pillow
A Metaphysician takes a look at the remarkable life and work of Michael Jackson
Maybe you'd rather be here...
At the New INNER MICHAEL
Did you know that
Michael Jackson was
A SPIRITUAL MESSENGER ?
REDISCOVERING MICHAEL:
Hello and welcome.
Glad you came.
Michael Jackson left his mark on the world in many ways...
Entertainer~Musician~Singer~ Songwriter~Dancer~Philanthropist
Pioneer~Author~Genius~
Producer~Director~Magic Man and
more...
Glad you came.
Michael Jackson left his mark on the world in many ways...
Entertainer~Musician~Singer~ Songwriter~Dancer~Philanthropist
Pioneer~Author~Genius~
Producer~Director~Magic Man and
more...
Having unusual experiences or severe crisis...
related to the loss of Michael?
Then click: Here
Email me
Reminder: If you comment here anonymously I can't reply or answer a question. For a reply email me directly.
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Other Website
About Reprinting or sharing my work:
Many have asked if they could reprint my work and/or translate it to their native language and reprint it or share it in public forums. The answer is yes. This space will always be a work in progress because words don't always behave and ideas don't always arrive in order or on schedule. So before you reprint something- check back to see if it is still in the same form. And I request that you indicate it is copyrighted material by adding at the end:
(c) B. Kaufmann 2009 and beyond. Reprinted by permission from http://www.innermichael.com/ (or) http://www.onewordsmith.com/
As a writer, I have to be inspired or I can't do it. If I'm not inspired it comes out like cardboard flavored pizza. It falls flat. It whines mechanical. Tastes just too plain vanilla. But give me something inspiring, something juicy, and it flows rich and red like expensive wine. Give me a cause, ask for a champion and I get fierce. Give me all this and I become a warrior wielding words with gleaming edges.
"This Is It," Michael Jackson's movie inspired me to write about what I experienced in the theater, afterward and since. I began to research Michael Jackson's remarkable genius, extraordinary life and body of work. Something in me recognizes something in Michael-- the gifted spiritual messenger who lived among us.
And a Thank You...
Michael Jackson fans and people write the most thoughtful and insightful letters and sometimes they send things like pictures or quotes or other tidbits and I incorporate them where I can. Sometimes I don't know the source, sometimes I can't use them, and sometimes the comments are too long or have html characters that make them difficult to read. Some are just too personal and tender to share. But I want to acknowledge these gifts and let you all know how touching it is to receive them. Thank you; you know who you are. I love you as much as "more."
(c) B. Kaufmann 2009 and beyond. Reprinted by permission from http://www.innermichael.com/ (or) http://www.onewordsmith.com/
As a writer, I have to be inspired or I can't do it. If I'm not inspired it comes out like cardboard flavored pizza. It falls flat. It whines mechanical. Tastes just too plain vanilla. But give me something inspiring, something juicy, and it flows rich and red like expensive wine. Give me a cause, ask for a champion and I get fierce. Give me all this and I become a warrior wielding words with gleaming edges.
"This Is It," Michael Jackson's movie inspired me to write about what I experienced in the theater, afterward and since. I began to research Michael Jackson's remarkable genius, extraordinary life and body of work. Something in me recognizes something in Michael-- the gifted spiritual messenger who lived among us.
And a Thank You...
Michael Jackson fans and people write the most thoughtful and insightful letters and sometimes they send things like pictures or quotes or other tidbits and I incorporate them where I can. Sometimes I don't know the source, sometimes I can't use them, and sometimes the comments are too long or have html characters that make them difficult to read. Some are just too personal and tender to share. But I want to acknowledge these gifts and let you all know how touching it is to receive them. Thank you; you know who you are. I love you as much as "more."
Followers
Blog Archive
MOONWALKER
I watch your body move
feel the song
coming from your bones
your body the brush
your feelings the paint
stroke a canvas of love
from music
only you can hear.
Maybe the voice
of God?
The tide comes
through you
as you can do nothing
but move aside
and allow the Force
to have its way
and deposit you
spent and empty
having given all
that you are
for us.
I touch your fire,
dance of creation
and warm my hands
at your heart.
I stir the ashes
looking for the glow
that lingers
from embers left
when the flame
to brightly lit
flares out.
I want the heat
one last time
to remind me.
To remember
how bright the light
had to be
to shame the shadows,
fist the world,
dance the dream.
Your light still shines
but cooler now
a lunar landscape
now the dance floor
in the round.
Thank you Moonwalker
for all the shimmer.
The light you held
streaks the cosmos now,
beams you home--
a new single spotlight.
I will never again
see a shooting star
or the full moon
quite the same.
~for the fans
YES, WORDS CAN KILL
Wonderful things.
Ugly things.
Soar, plunge,
sting, cripple, crash.
Cost nothing.
Cost everything.
Free
or make captive.
Paint dreams
or sculpt sorrow.
Reflections of minds,
glyphs of power
committed to paper
become the concrete,
lay the foundation,
build a life
or bury a soul.
Lift and ascend
like wings,
or slice, slash
with gleaming edge,
lay open a wound,
stab tender heart.
Kill.
Grasp the stars,
cross a continent,
sink a ship,
start a war
or save a life.
Words...
Raw tissue--
bones of experience.
They are perfect
or perfectly
lethal.
feel the song
coming from your bones
your body the brush
your feelings the paint
stroke a canvas of love
from music
only you can hear.
Maybe the voice
of God?
The tide comes
through you
as you can do nothing
but move aside
and allow the Force
to have its way
and deposit you
spent and empty
having given all
that you are
for us.
I touch your fire,
dance of creation
and warm my hands
at your heart.
I stir the ashes
looking for the glow
that lingers
from embers left
when the flame
to brightly lit
flares out.
I want the heat
one last time
to remind me.
To remember
how bright the light
had to be
to shame the shadows,
fist the world,
dance the dream.
Your light still shines
but cooler now
a lunar landscape
now the dance floor
in the round.
Thank you Moonwalker
for all the shimmer.
The light you held
streaks the cosmos now,
beams you home--
a new single spotlight.
I will never again
see a shooting star
or the full moon
quite the same.
~for the fans
YES, WORDS CAN KILL
Wonderful things.
Ugly things.
Soar, plunge,
sting, cripple, crash.
Cost nothing.
Cost everything.
Free
or make captive.
Paint dreams
or sculpt sorrow.
Reflections of minds,
glyphs of power
committed to paper
become the concrete,
lay the foundation,
build a life
or bury a soul.
Lift and ascend
like wings,
or slice, slash
with gleaming edge,
lay open a wound,
stab tender heart.
Kill.
Grasp the stars,
cross a continent,
sink a ship,
start a war
or save a life.
Words...
Raw tissue--
bones of experience.
They are perfect
or perfectly
lethal.
To Love Life
"The Thing Is
to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you've held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again."
~Ellen Bass
What is Success?
He has achieved success who has lived well, laughed often, and loved much;
Who has enjoyed the trust of pure women, the respect of intelligent men and the love of little children;
Who has filled his niche and accomplished his task;
Who has never lacked appreciation of Earth's beauty or failed to express it;
Who has left the world better than he found it,
Whether an improved poppy, a perfect poem, or a rescued soul;
Who has always looked for the best in others and given them the best he had;
Whose life was an inspiration;
Whose memory a benediction.
Bessie Anderson Stanley
to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you've held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again."
~Ellen Bass
What is Success?
He has achieved success who has lived well, laughed often, and loved much;
Who has enjoyed the trust of pure women, the respect of intelligent men and the love of little children;
Who has filled his niche and accomplished his task;
Who has never lacked appreciation of Earth's beauty or failed to express it;
Who has left the world better than he found it,
Whether an improved poppy, a perfect poem, or a rescued soul;
Who has always looked for the best in others and given them the best he had;
Whose life was an inspiration;
Whose memory a benediction.
Bessie Anderson Stanley
Keep your feathers in your own pillow
so you can sleep well at night
One day a man named Chit Chat went to the village sage feeling terrible about all the gossip and the wicked things that he had said about other people.
He said to the elder, “I feel terrible about all the rumors I have spread all my life. What can I do to make amends to the good people of the village?” The wise elder thought for a moment and then he said, “Go to the market and purchase the finest chicken you can find. Then pluck all the feathers from the chicken and bring it to me just as fast as you possibly can."
Chit Chat ran to the market and spent some time looking for the finest chicken. When he was satisfied that this was the best chicken in all the marketplace he returned at a full run while plucking feathers from the chicken along the way. By the time he got to the elders hut all the feathers were gone from the chicken.
He handed the chicken to the old sage who carefully turned it over and over until he was finally satisfied that there were no feathers on it. Then he said to Chit Chat, “Now go get me all the feathers you have plucked from the chicken."
Exasperated, the Chit Chat exclaimed, “How can I do that? The wind must've carried them a long way off and scattered them all across the land!" The old sage, looking at Chit Chat with great compassion said, "Yes that is true, and it is the same with rumors you have spread, they have gone so far and wide you can never retrieve them. I would suggest that you go and apologize to the people that you have dishonored, that is how you may gain forgiveness.”
He said to the elder, “I feel terrible about all the rumors I have spread all my life. What can I do to make amends to the good people of the village?” The wise elder thought for a moment and then he said, “Go to the market and purchase the finest chicken you can find. Then pluck all the feathers from the chicken and bring it to me just as fast as you possibly can."
Chit Chat ran to the market and spent some time looking for the finest chicken. When he was satisfied that this was the best chicken in all the marketplace he returned at a full run while plucking feathers from the chicken along the way. By the time he got to the elders hut all the feathers were gone from the chicken.
He handed the chicken to the old sage who carefully turned it over and over until he was finally satisfied that there were no feathers on it. Then he said to Chit Chat, “Now go get me all the feathers you have plucked from the chicken."
Exasperated, the Chit Chat exclaimed, “How can I do that? The wind must've carried them a long way off and scattered them all across the land!" The old sage, looking at Chit Chat with great compassion said, "Yes that is true, and it is the same with rumors you have spread, they have gone so far and wide you can never retrieve them. I would suggest that you go and apologize to the people that you have dishonored, that is how you may gain forgiveness.”
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