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Updated on December 25, 2012


By Tony DeLorger © 2011

If you give credence to the idea of thought having substance and can affect our daily lives, it is not hard to conclude that our mental wanderings, as erratic and incomplete as they can be, create a jungle of mental debris around us.

As incomprehensible as it first appears this debris, like all thoughts can influence. You will recognise the feelings of entering a room after conflict and feeling that oppressive feeling. How many houses have you felt uncomfortable in, feeling something uneasy around you? These feelings relate to thoughts, mental garbage that in its extreme can be perceivable.

Psychics or course are attuned to these vibrations of past thoughts and attitudes that linger in our world like toxic fog. But you don’t have to be psychic to experience this phenomenon. We have the capacity to feel these misthoughts, and without knowledge can even be influenced by them.

We are surrounded by humanity, each individual a thought manufacturing machine. Each thought, each random thought and partial thought creating a subtle plethora of images and ideas. Sometimes when we are walking along and an obtuse thought enters our minds, it may well be from someone else’s mind.

The following poem was written on the subject. Hope you like it.


By Tony DeLorger (28/06/06)

Aberrations of human thought litter the mind,

like rubbish in darkened alleyways.

Refuse riddled and blinded to the landscape beneath,

we ignore the dark illusive notions that seem to propagate themselves,

living through our momentary lapses of control.

Well hidden from cognisance, these misthoughts lurk,

adjacent to reality, but willing to take hold at any opportunity.

I ponder the deep and darkest souls who have fallen to these misthoughts,

and see that I am but one thread away, as they.

If not for that sense God gave me, I would slither with them,

darkened and soulless I would become.

So let mankind flourish, a thread away from madness,

and hope that the world of folly can maintain that infinitesimal thread.

For madness lurks in all of us, awaiting our falter,

its passage to ascension.


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