Seeds and Dreams

The New Press: Free Press, Where The Truth is the News

Indeed I m in LOVE!


Posted by Marivel Guzman
Indeed I m in Love!.

Indeed I m in Love

How fortunate got to be the owner of my dreams,
How fortunate got to be the dreamers that share my dreams,
How fortunate got to be the minds that expand,
The MINDS that create better REALITIES!
The Ones that are ILLUMINATED and WALK the path
of the light worker, the ONE that sees, hears, feels, senses and transcends without looking back,
Indeed I m in LOVE, and I tell you WHY:
Because my dreams are extensive and eccentric, out of the norm,
Because my dreams are explosive and comprise the whole world,
My ideal of love is more than just an isolated sentiment reciprocated.
My love is a great energy that moves with me, and within the world that I want to live IN.
I m in love with LOVE!, because gives me the reason to live,
I m in love with my inner self, because is my energy vortex that exalts me to a higher self,
I m in love with the world that I m defending, because I only have ONE.
I m in love with nature, that I want to preserve, for my children and your children, and the Future Generations,
I m in love with PEACE!, because I want it for everyone on earth, because is a God’s given gift.
I m in love with Mother Earth because she is the Mother of life and green, and she worths the fight,
I m in love with the PEN, because let me express my most intimates feelings,
I m in love with the RED of my HEART, because, RED gives me the passion, and the courage
to tell you how I m feeling inside,
I m in love with POETRY, because is the expression of your MIND and your HEART thinking as ONE,
I m in love with the WORD! because spreads the simpler TRUTH,
I m in love with Palestine the symbol of human struggles, and is my children Land.
I m in love with Gaza because she is a prisoner inside a prison, and I want her to be free,
I m in love with you the resistance fighter, that love his land more than himself, because he will gives his blood to sink on the land to feed it and not let it die,
I m in love with anyone that stands for justice, because he will stop at NOTHING! and will raise his voice, and will fight for you, without blinking an eye,
I m in love with the innocent mind because is pure, and can not be in chains of any kind.
I m in love with my Dreams, because they guide me and they lead me to be better all the time,
I m in love with the eternal dreamer of the spotless mind, because he will always will be striving for better reality than the ONE is offered with strings and pulling all the TIME!.
I m in Love with you LOVE!, because Love will never fights back, and LOVE never DIES.
I m in love with the conscientiousness that is moving and changing the Note of Love to a Universal Feeling that envelopes us ALL, and make us EVOLVE to other dimensions NEVER Sense before.
I m in love with YOU! and I send you my frequency of Love, to be tune up to a higher vibration, to reach the altitudes of the purest state of the mind,

Do you Love ME? Do you love your WORLD?

Can you share my Dreams?

Can you fight absurdity with me?

Can you put aside HATE AND GREED, and move toward The World I want to see and BE?

Can you Choose Between WAR and PEACE! and do it with the understanding that WAR is not OPPOSITE of PEACE?

I want you to see through my eyes, and feel with my heart,

And I want you to feel my compassion, I want you crying with rage, when you see pain inflicted in another human being. When you see trees being cut, when you see, SEEDS genetically MODIFIED.

I want you to YELL MAD, when you see Planes spreading Chemtrails that is not other thing but POISON,

Chemtrails that kills your WATER, and make HELL OUT OF A HURRICANE,

I want you to love ME, AND To LOVE our WORLD BECAUSE WE ONLY HAVE ONE

Now you know Why I m in LOVE?

Indeed I m in Love, LOVE! WITH YOU AND THE WORLD.

January 2, 2011 Posted by | Akashma, Economics of the Poor, Education and Religion, Gaza Today, MONSANTO, Opinion Maker, The Mind, Truth, War and Peace | , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

When We Were Free


Posted by Marivel Guzman
On November 5, 2010

When we were still free in North America

A Plea To Love and Respect for Mother Earth

The Wise Words of Chief Seattle, are lessons

Beautiful words that lacerate my soul.

I could imagine a land like the one my ancestors were losing

the battle for the Land, the Mother Land that gives

Not the land that is ravaged by cities of concrete

A land that was rich, plentiful with life and soul.

Revise every line of Chief Seattle and feel the pain,

that pain that comes with the loss, the loss of freedom,

the loss of sustainability and Loss of Hopes for a future.

Imagine his pain when he saw that his dreams were about to end.

We can make his dream and the dream of the Natives of all the lands

to come truth, to return to the land what it belongs to her.

To free her waters, to let them run free..like the buffalo once did

Unite your effort to give back Mother Earth back to all of us.

Chief Seattle

In 1855, the Dwamish Chief Seattle, of Washington Territory, sent the following letter to President Franklin Pierce. Not surprisingly, his powerful plea was ignored by Pierce, and every President to follow.

Now, we need, more than ever, a president who will listen to Chief Seattle’s simple words.

To the Great Chief in Washington,

We know that the white man does not understand our ways. One portion of the land is the same to him as the next, for he is a stranger who comes in the night and takes from the land whatever he needs. The earth is not his brother but his enemy, and when he has conquered it, he moves on. He leaves his father’s grave, and his children birthright is forgotten.

The sight of your cities pains the eyes of the red man. But perhaps it is because the red man is a savage and does not understand. There is no quiet place in the white man’s cities. No place to hear the leaves of spring or the rustle of insect wings. But perhaps because I am a savage and do not understand, the clatter only seems to insult the ears.

The Indian prefers the soft sound of the wind itself cleansed by a midday rain, or scented by a Pinion pine. The air is precious to the Red man. For all things share the same breath: the beasts, the trees, and the man.

The white man does not seem to notice the air he breathes. Like a man dying for many days, he is numb to the stench.

I have seen thousands of rotting buffaloes on the prairie left by the white man who shot them from a passing train. I am a savage and do not understand. What is man without the beasts? If all beasts were gone, men would die from great loneliness of spirit, for whatever happens to the beast happens also to the man.

This we know: The earth does not belong to man; man belongs to the earth. All things are connected. Whatever befalls the earth befalls the sons of the earth. Man does not weave the web of life, he is merely a strand in it. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself.

Our children have seen their fathers humbled in defeat. Our warriors have felt shame. It matters little where we pass the rest of our days; they are not many. A few more hours, a few more winters, and none of the children of the great tribes that once lived on this earth will remain to mourn the graves of a people once as powerful and hopeful as yours.

But even the white man cannot be exempt from the common destiny. We may be brothers after all; we shall see. One thing we know, which the white man may one day discover: our God is the same God. You may think that you own him as you wish to own our land, but you cannot. He is the Body of man, and his compassion is equal for the red man and white. This earth is precious to him, and to harm the earth is to heap contempt on its Creator.

The whites too shall pass, perhaps sooner than other tribes. Continue to contaminate your bed, and you will one night suffocate in your own waste.

But in your perishing you may shine brightly, fired by the strength of the God who brought you to this land and for some special purpose gave you dominion over this land and over the red man. That destiny is a mystery for us, for we do not understand when the buffalo are slaughtered, and the wild horses tamed. Where is the thicket? Gone. Where is the eagle? Gone. And what is it to say goodbye to the swift pony and the hunt? The end of living and the beginning of survival.

We might understand if we knew what it was the white man dreams, what hopes he describes to his children on long winter nights, what visions he burns into their minds, so they will wish for tomorrow. But we are savages. The white man’s dreams are hidden from us. And because they are hidden we will go our own way.

If we sell you our land, love it as we have loved it. Care for it as we have cared for it. Hold in your memory the way the land is as you take it. And with all your strength, with all your might, with all your heart, preserve it for your children and love it …. as God loves us all.

One thing we know. Our God is the same God. This earth is precious to Him. Even the white man cannot be exempt from the common destiny. We may be brothers after all.

Angelina- Chief Seattle Daughter

Angelina Chief Seattle Daughter

Version 1 (below) appeared in the Seattle Sunday Star on Oct. 29, 1887, in a column by Dr. Henry A. Smith.
“CHIEF SEATTLE’S 1854 ORATION” – ver . 1
AUTHENTIC TEXT OF CHIEF SEATTLE’S TREATY ORATION 1854

Yonder sky that has wept tears of compassion upon my people for centuries untold, and which to us appears changeless and eternal, may change. Today is fair. Tomorrow it may be overcast with clouds. My words are like the stars that never change. Whatever Seattle says, the great chief at Washington can rely upon with as much certainty as he can upon the return of the sun or the seasons. The white chief says that Big Chief at Washington sends us greetings of friendship and goodwill. This is kind of him for we know he has little need of our friendship in return. His people are many. They are like the grass that covers vast prairies. My people are few. They resemble the scattering trees of a storm-swept plain. The great, and I presume — good, White Chief sends us word that he wishes to buy our land but is willing to allow us enough to live comfortably. This indeed appears just, even generous, for the Red Man no longer has rights that he need respect, and the offer may be wise, also, as we are no longer in need of an extensive country.

There was a time when our people covered the land as the waves of a wind-ruffled sea cover its shell-paved floor, but that time long since passed away with the greatness of tribes that are now but a mournful memory. I will not dwell on, nor mourn over, our untimely decay, nor reproach my paleface brothers with hastening it, as we too may have been somewhat to blame.

Youth is impulsive. When our young men grow angry at some real or imaginary wrong, and disfigure their faces with black paint, it denotes that their hearts are black, and that they are often cruel and relentless, and our old men and old women are unable to restrain them. Thus it has ever been. Thus it was when the white man began to push our forefathers ever westward. But let us hope that the hostilities between us may never return. We would have everything to lose and nothing to gain. Revenge by young men is considered gain, even at the cost of their own lives, but old men who stay at home in times of war, and mothers who have sons to lose, know better.

Our good father in Washington–for I presume he is now our father as well as yours, since King George has moved his boundaries further north–our great and good father, I say, sends us word that if we do as he desires he will protect us. His brave warriors will be to us a bristling wall of strength, and his wonderful ships of war will fill our harbors, so that our ancient enemies far to the northward — the Haidas and Tsimshians — will cease to frighten our women, children, and old men. Then in reality he will be our father and we his children. But can that ever be? Your God is not our God! Your God loves your people and hates mine! He folds his strong protecting arms lovingly about the paleface and leads him by the hand as a father leads an infant son. But, He has forsaken His Red children, if they really are His. Our God, the Great Spirit, seems also to have forsaken us. Your God makes your people wax stronger every day. Soon they will fill all the land. Our people are ebbing away like a rapidly receding tide that will never return. The white man’s God cannot love our people or He would protect them. They seem to be orphans who can look nowhere for help. How then can we be brothers? How can your God become our God and renew our prosperity and awaken in us dreams of returning greatness? If we have a common Heavenly Father He must be partial, for He came to His paleface children. We never saw Him. He gave you laws but had no word for His red children whose teeming multitudes once filled this vast continent as stars fill the firmament. No; we are two distinct races with separate origins and separate destinies. There is little in common between us.

To us the ashes of our ancestors are sacred and their resting place is hallowed ground. You wander far from the graves of your ancestors and seemingly without regret. Your religion was written upon tablets of stone by the iron finger of your God so that you could not forget. The Red Man could never comprehend or remember it. Our religion is the traditions of our ancestors — the dreams of our old men, given them in solemn hours of the night by the Great Spirit; and the visions of our sachems, and is written in the hearts of our people.

Your dead cease to love you and the land of their nativity as soon as they pass the portals of the tomb and wander away beyond the stars. They are soon forgotten and never return. Our dead never forget this beautiful world that gave them being. They still love its verdant valleys, its murmuring rivers, its magnificent mountains, sequestered vales and verdant lined lakes and bays, and ever yearn in tender fond affection over the lonely hearted living, and often return from the happy hunting ground to visit, guide, console, and comfort them.

Day and night cannot dwell together. The Red Man has ever fled the approach of the White Man, as the morning mist flees before the morning sun. However, your proposition seems fair and I think that my people will accept it and will retire to the reservation you offer them. Then we will dwell apart in peace, for the words of the Great White Chief seem to be the words of nature speaking to my people out of dense darkness.

It matters little where we pass the remnant of our days. They will not be many. The Indian’s night promises to be dark. Not a single star of hope hovers above his horizon. Sad-voiced winds moan in the distance. Grim fate seems to be on the Red Man’s trail, and wherever he will hear the approaching footsteps of his fell destroyer and prepare stolidly to meet his doom, as does the wounded doe that hears the approaching footsteps of the hunter.

A few more moons, a few more winters, and not one of the descendants of the mighty hosts that once moved over this broad land or lived in happy homes, protected by the Great Spirit, will remain to mourn over the graves of a people once more powerful and hopeful than yours. But why should I mourn at the untimely fate of my people? Tribe follows tribe, and nation follows nation, like the waves of the sea. It is the order of nature, and regret is useless. Your time of decay may be distant, but it will surely come, for even the White Man whose God walked and talked with him as friend to friend, cannot be exempt from the common destiny. We may be brothers after all. We will see.

We will ponder your proposition and when we decide we will let you know. But should we accept it, I here and now make this condition that we will not be denied the privilege without molestation of visiting at any time the tombs of our ancestors, friends, and children. Every part of this soil is sacred in the estimation of my people. Every hillside, every valley, every plain and grove, has been hallowed by some sad or happy event in days long vanished. Even the rocks, which seem to be dumb and dead as the swelter in the sun along the silent shore, thrill with memories of stirring events connected with the lives of my people, and the very dust upon which you now stand responds more lovingly to their footsteps than yours, because it is rich with the blood of our ancestors, and our bare feet are conscious of the sympathetic touch. Our departed braves, fond mothers, glad, happy hearted maidens, and even the little children who lived here and rejoiced here for a brief season, will love these somber solitudes and at eventide they greet shadowy returning spirits. And when the last Red Man shall have perished, and the memory of my tribe shall have become a myth among the White Men, these shores will swarm with the invisible dead of my tribe, and when your children’s children think themselves alone in the field, the store, the shop, upon the highway, or in the silence of the pathless woods, they will not be alone. In all the earth there is no place dedicated to solitude. At night when the streets of your cities and villages are silent and you think them deserted, they will throng with the returning hosts that once filled them and still love this beautiful land. The White Man will never be alone.

Let him be just and deal kindly with my people, for the dead are not powerless. Dead, did I say? There is no death, only a change of worlds.

November 7, 2010 Posted by | Akashma, Education, History, Light and Darkness, Native People, Not Indians, Opinion Maker, Settlers, Spirituality, The Mind, Truth | , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Opinion Maker-where Truth is The News and readers are The Opinion Makers


Posted on July 12, 2010 by Marivel Guzman

Opinion MakerWhat does it takes to write the truth? Regular Ordinary Citizens now days are engaged in the writing process and the dissemination of the truth. Be my truth or your truth is up to the Opinion Makers.
In this complex society that we are living, a world ravaged by wars, disperse by religions, divided by ideas, segregated by colors, is amazing that we can reunite in a virtual world where we chat as old friends, a virtual coffee shop where we drink a picture in your wall, where your ideas are spread, judged, misjudged, argued, deleted and at the end of the day and after a long day of differences you still be friend of your worse enemy.
The opinion makers are you, your opinion is my worse nightmare, my opinion distasteful to your morning coffee. We all become opinion makers.
We write what we feel, what we know, what we want, what we search, what we discover and we enjoy this non pay job that we do with an almost addiction, with a religious everyday observance. We the Opinion Makers are obsessed with the truth, we can’t take the main stream news any more as news, but as propaganda. We the Opinion Makers has discovered the way to make our opinion count, even thought is just in the social networks, we feel the satisfaction of have done a great justice to truth, when we sit for hours writing, posting, commenting in every single wall of our countless friends. We have become the active Opinion Makers of the world, when before, the broadcasting networks saw us as a clients of their advertisements adds, now we become the Opinion Makers, and we are seen as important as the Adds.
How this become to be?, we the public blogger, the free writers, the video editors, the photographers, and publishers are just Opinion Makers. We do not generate one penny for the Social Network that we subscribe, but in the long run we will be the writers of History as never written before, we will write our story and History will be just his-story.
The Truth is the News and can not be cover by beautiful and crafty words. The Truth is destined to survive the most entertaining fictional story of the editor of Fox or CNN, these networks are struggling to keep us hooked to their lies.
CSPAN is ready to interview the hard to get personages on the Political Spectrum to attract us back, but years of mingling with the Truth, and years of Editing lies had set us networks apart.
What can I say about evening news, in every station around the globe, they all fighting for ratings. "Charly Bit my finger" or "Blooood" boy have more viewers in an afternoon than all the broadcasting news in the US and Canada together, let alone all the youtube, meta caffee and others channels that attract us to the every day Truths and Realities.
I tell you times are changing, we have become the Opinion Makers, The Video Editors, The Free Press: The New Press of the world. We the regular citizens can not be attracted any more for an add of Coca Cola, or a refreshing bath of Zeth.
There is no way that we can go back to be the passive spectators that for years, warmed the sofas in front to the TV’s. Now we are part of the making of the news, we are part of the story, we are making the story and the Opinion Makers of the Truth.

July 12, 2010 Posted by | Economics of the Poor, Education, The Global Citizen, The Mind | , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

The Thought of the Writer


September 19, 2008

Listening to Zig Ziglar speaking in a excerpt in YouTube from one of his seminars, I have the motivation to write some more lines for my “Book”, not like the literal definition of a book, more like a diary, a journey to my life experience, during all my years as reader.

The name of the seminar is “Setting Goals”, sometimes all it takes is a little push , So I have planned to write my “Book” on the summer of 2007, I’ve been reading and researching all kind of material for my “Book”, but is been more difficult that I though, there is plenty of information in the subject but there have been an awakening journey, more I immerse myself in my ideas and research about other people’s ideas.
I see myself navigating in sea of theories, laws, discoveries, mysteries, doctrines and indoctrinations, information and misinformation, science and fiction and just anything imaginable and unimaginable where everything is together and refuse to separate.
Every idea that I have explored comes with an attachment, every theory come packed with references that crisscross to history, religion, science, fiction, spirituality, ancient civilization, UFO Theory, I mean everything is mysteriously connected. So here I am 2010 with more than 1000 pages written about “everything” and more I write more I get to the conclusion that is impossible to write a book and pour in it all the information that I want to write.

My initial idea was to deliver in one simple “book”, written in simple language leaving out big words, I always thought simple language is necessary to deliver the message to the people, writing elegantly and using big words is for intellectuals, and I am not one nor is the people I want to reach.

I started reading big books since I was 10 years old, I remember Crime and Punishment by Feodor Dostoyevsky, I end up reading most of his literature, so I started in a reading Quest. I have read more books than I can remember, from the classics to the more contemporaneous writers; I am undiscriminated reader ; from philosophy, religion, fiction, science, history, politics, folk stories, just name a subject , I like them all, and more I read more I understand the necessity to write, I cannot help it. It has to be done, the ideas are too many inside me, I feel that I can explode any moment.
My soul is pounding in my consciousness, forcing me to deliver my simple understanding to the people, to those that don’t have the time to explore the big dictionary, it the those with simple mind that don’t understand big and elaborated words and messages with dubious meaning that don’t fit their reality.
This is my journey I want to give back to the people what I learnt, and sometimes, I feel that is an obligation that I have to simplify the message and deliver it in the simplest form, deciphered and ready to be absorbed for the most curious and simple minds.

What motivates people to write books or journals? Well is very complex to explain but very easy to understand is you are in the writer shoes. I don’t see myself as a writer, I don’t think that I fit the description, I m more like a mind blogger, that writes everything that feels, sees, knows, discover, uncover, search and search.
This inner necessity of mine that that push me to give, the urgency to tell. The unselfish motive to share what we know, what we believe, what we suffer and feel, what we discover and understand of everything.

You will notice that sometimes I use journal style in my writing is a way to tell you how I structured this book, my motivations in any given day. My understanding of an idea, I hope you will understand the message, is done with love for all of you.
And the best of my idea, is that is Free to you, my thoughts are a gift for the ordinary citizen of the world, the global citizen. And the better news are is that you don’t need to speak my language to understand, the online translator are the free tools for humanity, where we are all part of the news.

March 2, 2009 Posted by | Education, Light and Darkness, Personal Grow and Awareness, Spirituality, The Global Citizen, The Mind | , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment