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Brian McFadden
Brian McFadden

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Published in

Know Thyself, Heal Thyself

·Jun 25

Snapshot

Poetry — the rugged thunder and flashes of light did not prevent me from having the planned solo picnic. I dodged most of the rain bath by sitting under a tree shirtless while eating one of my favorite meals: a bowl of white rice and two fried eggs. when I was done…

Know Thyself Heal Thyself

1 min read

Snapshot
Snapshot
Know Thyself Heal Thyself

1 min read


Published in

Know Thyself, Heal Thyself

·Apr 8

Good Friday

Poetry — i’ve developed a habit of doing things inefficiently primarily out of my interest of not letting my heart completely dissolve. my secretive laziness was eased when I read the words from a thinker from the East who said, “There is nothing more tragic than one who is well-adjusted to a sick…

Mindfulness

1 min read

Good Friday
Good Friday
Mindfulness

1 min read


Published in

Know Thyself, Heal Thyself

·Feb 12

Feast

Poetry — if all I am is protein for suffering, and i keep getting devoured by its pain, i am left with no choice but to make myself delicious. sitting at the open window, raindrops fall like a million fire-tipped arrows while I sip tea, and let the blind flight of time pass me by.

Poetry

1 min read

Feast
Feast
Poetry

1 min read


Published in

Move Me Poetry

·Jan 28

Tears for the Road

Poetry — The wind kicked up from the north, causing the back gate to fling open and slam shut over and over again. I step out to latch it, and it's cold in the shade and barely warm in the January sun. The garage door crawls up the ceiling, and my immediate…

Poetry

2 min read

Tears for the Road
Tears for the Road
Poetry

2 min read


Published in

Know Thyself, Heal Thyself

·Jan 21

Perspective on Non-Self

Poetry — woke up again — which in itself is a miracle — but along with the early dawn came one of those lessons you don’t forget unless you’ve completely lost the plot. when you are trapped in an ice block of frozen disappointment, remember the old tonic for a troubled mind: “whatever is arising is a waveform passing through the body rather than a structure defining your person”

Poetry

1 min read

Perspective on Non-Self
Perspective on Non-Self
Poetry

1 min read


Published in

Move Me Poetry

·Dec 25, 2022

Crumbling Stories

I’ve managed, for the most part, to keep my location undisclosed. But yesterday, it felt wise to pin my coordinates because I found myself in a sea of men who have nothing else to talk bout other than sales, sex, and stocks. While boiling oats, I let the steam enter my hands, and the first light of a cold, crisp December morning softly moves through the trees. I take a sip of my coffee and remember the men I read about who conversed over farming, fighting, and fishing and become further curious because I cannot squarely find myself in either archetype of the current or the previous.

Move Me Poetry

1 min read

Crumbling Stories
Crumbling Stories
Move Me Poetry

1 min read


Published in

Know Thyself, Heal Thyself

·Dec 22, 2022

The Cost of Sanity

Poetry — when the heart grows tired of the mind’s logic, which seems to be more and more artificial, do not expect a carpet ride into clouds of pleasure, but a vast land where a single tree remains curious as to what happened to the forest.

Poetry

1 min read

The Cost of Sanity
The Cost of Sanity
Poetry

1 min read


Published in

Move Me Poetry

·Dec 10, 2022

Dissolving

Poetry — very few of us have the bravery to be nothing, and so the cycle continues. we intuit that there is no arrival but we chomp and chomp toppling forward toward who knows what, hoping, even praying to find happiness and along the way, simultaneously pleasured and sorrowed by such small, little things. what if we stopped all that chasing and craving? this is the question that millions are willing to look away from to prolong a movie that masquerades as reality.

Poetry

1 min read

Dissolving
Dissolving
Poetry

1 min read


Published in

Know Thyself, Heal Thyself

·Nov 25, 2022

Rising, Falling, Rising, Falling

Poetry — all night, the cool heavy breeze tumbles through the window from an ancient past naked from the cloak of time. it’s no wonder why the language of sleep is fluid off my tongue. when I rise, the streams of fear have been damned, and I stand before another threshold that must be crossed if I care to let go of what has already been lost.

Poetry

1 min read

Rising, Falling, Rising, Falling
Rising, Falling, Rising, Falling
Poetry

1 min read


Published in

Know Thyself, Heal Thyself

·Nov 13, 2022

The Wisdom Traditions in 7 Words

Poetry — don’t forget. but if you do, remember.

Poetry

1 min read

The Wisdom Traditions in 7 Words
The Wisdom Traditions in 7 Words
Poetry

1 min read

Brian McFadden

Brian McFadden

7K Followers

Welcome to my word.

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