Creator of the Psychic Auracature Process: It is Time to Live!

Posts tagged “poet

Sterling Sinclair Remembers Gord Downie and Visits the Vigil in Kingston Ontario Oct 18 2017: Photos, Videos, Media Reports, and A Poetic Message

Sterling Sinclair Remembers Gord Downie and Visits the Vigil in Kingston Ontario Oct 18 2017: Photos, Videos, Media Reports, and A Poetic Message

I aspire to be half the man Gord Downie was.  

He set an admirable standard whether be family man, activist, musician, poet, or human. 

 I never met Mr. Downie, I am a fan like so many other Canadians and beyond.  

His bravery to show love and express his passion for justice and life, oozed from his every syllable.

 It was an honour to visit the vigil.

am so thankful that the city of Kingston provided us the opportunity to sit with our memories of Gord and reflect upon how he inspired each and every one of us.    

Many, many people went to the vigil. The signatures signed on the memory banner had to have been in the thousands. 

One Kashechewan First Nation, on James Bay, gentleman visited the vigil earlier in the day.  This is an exerpt from the Whig: 

“He fought for us, for so many things,” Nakogee said. “That really means a lot. The first time I heard somebody that really fought for us was Gordie. We don’t hear that other bands do stuff for First Nations people. Gordie fought for us.

“It’s good that he did that, but it’s sad that he lost the battle. Now he is in our spirits.”

Nakogee was among dozens of people who gathered in Springer Market Square under a cloudless sky and unseasonably warm temperatures to pay their respects to The Tragically Hip’s lead singer, who died Tuesday night after a year-and-a-half-long battle with brain cancer.

Downie’s work to bring attention to the history of residential schools in Canada was among the last chapters in his life and one that fan Richard Noble said many people, including himself, knew nothing about.”

The Whig Article
This is a short video that I took when I went the vigil in Kingston. By the time I got there, only a small number of people were there. The intimate silence was like walking in the air of a hug. 

Video: Sterling Sinclair visits Gord Downie Vigil in Kingston
Today the headlines lit up the news in Gord Downie’s honour. I read not one negative word. 

In Rolling Stone, the voice of the family was expressed. It told of Mr. Downie’s truth: 

“Last night, Gord quietly passed away with his beloved children and family close by,” his family wrote in a statement. “Gord knew this day was coming – his response was to spend this precious time as he always had – making music, making memories and expressing deep gratitude to his family and friends for a life well lived, often sealing it with a kiss … on the lips.

“Gord said he had lived many lives,” they added. “As a musician, he lived ‘the life’ for over 30 years, lucky to do most of it with his high school buddies. At home, he worked just as tirelessly at being a good father, son, brother, husband and friend. No one worked harder on every part of their life than Gord. No one.”

“Thank you everyone for all the respect, admiration and love you have given Gord throughout the years,” his family wrote following his death. “Those tender offerings touched his heart and he takes them with him now as he walks among the stars.”

“In the wake of his diagnosis, Gord only fought harder for what he believed in: social justice, environmentalism and reconciliation with Indigenous Peoples,” he added. “Gord did not rest from working for the issues he cared about, and his commitment and passion will continue to motivate Canadians for years to come … He will be sorely missed.”

Rolling Stone article
Today I sat down to process my grief and to reflect upo the person of Gord Downie. As an Auracature artist I began to draw an Auracature, just as I did the night before photos of me leaving the drawing at the vigil are posted below, but thid time, I began writing a message inspired by Gord Downie. 

Sterling Sinclair Recites the Message
Gord Downie poem

Oct 19, 2017

“Her Children Die from Centuries of Pain

Kick off your shoes – go dance in the rain.”

“Together We Are One”

By Sterling Sinclair

“Remember not me

Remember the work to be done

It was never about my battle

Their stories had to be sung

The battle’s not over

Much work’s need done

We fight the battle together

Until the battle is won

Upon blood soaked prairies

She gathers her young

How’d she wake in her mourning

Her fallen knight was her son

How can she see the light

From fear we mustn’t run

Look into her black brown eyes

Reserved, her soul was shunned

The fight to live’s not over

The fight has just begun.

Oh Canada, do you even listen?

Sorrow is being Sung

Grieve not my recent passing

Seeking justice is not fun

My death is not the message

I’m a husband, father, son

First peoples are in danger

No matter the spin that is spun

Pour your tears upon the lands

Cuz, healing’s barely begun

If you honour my memory

If I am Canada’s true son

Instead of being saddened

Go out and help someone

The war will be over

The battle will be won

When all people come together

And together we are one.”

The following are photos of my experience at the vigil


Gord, rest in peace. 

To Gord’s loved ones, I send my sincerest condolences. 

Much Love, Sterling Sinclair

Sterling Sinclair’s Site 

Sterling Sinclair Channels a Message of Light and Peace – Accused of Being Evil and Destructive, So He Writes a Slam- like Poem, October 14, 2017

Sterling Sinclair Channels a Message of Light and Peace – Accused of Being Evil and Destructive, So He Writes a Slam- like Poem, October 14, 2017 

 This is an acrylic self-portrait on 24X36 canvas. 

I though it was suitable to post because I kept seeing it in my mind’s as I wrote the following poem. I started writing the poem while shopping for threaded pipe at Home Depot. That is quite the place to gain inspiration to write… 

 I hope that some of you who relate to the self-portrait or the poem, have found a way to be happy and live meaningful live on this planet. 

I was invited to a conference. I knew there were people there who did not want me going. I accepted the invitation. After the presentation, 3 people came up to me and said that the presentation was “life altering – in a really positive way” and one person even said that it was the highlight if the conference.

 So what do the coordinators do?  

They ask me to come back next year and in no way do anything similar in a presentation ever again. They actually requested that my wife do research and provide a minilecture as I draw. 

They don’t even want me to speak.  

This is not the first time people have stopped me from repeating a lesson, sermon, session even though it was raved about by the people in the workshop, audience, etc.  

Once a man had a wheelchair.  I think he had an accident and could not walk. In the sermon and prayers, and in handshakes, the same guy came to church the next week with only a cane. Stories of me being instrumental to that experience got discussed at a staffing meeting for the church.  I was never again to do what ever it was I did that healed the congregant. By the time I fled congregational ministry the list of restrictions (even how high I held my arms for the benediction) were so extensive, I was silenced, suffocated, and became terribly ill. I never claimed to healing this guy or the many others who came to church seeking healing but I was accused of bragging about it around town. 

It seems that the more good I do, this world increases its efforts to stop that good I do. 

Much love, S

“For once, Just Love Me!”

By Sterling Sinclair

A guy tired of persecution.
“Born into an unwelcome world

Sleeping with eyes wide shut

Words claw stapled lids

Razor blades reveal the ring

Round 10 beauties distract the pain

Judges deliberate

My gloves are always pushed down

Sweeping fluid across the mat

Raspberry syrup 

Too salty to taste

Too bitter to waste

Don’t be proud

Don’t ever try to win

My bruises burst blisters

My feet weep from pain

Bound beneath my weight

This world is just too heavy 

Too thick, Too Slow, 

To my mother I write my end note

I choose my expiration date 

The milk has gone sour

Weevils invade the flour

Rising dough falling off the shelf

Kicked across the floor

Branded by my father

Sculpted by his sole

Hoofed me in the head

Fucked me like a football

Howling Hounds 

Humping in Hell 

Oh my head 

It rings like a bell

Sunday Morning 

Friday Night





Buried in my wings

Plucked to the bone

Choked and pulled


Between buns

Cheeks filled with nuts

Cheese paste

Unable to scream

Midnight darkness

Damp distant dreams

Sweat soaked sheets stuck

Sticky taffy 

Too tough to touch

Too long

Tongue depressors gag me

Gosh this place is heavy

It wanders off coarse

Cursing the blessed

Preying upon the blessers

Feed at the trough

A buffet of lies 

A cornucopia of pain

Oh it must have hurt once I had teeth to bight

Heads have holes

Keep your head out of mine

The whole thing is a confused fuck-show

Full monte mooning actors

Melting on the stage

Just love me

Just love me

I try to love you”