After the whirling wind whispered to the simple arbor, thorns sprang
from its branches. The sky brightened, and budding tears for the immortal
surrenders rested in the midst of a storm of thorns and jagged leaves until,
radiant blossoms fell upon heaven
Fear fell in love, but to live in love,
Fear knew it must not hide, be denied, or put aside. But there were too many
things evil and unknowable. So, Fear sought understanding and felt more at
ease. And Fear gained some understanding and felt pleased. And then inevitably,
Fear became wise. The word, 'evil'...it disappeared! It was simply turned
a'right to become 'live'
For peace of mind, I would find a place where the wind does not blow,
where I do not know what will happen next. When I am darkly divided, one self
wars upon another. This place in the center of a whirling storm. For love, I
was their eyes. I saw the world in disguise. For love, I left them behind,
keeping one I had in beginning. Now living as I was in my beginning, I will
clearly be, all love given freely. This peace is worthwhile, being there for
awhile, I shall be whatever I find
In sleeping I die. Next day, I heard
the Earth say, "Welcome to heaven." When I saw the tree, it was
holding together, the Earth and the Sun. When the pond was calm, the wild rose
saw its image, and its pedals fell. Upon barren ground, where life cannot be
perceived, the tree will not grow. The spirits living, carry the still life
away from death's razor'd scythe. Brilliant diamonds sparkled upon distant
fields, until the surf broke. In the nighted wood, I braced for the monster's
fang, until the wind died. Starlight, o'starlight, where is the starry'body?
that makes you so bright. When I touched the sea, I felt the moon pulling me
into its haven. And then I saw, the night'd moon had given all its light
freely, so the Earth could dream
Because the kitten, who propounded too
far, plunged twenty lengths, and landed in the straw..and because a fledgling,
wanting to fly, tumbling out of the sky, was caught by a tree..and because he,
was just a little spike wandering freely, and suddenly afraid, happened upon a
path he found, homeward bound...serendipity is a mysterious substance. Some
call it divine aura. By others, charm, or mere facade owing to the grace of
unerring instinct. But how ever called, a bit of luck is fortunate, and surely,
reserved only, for the very innocent
Long ago it seems, was my body formed.
And carefully tendered was I then. With many needs did my life begin. The year,
the month and day, the hour they knew, even the minute they say. Yet, so many
times since then, from great laughter or deep sadness, did I end and begin, did
life seem endless. And whenever I feel down and too alone, I rise up and seek
the sun that melts the frost, seeking to find, birthdays lost
From angry fits of children, overlord
to children, do bars of fear close the past. Darkness embosses its mark on
precious life. Enslavement, brutal offense to flesh. Resentment and agony of
despair for life slipping into dungeons of fear, innocence becomes so paled.
And innocence thus horned, makes a last grasp for control. The victims demand
vengeance, and the children once again, become lost
Called forth from sweet emptiness in
the straw, I arose to proceed upon a tree bearing gifts. I happened by, and my
appetite ordered me to flutter the tree feeder for a radiant crimson apple. The
apple dove to the cushioned floor and rolled down the rise. I radically ran
after it, until I again discovered it, by the river's boundary. There, I lifted
the sweet mass, and appreciated its gifted nectar, and while breaking my fast,
I mused about the fresh fallen rain. For congregated tears from Eden to flow, all Earth
must regard itself as more sublime than the sea. Furthermore, tears must take
the path of least resistance over pain. Yet, while a tear is within the
inescapable grip of fear and despair, how happy and free'flowing it seems to
be, having gathered together, running cheerfully...but blindly, running toward
a cliff! A water falling!..to become lost in a primordial sea! I must quickly
learn how..and speak to the tears in the sky, and fore'warn them
Upon the earthen ground amid twigs and
pebbles of all kinds, the ant labored long. And I peered closer to see the huge
fragment of leaf that the ant was diligently dragging with incredible strength.
Many others were passing'by with ease. They were carrying easily, food and
debris of lesser weight than themselves. This ant struggled far with one large
morsel of food, pushing, pulling with undaunted Will upon a crooked path back
to its hill. In comfort do I continue to watch, and so close am I, to this hard
working creature..yet I, this creature sees not. I am watching an entity of
life that is unable to see me, as I see...and then, all became silent, I felt a
deep stillness. I looked aside, closeby, to the sky...who is there!?...watching
me, seeing me, as they are able to see
Between awake and a dream, I am in non'darkness, and there is no light.
Nowhere, or somewhere, between awake and a dream, I do not perceive something,
nor do I perceive nothing. I do not perceive. In this death we call rest, do we
experience everything at once? Is this 'all and everything' living, true
oblivion? Between awake and a dream, like some machine, I am shut off from all,
I am non perceiving. I am non'being. I have ceased to exist. How?..is this
possible. This little hiatus. Is this the bliss innate? a rest from all and
everything, that can only be experienced by living incarnate
Suddenly, there is morning. Home is dark and silent. With subdued
light, I search for clothes and dress. Morning air is heavy. The weekend
eternity has made me cold to work. My path is worn, but somehow..I will capture
and hold this day, that rutted routine so rudely before, made forgotten
One gave pain to the other. The other hurtled a hard object back. They
fought, and enraged they caused each others flesh to bleed. They hug. They hate
and curse! They give sweet kisses, and want to be held. They want everything!
They demand now. Gentle supple winds, moving swiftly between winter and summer,
I shall always remember, how tender the children are
The waxing moon is especially bright
tonight. The still night gives warm darkness. A dark breeze carries a brief
message from winter. In its ebb, the smoke from my pipe drifts, and ascends
into the stillness, curling up around faint moonbeams
Wrought with conflicting passions of
want, in darkness are children begetting children. The alien light shines, and
we are reluctant. The naked soul is not seen. Otherwise expectant, tradition is
embarrassed, yet relieved, and compelled to harden, willingly dwells in
unabashed darkness, from which the cycle of life, once again, cycles
Death is as fleeting as a wisp of wind
softly whispering, "You have passed away." Death is a soft thing,
like moonshade, cast from something new made. Death is a gentle thing, like a
down feather, freed and drifting, lost and falling..never to be, as it were
before. Death is a subtle thing, as common as a new experience..the result of
an experiment, the occult of enlightenment. Death is subtle, fleeting...soft,
and gentle
New life resting from so many births
and rebirths in a day. Tender sleep cradled, I am listening, waiting for heaven
to speak. So tender are the moods, consuming smile, breaking cry. So delicately
constrained are they, that beside them, I lay restrained and motionless. Simple
sweet stillness, tender moods sleeping..feeling love possessing, I hear heaven
speak..."Thou shalt not possess title to youth's beauty. Thou shalt not
covet its truth"
How intense do we feel this here and
now? How clear do we hear the winds wandering through the leaves of trees, or
drops of rain falling softly upon a window pane? How readily do we sense sweet
nectars adrift upon aestival spirits, or the earthy fragrance of autumn air.
How intense do we feel?..do we perceive, do we live this now. Past and
future!..be not too heavy
While bles'sed gifts of mind are
bearing the diligence of talent, the glow of intelligence, the show of faculty,
yet am I, bles'sed unthinking..gladly collecting and sorting rays of
twilight..busily counting faint moonbeams, upon a still, still, mid'summer's
eve
In the night I feel, the moon brightly
for real. High in the darkness am I, wrapped in softness, sleeping in the sky.
And then suddenly awake I hear, the moon to the sun, "Thank you. Thank
you, my dear. I shall now forever be, in their minds"
Once the wind was whistling. And above,
there was a tear in a dark cloud. The tear fell, the Earth sighed, and the
whistle became carefree
Once, I received tobacco for my pipe.
Life began, a good light was given, I began living. The coal was radiant and
warm. From it, I drew pleasure, often and regular. And inevitably, later, the
coal died. Slumped in sorrow, I silently cried. Despairing, sighing, I drifted
back to my beginning, and suddenly lifted up strong, remembering how I
began..and gave, knowing it was good, giving until my heart was full, feeling
more whole, though only partially so, until a spirit appeared, and gave new
light, strange and bright, for my dark wooden bowl. The coal, now warm and
radiant, and the sky!..the Earth!..and all the living, with color, splendor!..brilliant
candor. This tobacco gift, I love..and love and love, until the last,
becomes white ash
I should not hope for love. Why make
overcast days? I am difficult enough to see. I have enough trouble seeing. And
only her, who can see me, and I her, can love be. For my greatest need, I dare
not hope. Without hope, there will be broken skies. I know the dark clouds
shall pass..and only by the blessed sun can I see. And she dare not hope
either. Love deserves better than hope. It is better this way. No hope for
love, but..there is always a new day, with a broken sky, with the sun shining
through
To live, to feel that I have lived, I
am foresworn to give all incarnations of light and its radiant extremes, its
time and place of expression, an occasion for all within. Love is need,
compelling me to do what I never thought I could do, to be what I never thought
I could be. And in love, I am given foreign eyes to see familiar places
From love to love, however much
ingenuine, varnished, or tarnished..however much incomparable or
incompatible..and once, with one supernatural and super'saturated with
themselves..however much prolate was I, or hopelessly late and inadequate,
distractions from the heart, mutual dys'satisfactions of soul..however much
unconscious a matriarch's heart was, assaulting my inalienable right to be, for
the survival of some ancient rite of rule, I endured a history..of frenzied
raptures and brooding storms from sea to doldrum sea, only to wreck upon the
shores of another, completely unfamiliar land. And facing uncertain horizons of
wanton appetites, wordless desires, and assaulting hopes, fantasies..and
dreams..exhausted and weary, I discreetly retreated..when another beauteous
voice, alluring and seducing, raided and invaded, and held me, as the tendrils
of her romantic psychosis, gently moved to entwine, encirculate..the dark
ground darkening, I was imperceptibly, but most assuredly sinking, in thick
oozing mud. From all of this, I have been delivered to this moment..wise
at some level perhaps..but more lucky than wise, insofar as my path always
journeyed to something new..for while the 'only one' was, as it were, the 'next
one,' the next one could be 'the one,' if from all these adventures through
strange lands and stranger hands, I had developed enough, to at least see
the land in which, the one for me dwells..to see her there, and with her, just
be, how easily it would be, together. Woman is attached to Earth,
weighted in search of more weightlessness. Man is detached from Earth, weightless
in search of more weight. Is it a man's cry?..the unbearable weightlessness of
space over sky, and a woman's mirth?..the unbearable weight of Earth, by
design. Yet, there is enough in common between man and woman for them to be
attracted to one another..otherwise, a man would crash and burn, and a woman
would become lost in space. As it is then, does life in the human race, mostly
takes place somewhere between earthly mud and the distant stars?..in that, if
it takes place on Earth, there is a man fallen..if it takes place among the
stars..there is a woman lost. Some where between Earth and the stars, we would
be, by more of how we see, negotiate, and navigate, than what we do. Some where
between the lightness of stars and gravity of earthly stone, through mere
moving lips, a man and a woman quietly speak, and make galaxies blink..like any
other star, deep in the night
When the world makes itself new,
remnants of the old, rear as a deadly snake. In the beginning, everyone
fears..fears the snake, fears the new. Fear unites humanity. United, the snake
will be stunned and gradually fade, and in its wake, the world new'made,
continues on..not united by fear, but by what is human
Not everyone
sees the rainbow. Those who do, rush towards it, unknowing that it is
unreachable, untouchable, unfathomable. Like a thief's shadow it appears, and
steals company previously felt. Its radiance lures. Through days and years of
chasing, seeking its treasure..and in the emptiness, after each prospect, the
rainbow, faded, is all there is for company. The room is dark and gray,
shadowed by brooding heavens. The one brooding, does not see that the rainbow
appears only when it rains, when its beauty is refreshed in all its splendor,
for another day..or year if need be. Day to day, year after year, I chase the
rainbow, and even though it disappears upon the verge of touching, only good
things spring to life, along the way. Me and my rainbow...it is really not so
lonely, after all
The doldrums, the tediums...they make
my day a purgatory. They give me a gnawing in the gut. I know not what to pull
out and throw away. Why so empty, are these grey'shadowed moods? that
trivializes everything. Was I too much for myself to see? But even so, why not
recognize the radiant consciousness, that awakens me each morn, the radiance by
which, I brush my crusty teeth, and wash my seedy eyes. From the wind, do not I
sense feelings gently stroking hair and cheek? And all this space!...do not I
detect a profound mind there? Or all this matter..surely, a greatly convoluted
consciousness, a resolute Will is obvious..a sense of presence in every bit of
substance. I came to this. I am not alone. Never have been
At one'ment, I am of all and everything. Atoned, I
achieve, however brief, a state of being at one with all and everything. There
is not one thing, not one bit of space, there is not one ray, nor motion in
night or day, that I am not. Atoned, I am all that is being created, all being
destroyed, all that could be, would be, might be. All light, all convoluted
light, all space, all figments of mind. All at once, am I. All and everything I
am, here and now, in atonement. Yet, for any thing to be experienced, the sun
out'shines the daytime stars, and makes shadows below. All spirits at once,
like a great sea, floods all streaming, moving freely, independently. All
places beginning and ending, all space pervading all, can dwarf stars and
systems of stars to nothing, to no thing remaining. Weightless, thoughtless, I
am end'spaced. To atone with 'all and everything,' I become no one
thing..nothing for my earthly trouble, when, from that last reach of a corporal
mind, I ascended to the highest, and promptly fell farthest..for in that fall,
I approach utter nothingness, that place only, which can bear 'all and
everything' bearing down upon me. And deeply fallen, I am profoundly
stricken..if to know but one atom! If only to be, but one atom elemental!
Everything else, in return, would I happily exchange, lose..allow to darken,
into oblivion. Aye! The weight of the cross, to be all, at the expense of the
sensual..or to feel so intense, focused on so little at the expense of losing
so much else..indeed! find a way. Be some system, limited in some way. Atoned,
of all I am, there is so much to choose. What to keep? What to lose, to know
that I am. But I cannot choose! I am no one thing. There is nothing by which to
choose!! Anything may gather unto itself, and compact until I rebel. And by
that rebellion, a ray is given..I shall be driven, and shut out what is
necessary, to return, and course, and evolve, until again, I see that ray
brightly
A myth originally designed to teach, if
not taught, can cause its flesh to turn to dust. The literal rendition, its
bones, remains. In the grave, the bones are saved. They are taken up and
strung together, and used for tradition. To stay the tradition, new flesh for
the bones is created, but far more gaunt, sagging, and alien, than the original
revelation
The
grim reaper’s scythe is made of light. From its deep dark orbs, a flash
of light, and in that instant when its scythe severs the air, a channel of
light is conveyed to some darkness that has never before, seen the light of
day. When its day dawns, I break and die. Who knows what death will
bring!..clarity in one eye, a whole new set of cataracts in the other. I fear
the scythe, yet seek its fire
A person wants the
country to be like them.
A person
wants their daughter or son to be like them.
A person
wants their spouse to be like the picture they have of them.
A person
wants the world to be like them.
A person
wants strangers to be like them.
Women want
men to be like them. Men want women to be like them.
A child
wants another child to be like them, and when they are not, a child will wage
conflict with the other child.
The world
shall remain in conflict insofar as the children of the world, having grown’up with a pretense of being a grownup, vie for,
acquire, and maintain the powers of the world.