The music of John Coltrane is breezing into the study... the sky is cold and gray... and the trees are naked sentinels of Time Passing into inevitable indifference...
Poetry seldom comes in a rush, at least for me... most often, words hover and flit around me like a drunken dragonfly: eye am the still pond... eye am the still fish... but that damned drunken dragonfly flits away, only to tease me from the shore on the other side of the pond...
Prayer is either a silence like a woolen blanket against the cold... or it is another kind of silence: like the groan of a broken heart... still breaking...
Time waits
like a snake in the grass
and eye am the blind
mouse crawling
towards the ecstasy
of the snake's mouth
The Universe spins and expands with inevitable indifference...
Sometimes: prayer is the breast that slides into my mouth...
Yep is the acknowledgment that God is neither stage nor audience... and nope is the mystic response to every supposition of knowing... but, one thing is for sure, our theologies lack the imagination of the Universe...
Inevitable indifference is a terror so profound and so deep... (it has set its roots into the barely fertile soil of our hearts) so deep... that we all become addicts to our egoic mind... which is way too bad... inevitable, too, that we "must" leave aside our imaginations as a requirement of "becoming" an adult... which is, again, way too bad...
eye breathe dreams like air the dragonfly dropped this on me
opened mouth our tongues are a portal another dropping
and still one more your skin is the cigarette eye smoke
If you are not making love or making justice happen, why are you here? It does seem to me, as I look at the face that now looks back at me from the mirror, that inevitability is operating on cruise control: I am driving nothing... indifference is the very humbling affirmation that I cannot write my own ending to the play that I inhabit... With indifference, that which I have been taught to identify as "me", will inevitably end its journey through life...
Clinging to suppositions is neither surrender nor adoration...
Deeper is the option of the mystic... deeper into annihilation... deeper into abandonment... deeper, until the no-thing-that-is-left becomes only You...
With no faith, with no hope: that is precisely where love is... there is only this inevitably indifferent option: "my" life was only alive when its living was not about "me"... absolute Nothingness is the Garden of Eternal Delight... there are some secrets so dark that only then can Light be born: again with inevitable indifference...
There... and this really, really, matters: sing your song to Life, however you can... someone will hear... (I want to hear...)
The music of John Coltrane is breezing into the study...
Poetry seldom comes in a rush, at least for me... most often, words hover and flit around me like a drunken dragonfly: eye am the still pond... eye am the still fish... but that damned drunken dragonfly flits away, only to tease me from the shore on the other side of the pond...
Prayer is either a silence like a woolen blanket against the cold... or it is another kind of silence: like the groan of a broken heart... still breaking...
Time waits
like a snake in the grass
and eye am the blind
mouse crawling
towards the ecstasy
of the snake's mouth
The Universe spins and expands with inevitable indifference...
Sometimes: prayer is the breast that slides into my mouth...
Yep is the acknowledgment that God is neither stage nor audience... and nope is the mystic response to every supposition of knowing... but, one thing is for sure, our theologies lack the imagination of the Universe...
Inevitable indifference is a terror so profound and so deep... (it has set its roots into the barely fertile soil of our hearts) so deep... that we all become addicts to our egoic mind... which is way too bad... inevitable, too, that we "must" leave aside our imaginations as a requirement of "becoming" an adult... which is, again, way too bad...
eye breathe dreams like air the dragonfly dropped this on me
opened mouth our tongues are a portal another dropping
and still one more your skin is the cigarette eye smoke
If you are not making love or making justice happen, why are you here? It does seem to me, as I look at the face that now looks back at me from the mirror, that inevitability is operating on cruise control: I am driving nothing... indifference is the very humbling affirmation that I cannot write my own ending to the play that I inhabit... With indifference, that which I have been taught to identify as "me", will inevitably end its journey through life...
Clinging to suppositions is neither surrender nor adoration...
Deeper is the option of the mystic... deeper into annihilation... deeper into abandonment... deeper, until the no-thing-that-is-left becomes only You...
With no faith, with no hope: that is precisely where love is... there is only this inevitably indifferent option: "my" life was only alive when its living was not about "me"... absolute Nothingness is the Garden of Eternal Delight... there are some secrets so dark that only then can Light be born: again with inevitable indifference...
There... and this really, really, matters: sing your song to Life, however you can... someone will hear... (I want to hear...)
The music of John Coltrane is breezing into the study...
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