The Order of Words and The Heart of Light

 

Occurs not 

The transformation negativa

Yet, because

It's still the intellect

 

Why, this intellect

So strong it be

Remains the truth,

Cunning, persuasive,

Story of who?

 

The knowing beatitude,

Smiling in freedom

Toward we does it glance

O laughing one,

O laughing one!

I feel taunted

But your space,

Endless in expanse,

Does reach thru me,

It does

 

Irony, so powerful,

Yet subtle,

A soap bubble like,

Yes, a soap bubble like

 

If words be broken,

 

Broken be words,

 

Then what thru shines?

 

Shines what does thru?

 

This vast expanse,

 

It calls,

 

Voice with not,

 

Already here.

 

Yes, here.

 

Al ready

 

.

 

MS21

 

 

The White-Crowned Sparrow

 

 

The bright melodious call

Sat in stark contrast to the

Surprisingly mundane warm greys

 

The whirlpool of electrostatic

Vibrations tingling the air

With lively song

Remained as always

In clear invisibility

 

One's penetrating glare and the

Perked ears did entreat strongly

But Nature's want of concession

Remained motionless

In sage-like austerity

 

As the focus faded softly,

Diffusing gently into the vast arena,

Only the reflection was left—

A translucent memory,

A depthless sheet of wobbling glaze

Standing quiet in feeble fragility

Yet so enduring it be,

Teetering on the edge

Between matter and light

 

In swift retreat,

The totality of memories were

Left twinkling in crystaline fragments

Like leaves of the aspen,

(Yet devoid of pigment)

Quivering on the verge of disappearance

Falling away, further still,

 

The specks of shimmering light

Reminded of stars in the

Vastness of space

And at last, the breath

Returned in Life-giving purity

 

The colours reappeared in 

Their homogeneous delight

 

Nature's symphony resumed in

Its haunting harmony

And variegated similarity

 

The inaudible wail

Rang through the cosmos

Sending atoms shivering at the core

 

MS21

Children are Whole No.2

 

The sunlight broke through

The leaves in a fragmented pattern—

 

The hefty chuckle

Reverberated through the night air—

 

The question of "Why?" did arise

So piercingly, so suddenly—

 

"Why all this chaos? Why!?"

Again, the throaty laughter

Ejaculated in vibrations

Through the damp fog—

"Why is this happening?"

The incessant insanity,

The selfish pursuits,

The utter lack of wholeness—

 

The night was still and silent

Apart from the occasional

Dripping of condensed fog

Collecting on the colourless leaves—

 

Suddenly, the horrific roar

Of a 10 year old boy

Skidded through the sky

In an elongated stream

Of terror—

 

The shaken shrubs

Stood numb in disbelief

As their molecular constitutions

Slowly regained equilibrium—

 

The memory, though, did remain,

As all memories do,

In the cosmic eye,

The Knower of knowing—

 

"I hear your cry, young lad,

It has been registered, indeed.

You may not have the words,

But your protest is an honest one—

 

The injustice which prompted

Such violent outrage

Is mirrored in thee

O, young one—

A mirror you are.

Your service is acknowledged.

But heal you must,

For the greater wicked,

Is yet rampant—

Polish your mirror

And shine your reflection

Of all who pass,

So that they may see

Their true selves

Without distortion or blur—

 

And if the timing is right,

The memory of their childhood

May too arise, clear and undisturbed.

And they will heal and polish..."

 

MS21

 

 

 

Children are Whole No.1

 

The flame burns clear

With silent intensity,

Diffusing calcified clumps

Into impotent particles—

Sitting, standing, walking;

Here we are,

Smiling in glory,

Light and peace—

The horrible ideas,

Swirl within the mind

Like putrid mustard gas

Intent on harm and war—

The violence concedes not

To interior borders

And naturally the nations

Are their intensified selves—

The Earth is cracking

Like a dried desert floor,

From aeons of strife and pain—

The Cosmic joke

Permeates space

And matter alike,

And infuses ironic

Humour in sin as well—

The wars will only end

When children born free

See the mistakes of their fathers,

The blindness of their mothers—

Tradition is perpetuation,

Liberation is clarity,

The space to see afresh,

Anew, the beauty of people,

The Love and joy of life—

Empowered children,

Unharmed by the grown,

In Love and wisdom,

May emerge Clear.

MS21

Behind the Words - Part 3 of 3: Renewed Life

Renewed life—

Our mountain climb, 

No longer tinged

With acidic melancholy

And regretful dread

Of the state of the world,

But with true liberation—

 

Humankind as one,

Arisen from the shadows

Of blind strife and futile

Swipes, to the quenching

Abandonment of old rags

And infested slime—

Breathing anew—

Our primordial connection,

Now glowing with Life,

Never looking back

To dead memory

And sorrowful prison,

For this too has ceased

To exist. Its power retracted,

Now pulled and pushed

With the wild winds

On desert floors,

It floats around like 

Holy cloth disintegrating

Slowly into particles

So fine, again to dissolve in the great

Ocean of the cosmos.

A return to homogeneity,

Indeed are all condemned

To do. The inevitable end—

What has always been

And which is Now.

MS21

Behind the Words - Part 2 of 3: Love Ends Strife

 

How then can we fight

Each other with eyes closed

And with uninspired fury,

Engage in endless dispute

And battles of horror and rage?—

 

With insight, so too

Does anger cease,

For the Self is removed

From the robot of evil,

That which was constructed

By it's own nature and material,

The material of thought,

The material of separation.

 

The arms do drop

In silent surrender.

The Love, not of words,

Not of direction—a vector!,

But of clarity and peace—

Of clarity and peace.

 

We embrace as friends,

Our global share—

We laugh with Relief,

The first and last Relief.

 

MS21

 

Behind the Words - Part 1 of 3: That Which We Are

 

Even behind a condescending smile

Shines the Truth—

 

Behind the white or yellow teeth,

Behind a fit of insanity,

The rolling and gurgling brook

Swelling fast with heavy rain—

 

Then the senses are flooded too,

With premeditated propaganda,

Irresponsible or responsible

In design. The power of this media—

 

So engrossed we dive,

The instinct, magnetic,

We engage in a world of colours

And sound so bright and real—

 

The words, oh the words,

Abounding thoughts.

The endless waves

And rain does swallow—

 

Yet who is swallowed?

Not the victim to be sure,

For he is constructed

From these thoughts.

Like teeth eating teeth,

Quite impossible indeed—

 

Are we the Truth?

Our bright and shining Self?

The Watcher of the storm,

The Be-er of experience,

The Light of darkness—

 

Belief too gets flushed away

With thoughts,

As the old paint of uncertainty

Flakes off, revealing boundless

Space and timeless commotion—

 

How ironic! This Pure Absence

Has never been extinguished.        

How could it, when it is

Not material?

We already know,

This first and last truth,

How could we not?

For we are This,

And This is all. 

MS21