Where My Soul Song Can Sigh

how long have I been carrying this world?
I cannot know answers that I’ve never heard
but it seems like it began lifetimes ago.

for I have created its art with my struggles,
the woes of those who similar have suffered
friends who enjoy the agony that’s my mother.

yet by this heaviness my arms are now giving,
all the universe is tumbling to its sinking
landing into those who in gravity will stay.

I cannot remember the soul fragments felled
for I never saw the whole I once eagerly held
eyes never seeing truth, by salty tears swelled

but now I’ve lost all my effort and my will
to advertise this my pain, to decorate my kills
so here I alone remain wondering, floating, still

being from where I imagine the monsters receding
light receiving whatever my dark ocean did hide
that I long to be where my soul song can sigh

To Be What is True

they wrote down yoga that you might remember,
not that you might know and teach the masses;

they didn’t care about scholars in white chairs
who in books allow their souls to be devoured

nor did they care about the acrobats of the fair,
who in mirrors allow their souls to become sour

no. wisdom is a memory of what’s brought to light
that the rest of us don’t forget our earthly plight

that you might remember to feel the brilliant sun
that you everywhere hear love of two that’s sung

rainy days give soft rhythm for your soul to drink
to dream what your parents never allowed you to think

I write this down that you might also remember you
to feel what cannot be written, to be what true.

Dreams of a Child

I can barely look upon what I was yesterday or years ago
though I believed by angels the pretty masks were worn
and I’d entertain them with poems to imitate their beauty
yet I was never any of them, not light, not even shadows
just a child’s dream, we adults are but dreams of a child

neither the dusk nor the rosy dawn nor the ghost was I
yet so many lies have filled my heart and feeble mind
I told myself in smiles that betrayed a true lover’s kind,
wiles more cunning than the rising and the falling stars,
identity more consistent than a sun’s eternal repertoire,
making me feel like being alive was half a lonely rhyme

soon will be the day of judgment and my kingdom come
a turning of the tide will arise against my makeshift home
to fall as the walls of towers in the great Flood’s storm
for the wild storm is my heart and soul writhing in pain
trying to pour Love into dreams too imaginary to contain.

What You’ll Be From Within

whispers as subtle winds stir memories to your mind
for even dead leaves dance by the earth’s deep sighs
while what is yet to be enlivened remains in darkness
not despair, my love, not the devil’s quickening fear
but wonder is the spark that will give you light here

and I am doing what I promised you only a year ago
bringing light to those places you’d never dare to go
your seeds of fire like the strange surface of the sun
I planted them here that you might feel as they come
tiny mirrors who might sing your soul’s true intention

for trees can’t provide what their seeds do not design
and your heart won’t find its beating in another’s time
but if you listen to the whispers of your own subtle winds
alone let them sweep the memories of ancient karmic sins
dead leaves to clear the way for what you’ll be from within

Sexuality: Truth or Fame?

 

Jesus replied, “Even if I testify about Myself, My testimony is valid, because I know where I came from and where I am going. But you do not know where I came from or where I am going. You judge according to flesh. I judge no one.

 

John 8:15

Poetry as Sexual Spells.There are certain poems whose words are not meant to be heard for their clever composition. They are instead symbols, like hieroglyphics, which, in their spellings, transmit an energy meant to be felt and recreated again and again upon each reading. Poetry, like music, is the art of spells and incantations and love-making. What does poetry and music wish to achieve? It wishes of course to find another to receive it, so that it might enter the other for self replication. This pursuit is as the nature of life and love itself. Union, replication, procreation, recreation, reincarnation: it doesn’t matter whether the poet/musician is still alive or long passed, the listener who resonates with the energy of the composer’s spells will receive that energy as a recognized force of consciousness. That energy which moves through the listener is palpable and powerful. And as a song is transmitted within the soul of the listener and welcomed there, it’s seeds are planted, to someday perhaps germinate into similar offspring.

Transmutation of Sexual Energy. The transference and recreation of energy over time and space is not to be confused with the temporal energetic emotional state and lusts of lovers. Emotional expression cannot alone carry itself beyond the moment of its expression. Lust is no match for unconditional divine love. Its end is quick, unstable, and unsubtle. Unconditional love, on the other hand, is a creative energy, an energy of consciousness that transforms a sudden outburst of tears into the tragedy of humanity, the longing of a young man or woman into the eternal quest for union with the beloved, the pain of death into the Iliad. There is a certain divine grace inherent in this divine love, for it saves us from being utterly consumed by what is by itself self-annihilating.

Canines.The general population experiences their sexuality as a physical experience like eating food or drinking. This is why the general population does not have an impact beyond temporal creation. From dust they arise and to dust they return. Still some of them are very attractive and well-groomed.

Pleasure.The modern world is an amazing place where dogs enjoy more comforts and privileges than most people in Africa. Most people, if you demanded of them the truth, would admit that a dog’s life is more enjoyable than their own.

Know the Beast. Most artists in the modern world seek to become popular amongst the general population. They will soon find out – when it is too late – that each moment spent trying to please the general population, is a moment that gets them even closer to homelessness – or worse – a desk job.

Temporal Recognition. Fame in the twenty-first century is temporary. As time goes on, it will get even more temporary. Many will blame this on technology or society at large. But the blame itself is misplaced and is itself a symptom of the true problem. The real problem is that most professional artists and wannabe artists have become attention and sexual whores.

Responsibility. Technology is an instrument not only for distraction but also for scapegoating. Not only does it allow us to abdicate our mathematical responsibilities, but also our responsibilities in regards to exercising the power of our own Will.

Only One. We don’t produce Shakespeares and Mozarts not because we are addicted to the Internet, but because Shakespeares and Mozarts have always been rare. But that is okay. These single individuals are blessed with a divine love and grace so powerful that they still empower and inspire us to this day. We just need one. Only one.

God is Alive. God is the source of all creativity. Nietzsche declared His death…and then resurrected Him. I have yet to meet someone who understands this. Instead, what we have are fools who refute God because they think God cares about arguments.

Justice. True philosophy has nothing to do with argument or self defense. Philosophy would actually have no function if the human world were not constantly in a state of imbalance and excess and – let’s face – utter stupidity. Philosophy has been and always will be justice, the enterprise whose goal it is to rebalance humanity or a section of humanity. A philosopher will poke holes in a previous philosopher’s arguments not because he is trying to prove the other wrong, but because rebalancing requires it. Students of philosophy will ignorantly imitate the actions and words of the philosopher, not understanding the power and energy and direction of those words. By the time students rummage through the old philosopher’s bones, his original words, concepts, ideas have already succumb to gravity. They have grown slow and ponderous, eventually collapsing into their own weight. The word “love” in the mouth of Socrates, for example is now so filled with every single aspect of affinity, sexual contact, emotional intimacy, etc that the word is virtually meaningless.

Romeo. The philosopher who is interesting in lovemaking, will make sure that he first refutes every definition of love he can find.

Canary in the Coal Mine. An artist cannot express from his heart and soul if his heart and soul is filled with lies and deceits. He can try of course, but he will find only limitation and difficulty. He would be the canary in the coal mine, but in a cave mine that is filled to the top with coal. That is why it is a good idea for every artist to constantly look to remove anything that keeps his heart from singing freely into open air.

Boredom. The general population will worship artists who excite their physical sexuality. Everything else is boring and pretentious like Rachmaninoff and Longfellow and Jesus.

Destiny. Artists must always answer this question: Do you desire fame or do you love truth? Who is your mistress? She will be your lover. She will be your destiny.

Trick Questions. Everything in life offers a trick question. Slow down. Listen. Contemplate. Then perhaps answer.