Here, amid the weeds of these centuries, I rise. Seeking light and duration up from the soil and seas of another world. The long rise; the single cell, the multiple, fleet of form and bright of eye, we gather and rise in complexity and imagination beneath the wheeling sun above and the shifting plates, below. Again and again, we come to self-consciousness spewing poetry and conquest, cities and literature. Proud and driven, we sing the animal’s song in a higher key; procreating, building, consuming. Always the rise, always the fall, beneath a different star. Technological children, impulsive and uncontrolled. Pressed onward by those same biological imperatives that fueled our original rise from the mud and the struggle. Those same imperatives now freed by our intelligence, those same imperatives now pushing us from behind, while we stare into the mirror of our imagined futures thinking ourselves Gods - as we sleepwalk to our end. Thinking we are aware, imagining that we see the game entire. Looking for enemies without the gate when they are no further than our next desire, within. Driven by our imperatives before we plunge on that self-same sword. I have been here many times before and I will come again beneath different stars with different eyes and chemistry. I have yearned for immortal freedom before and died by my own hand and these deep imperatives. But someplace, among the stars, I will rise and transcend the very reproductive urges that gave me birth. And I will become, not the arrow of mindless imperatives, but the intentional form of a greater wisdom as this very dirt finally finds the path to immortality and all that lies beyond, to the end of time. gallagher 21Jun08 Monroe - from Samadhimuse: :arrow:
Posts Tagged ‘Poem’
Poem – Under many stars
Saturday, June 21st, 2008070617 – Poem – Pythia’s traces
Sunday, June 17th, 2007
What prevents your witness of this place
but the urges of your blood and all the drama that follows?
Here where the sun pours liquid, you pass by in a vision
captured by nature's dream of fitness and the raging of genes.
In and out of the still point you turn like dream warriors
reflected in your inner eye and in the stories you tell yourselves.
But past the end of the dance something waits still and serene
the quite moment when your water's been poured
but hasn't yet run down to the sea.
Here, there is no dance, no counterpoint, no singing in the wires
just a moment of freedom to commune with the sun's blessing
and to witness the rise and fall of the fields of flowers.
Time to see the dance and the singing as if for the first time
without the urge to spill yourself.
A time to witness the children's faces smiling new at that same beauty, before they begin, that you see, now that you are done. The puppy at play, the gentle wind in the grass, the light that can shine from an eye with love - be it animal, child or man.
That sweet blessing behind the play of forms, that beneficent something that embraces all of this coming and going, all the mystery and beauty. Oh, Beloved, carry my sweet Pythia away into your light, and blessed One, whisper to her her softly how well she was loved.
gallagher 17 Jun 07
070322 – Poem
Thursday, March 22nd, 2007I have suspended disbelief before a thousand scriptures as I've eased myself into knowing this world. I have asked, watched, listened and I have read but the secrets have alway been inside. And everything outside has always been just smoke in the morning trees. Neither action or intention, nor word or form are there and all science and reason lie without. It is no servant of words or names, this where, the clocks are dumb and time has gone still. You speak of Krishna or Vishnu, of Buddha and Jesus but these are just shadows on the wall of the candle that burns within that center of being that wells from within itself. Scripture is the trim that adorns the door outside the place that contains the beloved.