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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required "...The Secret of the Golden Flower is not only a Taoist text of Chinese yoga but also an alchemical tract. (...) it was the text of The Golden Flower that first put me in the direction of the right track." C. G. Jung "The Golden Flower alone, which grows out of inner detachment from all entanglement with things, is eternal." Richard Wilhelm does it bloom in the subatomic quark neuron a flower petals deranged burning with green rage dark firmament pullulating infinitesimal quasars unpeeling layers of nuclear fusions fissions the blue-blackish greenish-blue haze is this the eye looking at the eye which I between the crushed ajña-eyebrows under eyes straining to envelope reality from afar spotty bright grains pulsating in a velvety ink-blue-black throbbing screen thoughts racing forwards and backwards in time childhood slights deprivations unrevenged hurts throbbing thriving on treacherous jabs by of-all beings friends those who profit from taken-for-granted confidences the women who dun-you-in thoughts of a nature to make you hate fate then the pulsating roving churning dismembering coalescing screen dissolves and in the pale fringey opening white furry stripes on the blue-black greenish bulgey bed of velvet whose I lights the frigid fire burning dynamo whose eye shrivels reopens brightens what is it an eye which stares shrinks sharper by the fractioned second closes and opens again and again till the pinpoint galactic blackholing centre bigbangs the myriad diamondlights buoyed on a myriad-petalled dryburning flowering sun shedding golden glory expelling all thought or is it mere doubt the intense unrelenting feeling of is it joy or a fumbling stolen fear the mental orgasmic relief the sense of deep other knowing power come face to face refreshing retreading the worn-out neuron paths then the return after the wearinesses or is it nonplussednesses to this world to words to wars to waste to wickedness a world without wonder without womb a world dying dead a tomb see only what you should see words see only what eyes make belief even when words don’t mean what they see © T. Wignesan - Paris, July 3, 1997[Revised May 2003] -from longhand notes: a binding of poems. 1997
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