Best Undifferentiated Poems
Surfing consciousness
Within the womb of existence
Sensations borne of resistance
Navigates spectrum of delight
As bestowed on soul’s sentience
Undifferentiated light
Enlivened by love, shining bright
Infuses in the void, intent
Creating a pulse, day and night
Innate to soul’s the bliss current
Exuberance effervescent
Both receptor and transmitter
Of love and light luminescent
09-May-2022
he who beholds the light within all the time
whose perception is undifferentiated
breathing in grace betwixt bliss beat’s chime
consciousness fulcrum in the void located
he who dwells in the moment free from fear
vibrant in stillness seeing God everywhere
viewing life as a dream which will disappear
dwelling in the heart as awareness self-aware
he who knows without doubt he is not body-mind
viewing organic form as an earth life interface
flame of bliss magnetism divine aligned
flowing orientation being release and embrace
he who feels from God and existence no distance
empowered with the power of bilocation
within whom there remains no shred of resistance
always remaining immersed in meditation
i am transformed. in what i see.
my eyes can not discern
as shapes melt and swirl
and break into dots --
merging with the Static.
i am transformed. in what i hear.
of overlapping rips of space itself
with the unyielding babel of humanity.
i hear everything and nothing
becoming one with the Hiss.
i am transformed. in what i touch.
my insubstantial hands stir turbulence
passing through scratchy mist.
the Dust drapes over me and through me.
i am infused with the smell of a million worlds.
i am transformed. in what i think.
of snippets of thought
impinging on me.
racing through my awareness
and memories of titillation.
i am arrested by efficiency and classification.
my mind gives over to the Context it can no longer fight.
i have been transformed.
in all my senses and in all my thoughts
i am conjoined with all Things.
i am Undifferentiated.
3
Pay attention!
Important chicken poetry coming up,
though no binary fantasies shall deconstruct
into raucous biddy enjambment.
4
Grandfatber always kicked Grandmother's chickens away
while he sat whittling under the Oak,
Those ruddy, Cherokee cheeks sweating even in the shade
as sweltering Carolina summers and bifocaled
old women melted him away in his seventies;
(Nothing heard by telephone,
cackling when he put the speaker to his mouth
or laid down to rest from the planting or harvesting,
On the flowered sofa
fussing with him to take off this boots,
putting The Liberty News under his feet);
But watching was Grandma's joy,
Haystack Calhoun and the Nature Boy,
wrestling on Saturday night
on the Philco black and white,
jumping up and jumping down
fists flying with each takedown;
Her fussing when he kicked her chickens--
He was a man of the Land not of the Leghorn;
Course he still cut off their heads for
Sunday dinners
with a whistle of his axe,
quick and clean;
So much better than Grandmother's
Flung blood and feathers,
The live body's flight
After wringing its neck.
(You really
Must take chickens seriously.)
5
Jesus,
my brother and I hated that rooster!
Mean!
I'll give you Mean!
Why that Leghorn from hell,
with the perfidious, featherless rear,
That wily old bastard,
laid for us kids from under the porch
flying at us spurs first
when we snuck out to play.
You had to admire his fierce
Protecting his brood
or just plain crazed for children's blood
maybe.
Therefore, I must insist
That you take chickens seriously.
6
The greatest chicken lit will not be televised,
but written by neurotic poultry
flirting with free verse
or thrown helplessly into concrete idioms,
wallowing in dirt-poor sentience;
Dissertations
on the identity crises of Rhode Island Reds
and the propensity of White Leghorns
to transfer insecurities of undifferentiated
consciousness
as violence enacted on certain small children
will be written but will probably not help chicken poetry endure.
7
Yet,
I pledge allegiance to the celebration of chicken poetry,
And the underappreciated poultry for which it stands,
One species, flightless but enduring,
With free range and corn for all.
Fate Of Mankind...
(this prognosticator ordains,
which if came to pass no brains)
necessary to impress any
goo goo dolls, nor swains!)
Cited in crosshairs of thermonuclear warfare
quite an about face from bursts of creativity,
yet omnipresent palpable threat everywhere
unlike sangfroid hermitage within Abbey air
habitués hosting religious peacemongers care
ring about spiritual well being, nsync by prayer
regular quotidian discipline dissociating scare
re: global apocalyptic genocidal holocaust sear
ring significant sinister malevolent electioneer
macabre mushroom clouds vitiating atmosphere
burnt offerings charred flora and fauna cohere
glommed together undifferentiated pulverized
conglomeration bespeaks devastated biosphere
survivors (if any) few and far between gallows
humor, sans mockery former Amazon billionaire
irrelevant wealth superfluous banked nightmare
*****sapiens like mummified zombies blinded by
light, eclipsed contaminated heavily sheltering sky
succor solemn deliverance bombed appallingly revere
inescapable damn earth bottled genii raiment austere
foretold prophecy regarding Doomsday clock spare
ring extra crispy char broiled ribs aplenty profiteer
awaiting her/him able to make a killing apprenticed
savvy entrepreneur opportunity, though no cashier
to pay, hence former Trumpeting strictly volunteer
job with bone fried benefits superior than Medicare
accompanied by death as fine companion buddy sincere
need not be grave concern, so minus annihilation and air
choking stench, viz total extinction moonscape sphere
flora obliterated only scorched landmarks thoroughfare,
humongous bajillion shades of gray cremated vaporware
vague hint former edifice Taj Mahal wanting consigliere
so opportunities galore to look as smoking hot fleshpot
overactive imagination helpful to conjure all in the
family Maude Lynn good times MASHup of yesteryear!
What price soars too high
for your integrity investment
in future's hope and present faith
to regenerate more love?
Could your well-fed cost
invest too high
for further return on life
enriching present
predicting a more therapeutic future,
healing dark memories
of this still angry stress-filled past?
Or perhaps more likely
to divest of integrity's potential
thereby further empowering angers past
and future fears of life's short sane seasons
of contentment.
Sometimes we are too preoccupied with counting costs
to even consider if we could afford
not to invest everything we are in love
re-infesting past win/win faith
and future hope
in passionate pleasures
sung and danced
For SunLight/EarthPower sacred relationships,
cooperative ecological thoughts
reliving sacred EarthTribe feelings
of warmly contented
spacious
mind/body undifferentiated
unconditional climaxing experiences
of EarthMuse
personal/political integrity.
Time stretched stillness
And vibrant emptiness
Enables clear cognition
Of the in between state
Just before deep sleep
Wherein dreams cease
Since thought flow ends
Yet awareness is poised
As witness consciousness
In the void of no-thingness
When formless presence
Choicelessly then chooses
To meld with That oneness
Enlivening itself by intent
Of undifferentiated I-ness
Recognising the noumena
Causation of phenomena
Thus singularity and duality
Being but manifestations
Of the same unified reality
Reverberating as Spanda
29-April-2022@
Notes:
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Turiya
https://hridaya-yoga.com/spanda-the-sacred-tremor-of-the-heart/
Where awareness walks wearing illusion,
Nor head is held high, nor is knowledge free,
Truth’s hardly whole and suffers division,
In such a place one looks but can’t much see.
Where illusion's a default alt of world,
Where info bytes, not wisdom, weapons wield,
Truth's seldom whole, but be this or that bird,
A part looks whole that fetches no full yield,
Eternal does this twain dance in twilight,
Mind seems muddled under here or there lore,
And sees things as black or white, wrong or right,
Truth scarce arrives, stuck on a far off shore.
Rejoice that world has photon’s better bet,
That lives a whole life yon of this or that.
_____________________________________________
Science tells us: Photon can be present at two places at the same time. It has incredible awareness to mutate from a wave (or energy) to particle (matter), a quantum mystery! But human mind suffers from this-or-that paradigm: wave or particle, day or night…, a puzzle incomprehensible when complete! Computer accepts 0 or 1. Human mind is not much better. On the other hand, holistic awareness is non-dual, the undifferentiated whole. This sonnet goes on a wonderment trip on the wings of these facts.
Sonnets | 07.05.2022 |
Unity Consciousness Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Unseeking Seeker
20.4
“Where is the unfolding of karma?
Where is liberation-in-life,
or even liberation at death?
There is only One”
Verse revisited on 14-September-2022
When fully undifferentiated is our awareness
Fully integrated with God consciousness
There then remains no separate doer
And God alone is the divine mover
In which case feeling complete
Vaporised self is bliss replete
Knowing that God alone is
Felt within as a bliss fizz
However for the deluded
Duality reality as concluded
Even if glimmers of truth are seen
The soul has acquired not lustrous sheen
Thus attention oscillating between body and soul
Consciousness not quite God’s light we extol
Challenges of earth life’s learning curve
Oft mitigates soul’s gusto and verve
Law of cause and effect stern
Rotates life roles until we so learn
That all are one and the truth is love
Enabled when head-heart hand in glove
In resonance with enlivening throb of bliss
When our heart truthfully exclaims ‘I Am This!’
Until then oh weary hermit, it’s work in progress
As the pulsations of love divine slowly make ingress
K379 and K380 of Canto XXXVIII of the THIRUKKURAL, Translated with Commentary
(Just a note on the translations to say that, even if G.U. Pope did more to research and elucidate the THIRUKKURAL, his translations - with some exceptions - bent on rhyme and stilted structure, require further interpretation and are sometimes needlessly obscure.
W. H. Drew and John Lazarus's translations are generally quite clear, but tend sometimes towards needless expatiation. In my own rendering, I have tried to keep to the semantic ordering and grammatical structure wherever possible.
Lest non-Tamils unfamiliar with the Kurals think that the author Thiruvalluvar also used punctuation marks found in the translations, would do well to note that Tamil writers of yore never had this bother to cope with. Besides, as Pope points out, the short and long vowels like "o" and "O" were undifferentiated in the original; now and then however the dot over the "l" (there are three in the Tamil alphabet) was used to indicate the use of "l" as "ela" or "la".) T. Wignesan
K379: nanraangkaal nallavaak kaanpavar
anraangkaal allal paduvathu evan
When good things come, men view them all as gain,
When evils come, why then should they complain? ( Transl. G.U. Pope)
How is it that those, who are pleased with good fortune, trouble themselves
when evil comes (since both are equally the decree of fate)? (Transl. Drew & Lazarus)
When everything goes well, we tend to enjoy life (for what it is worth);
When things take a turn for the worse, why should we whine? (Transl. T. Wignesan)
K380: uulin peruvali yaavula matruonru
cuulinum thaanmunth thurum
What powers so great as those of Destiny? Man's skill
Some other thing contrives; but fate's beforehand still. (Transl. G.U. Pope)
What is stronger than fate? If we think of an expedient (to avert it), it will itself
be with us before (the thought). (Transl. Drew & Lazarus)
Is there force mightier than fate? It will forestall the very thought of one who tries to dodge it. ( Transl. T. Wignesan)
© T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017
The emancipation proclamation of incarceration
has got me defacing public property, with words like
don't shoot, or i can't breathe.
So say can you see by the dawns early blue and
red lights, illuminating another crime site.
Melanin enriched lives carelessly taken from others,
unknowing today is the last day of life.
Just another deposit added to the treasure trove
of injustice.
Closely monitored by the blind eyes of authoritarians,
utilizing legislation of codification with invisible ink.
Visual images of atrocity captured in the day and the
darkness of night.
The demise of those in custody, reports backed up
falsely.
Freedom tarnished by the guise of the guardians
of dishonesty.
Giving deluded delusions diluted of substance
as truth.
Confident in the ignorance of the masses, and
ability to marshal the herd.
In due course, the end of all things as was
is inevitable.
Willfully, naturally, or by the measure of any
means necessary.
Consistent shoves, and pushes and jostling, the
posterior is against the wall.
Countless days, weeks, months, years, decades,
centuries pent up.
The mantle of oppression shall divide under pressure,
most abrupt.
Eruptions of pyroclastic flows from pain, hurt, betrayal,
slavery, murder, and poverty.
Ghosts of the cotton fields saying don't forget,
remember me.
No longer echoes of a wanted to be forgotten
past.
But a beacon for the future, free at last,
free at last.
Dare to dream, to hope, to succeed and pursue
happiness.
Epidermal pigmentation no longer judgements
catalyst.
But the road to opportunities for sharing lifes
differences.
Only to discover that we are all undifferentiated.
Trees are still different
in form and detail,
arboreal identity may occasionally
float like a falling seed
into recollection; a mismatch between
a willow and a redwood for instance -
nevertheless,
trees no longer stand, rooted
in specialness just oneness.
I drove through a river of cars,
my mind shearing away
from citing models and make.
Inside the cars and trucks were faces;
again thought refused to cling
to these passing things
but left all such
pass-by
in a slipstream of anonymity.
The world of the named
has exhausted itself,
it is now emptying out.
The seen washes itself
in a boundless rivering.
Mind looks through faces, trees,
and all the traffic of life
as if newborn.
Clouds in a turning sky
know not what to call themselves
or even what they turn within.
The ghost of Harriet Harris abhor real
disillusioned, disenchanted,
and disembodied (incorporeal
spirit of mine late mother) doth feel
displeasure toward this sole son seal
ling himself most every day inside
the one bedroom flat, a bargain deal
asper costs pegged to monthly
social security disability as sole
income intended to support me,
and the missus, who does not troll
the internet for employment,
and in fact exhibits no goal
to supplement marginal roll,
out sans unearned income, especially now,
(no surprise I wanna be a bachelor)
cuz finances teeter on cusp of red hole
mainly whereby two sizable
automotive costs (within a
six plus month period) sunk me soul,
and psyche on the point
of despair, where goal
to be alive undermined
nearly being penniless
and this communique not aiming to trawl
for sympathy, nor remuneration,
which latter would definitely draw scowl
upon countenance of eldest daughter completes
University study (housed with her eminent beau
within city of brotherly love), awl
so this papa disinclined to apprise her
meager finances put me the dole
drums mainly aforestated a cup pull
of hefty car repairs
spurs impetus to burrow self like a mole
whiling away hours of each twenty four hour
listening...perhaps for me the bell will toll
(at long last mitigating this
deplorable strait no life atoll
where today hard pressed
upon Highland Manor knoll,
and basically undifferentiated from yesterday),
budget restrictions limit choices, hence I stay
inside, where the brutal cold oye vey
also contributes preference
to remain comfortable at
60?Fahrenheit until April or May
solitary (trivial) purrs hoots
occupy time, to allay
writing, reading, meditating,
exercising... staves off ennui
until...these lovely bones turn brittle,
and shock (wave) of brown hair turns gray.
Initially, an attempt
sought regarding Das scribe,
yours truly donning checkerboarded rawhide
collared, cuffed oversize raiment, pride
and prejudice obscured
courtesy hand-me-downs
couture also decking out
alley oop trapeze artist bride
of Frankenstein grooming in attendance
with her bonafide
circus motley crew, a veritable
monster mish mashup
happenstance didst decide
unlike traditional feted newlyweds
swingers airborne did only abide.
The law of gravity aerial
pas de deux bodies airborne
aloft pledging their respective troths sworn
fleeting suspended animation while shorn
infinitesimally of Earth's pull
only expert can playfully scorn
accomplishment courtesy no greenhorne
neophytes in utero umbilical cord,
taking root as metaphorical acorn,
thus unbridled and groomed skill inborn
burst out the womb like heated popcorn
snapped up since birth well worn
genes Ringling Brothers and
Barnum & Bailey circus practiced morn
till night stunts became second nature
encore performance no matters bodies outworn.
Curtain Call now doth close
unrehearsed poetic gambit,
cuz yours truly tuckered out I suppose
ready to take his doze
zee dough into dreamland, expose
zing oft times confused
with dark shadow of outer limits
of twilight zone, where me lovely bones froze
where sudden night mare arose
gripping courtesy rigor mortis head to toes
daunting wordsmith champion
manifestation of daily woes.
Suddenly me clutched
by melancholic despair
somnambulantly where
countless tomb morrows tramp
scarcely undifferentiated from yesterday's care
wracking psyche with wrath plus fear
at accursed purposelessness near
faux sing myself regarding pas
city to emulate good cheer.
The world sings Your praise
Says You were born in a stable
To where a bright star showed the way
To wanderers of the desert
They sing carols and make new ones
Year after year every Christmas
All that is nice and sweet to hear
But Lord I have another reason
To sing out aloud
The greatness of Yours
I am no Christian by birth
Neither have I lent my ears
To missionaries who preach
And invite the world to their feuding folds
My country had a leader
Whom Your life influenced
And he put what he knew of You into practice
To free us from perilous bondage
Made us truly recognize
How You chimed with our ancient nascence
He is the Father Of Our Nation
None else in the world I think
Had the strong conviction he had
That Your teachings can be PRACTISED
My country therefore owes a lot
To You, Jesus Christ,
And to You we truly belong
Oh, guide us Divine Light
And illumine the world
Let us celebrate Christmas
To usher in an era of peace
In which the whole creation can rejoice
Unbound, without fetters and barriers
In the bosom of true Christ Consciousness
Undifferentiated Oneness