Throb of rapture borne by bliss divine aligns
the energy grid within, as a seamless
whole, whence formless presence sees God in plain sight …
truth words may not name.
How may sages speak of this, save in symbols
muddled, huddled, allusions, pointing whilst yet
holding back the truth which may not be conveyed …
known to our soul’s eye.
Kismet’s hand stretches the fabric of creation;
Ichor of the gods entwines with auric fields,
Numinous ideas become our inspiration;
Deeply planting the ascension seeds.
.
from the begin'n
front your
past mine think
through mine
digits
'pon theze
slips
her verbose
'bout mine
know
cauzed mine greatest
allusions
Given that existence is a seamless whole,
separated by invisible membranes,
each packet of consciousness in its life role,
to expand awareness, against this veil strains
and thus we may recognise space too as such,
cognised in staid stillness by single eye’s touch,
amazed to behold light piercing through its pores,
mirrored at our core, on opening truth’s doors.
Esoteric mountain
The track leading up to the mountain
that had no spire but was as flat as a prairie
in Idaho, dark soil and spuds
My faithful dog refused to follow
preferred to hang around at slopes
she looked worried
On reaching the topless mountain
the sun was hot and had a dizzy spell
before passing out, I saw a mule
Someone carried me the stream's
nascent, pure water for me to drink
I found a lump of sugar in my pocket
I looked around and saw no humans
but heard the murmur of a whisper
from hearty, green grass gossiping
When rested, walked down and
found a bar with a neon sign in red
mystified, I thought of ill omen
In the salon, I told the barman what
had occurred, he visibly paled and said
leave the unseen ghosts alone
They are a choir that disappeared on
on a field trip a hundred years ago
at night, they sweetly sing for us
Coming out of the den, the dog waited
and led the way to the main road, but
what was the mule trying to tell me
there’s a cavity in my head
which is connected to source
bliss borne in toroidal heart
enlivens the void using no force
The modern world is an awe-choice saturation
Of stuffness and people,
A punguage,
An allcode,
The hash of all cyphers, nodes and codices
Ever scribed, wrote and written,
Bitten off, stolen or torn,
The mash of all knowledge,
The thrash of all oars televisual,
The splice of all strings
From one edge of time to the other,
The open oeuvre of everything,
An omnithought of toot,
The sum of all inflexions,
Ancient and phonetic,
Yet provisional,
A mighty metaforest pointing
To the centre
Of you know what.
Chakra or wheel, rotates with God’s power
and thus was energised a hidden node,
between medulla and bindu, shower
of grace inaugurated its abode.
We validate truth for others who seek,
for it’s a lonely path we walk upon,
in elixir supreme, dipping our beak,
with each life breath, ushering a new dawn.
The happenstance struck, in our waking state,
so in our narration, there’s no error,
more so since the bliss spin did not abate,
God’s love and light being the torch bearer.
In truth each pore of form is living light ~
God Himself steers our path, so it’s alright
In the dead half of night, when the dark is too still,
The Sacred Meow Society convenes to court thrill,
A council of cats, with eyes all ablaze,
With ancient importance through worlds they liaise.
They gather in secret, beneath high moon's light,
Muted meowing their own regal rite,
Discussing the mysteries of yarn and of death,
And the ways of the world, and new cures for fish breath.
With flicks of their whiskers and fur shining bright,
They purr of appeasements and secrets at night,
And though their language we cannot speak,
Their power and presence we constantly seek.
For this feline committee is more than just cats,
It's a connection to something, that goes beyond that,
A reminder of mystery, it's woven in life,
That enigmas and horrors exist next to strife.
Keep your ears open along with your eyes,
For ominous mews from which fright fills the sky,
And know that the cats, who gather in peace,
Are a reminder of darkness, that never does cease.
Spark of God consciousness within our form,
anchors us herein through waking and sleep,
felt within our chest, a benign bliss storm,
voice of conscience, offering wisdom deep,
source of aliveness, from where joy does seep.
Neither the organ nor pranic chakra,
spiritual heart is an enigma,
located slightly right, in our rib cage,
God Himself here, cleansing our soul stigma,
urging us to love all, on this world stage.
Know oh hermit, in this form organic,
God omnipresent, is also within,
energy both static and dynamic,
from core of being, to each pore of skin,
causation for each life breath to begin.
Simple life truths, we choose not to explore,
enmeshed in desire, seeking more and more,
whilst if we nestle in tranquil silence,
by our hand we open hidden hearts door,
reclaiming souls blissful luminescence.
11-July-2021
On starry nights the tabbies walk
in shadow lands of harmonic balance,
for tabby cats of orange descent
shine their light amid moon-glow.
Psychic cats in other world duty
see with eyes that pierce through night;
where stalking shadows are just plain spooky
orange striped spirits calm the fright.
Every living being that exists
has its’ very special purpose;
orange stripes of these shamanists
imprison evil that might resurface.
Feline specters in dew-laden mists
offer up their spiritual energies;
for earth’s protection they persist
in guarding Gaia’s spiritual seas.
A node between Bindu and Medulla
brightens, enlivened by the bliss current,
tangoing in tandem with the Ajna,
while spacial heart looks on in contentment,
at ignition defying containment.
The energy path is mysterious,
unmistakable and continuous
in the pulsations within manifest,
myriad prismatic hues beauteous,
as purring bliss reaches for higher crests.
23-February-2021
Neither Black Nor White
David J Walker
Neither chimeric nor recondite
The world remains the world
In either black or white
In neither phase of reds nor grays
Or esoteric plight
As one by one
The caprician conjurations
Take to flight
The world is neither
Black nor white
What sage who ever came
could ever come again
just to trace dusty steps
he paced within his den.
To ponder worldly truths
to figure them for lies
and spit sour blades of grass
between his sorrowed sighs.
To kneel to pray to cry
to a God without name
and move in tattered robes
which cloak his fragile frame.
Where is this wisest one
who keeps secure the key
one that leads to our worlds
he’ll be where he will be.
That that is within, veiled by gross matter.
Gaps of purity, here and there, windows,
allowing glimpses divine light scatters.
Cognisance of soma nectar that flows,
taking us in deep from earthy shallows.
The light divine burrows from inside out,
erasing ego blockages that do grout,
anchoring attention in stagnation,
as captive to habits, we go about.
Feel, oh hermit, throb of bliss ignition!
07-November-2020
Related Poems