Pass me not, dear heavenly father lend us a divine charm, amongst the chorus, a seeker of the heavens and the earth
Be thy tranquility, glory be to thee, for the omniscience amongst lives and lived metaphorical whence mother earth
Within a streak of a solar pail , an evangelical fenugreek survived a homogenous homebound , a croon , knew me well
A vivid legit outfit , with silky soy within a divine boy arose, a call to an integrity, even whence banished to the deep
A wanderer outlast lasting for the traveler wanderlust , the whim, the outcry and an earnest beseech
A mirage and the unsatiable , a scenic enroute , this lone journey running lifelong a journey to reach
An ending to the day, an ending to the play, the twilight casted a hue , soon to be as truth be told
A mourner and a legend , a proper with a wretched pauper, a tremble about the brink of the unyeilding mundane.
"Where to begin , where to?" an uproar as the peace maker truce progressed
Rush to me, my reverie, humble my soul, rush to my soul, rush nearer to me!
A MONK WITH NO GOD
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Line of inquiry: “a homogeneous mass of consciousness, God as the all there is, mind cannot name, being both immanent and transcendent, living light intimate in heart aflame.”
not a god of names, but
the hum holding the cosmos together
the petrichor scent after rain
the miracle of conception and birth
the hummingbird’s beating heart
the quiet between my thoughts, as close as my own heart
the vastness between planets
it does not answer prayer
it is the prayer
a homogenous mass?
only to the mind that tries to comprehend it.
The multitudinous clenches of despair joust intermittently.
Make it hurt.
No witnesses. No empathy. Nor apathy. My stagnation.
The question of purposefulness has the inconsequential ringing of tinnitus banging in my noggin.
Who to bear witness?
Beyond “you,” I suppose...
Thou nameless, faceless, formless and ing omnipresent
God? Given my luck...
Crawling and flowing in my body - more so than my own blood - though never foreign. A homogenous mixture “we” are.
Invasive “you” are not.
Permeating and crushing my existence.
Not of me but never foreign, never.
“You” to bear witness.
My brain rackles with any and all manifestations of grief. How predictable.
Where are “you?”
Inside and outside and inside out and outside out - never foreign.
Take my life then.
Be not afraid. Take my life.
Make this invitation to a new aspiration of my decimation my proclamation.
The after-thought of symbolization, of matter, of merit-
Take my life
I am tired - tired - tired of this rigamaroo
Take my life. Take my breath.
“YOU!”
GIVE. IT. MEANING.
Fight the algorithms
that tell us what to do,
to make us predictable,
unoriginal and bankable.
Have you witnessed how
increasingly bland and homogenous
our lives are becoming?
Choose freedom
avoid the diaries of commerce
that riff on the ubiquity of apps
resist the reductive tropes
of our published and circulated,
perspective customer identities.
Fight the algorithms
with their embedded back-lot
familiarity, built around class
and consumerism.
Try to understand the
vague, inscrutable and
purposefully circuitous.
Or stop overthinking
and embrace liberating surrender.
That’s the path I’ve chosen.
.
.
The Gates by Da Vinci's Notebook
Talk Down Dijon
One day they gave a mighty global war,
The likes of which no man had ever seen.
The war was fought entirely by machine.
It lasted seven minutes and no more.
Two powers ideologically opposed
Created a mechanics' paradise.
They did not need to manufacture lies
Of how God's will and bias were disclosed.
No hero fell. No patriot died blessed.
No coward fled from hell with double scorn.
Homogenous battalions had been
In anonymity is power best.
It sounded like a million crashing trains,
Gouging limbs of steel and spurting oil.
It left a plain of black and battered soil
Strewn with plant and animal remains.
The war soon ran its course, and both sides lost.
Miscalculation made a lasting peace.
Neither side had wanted war to cease,
But neither side had thought about the cost.
I am each stone tossed around,
each droplet of sea mixed in,
pounding each stone, churning,
in time beating me smooth,
each impact, more homogenous,
trapped in the battle of land and sea,
an eternal ebb and flow,
crasshhh, another seamless brother,
broken in battle. Oh woe to
what was I, no more, lost,
treading on frequencies that can
carry I home, no longer anything but
the present, an old soul,
given new perspective in a shell
of life, born of a spore.
(Note: inspired by a shamanic walk with a friend in the dark of a winter’s night along a
stretch of wild and (nearly) untouched of Suffolk coastline.
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