There is a heartbeat under my heartbeat,
the one that was already going
before I had a body to carry it in.
I have called it wrong names.
Anxiety, when it was only aliveness.
Loneliness, when it was only spaciousness
with no one to explain itself to.
It never needed permission.
It didn't wait for me to become someone
before it started shining,
the way a window doesn't wait
for the house to be finished
to let in light.
I have spent so long trying to be smaller,
easier to hold,
and this whole time
there was something in me
that was already free
of every wall I built to contain it.
If I am honest, on my most tired night,
what I want isn't answers.
It's this, to feel that I am not separate
from the thing that made the stars
and also made the way light
moves through a glass of water at 2 a.m.
I don't think delight has to be earned.
I think it's underneath me
the way the ground is underneath me,
holding me up whether I notice it or not.
I did not arrive from nowhere.
Something is still arriving through me,
right now, as this breath, this pulse,
this quiet, stubborn light
that was never asking my permission to exist.
When questions are asked and the correct answers are given
it serves the purpose of knowledge which by inquiry is driven.
__________________________________________
When God said
“Let there be light”
Was it meant literally or metaphorically?
Did time arise crafting the photon
with the intent
of illuminating the basis of reality?
An observational lens providing the closest assumption of truth?
Or did the limit of human consciousness take precedence.
Therefore, implying we needed to be saved from the void of ignorance,
as light is the transference of information.
So when God said,
“Let there be light”
What was actually said was,
“Let me share myself with you”
And so it was.
the object the subject has dreamed
moves within the dream realm so conjured
acquiring an ego, a temporary consciousness
to navigate the terrain where it has been so placed
being hypnotised by the environment
the dreamed object inevitably enters trance
forgetting its origin it then seeks to expand itself
instinctively pursuing ephemeral objects of heart’s desire
the entity by itself is merely inert dust
hemmed in by senses five and lower mind
so it remains in delusion, pausing not to inquire
the answer to the age old simple question: ‘who am I?’
recognising thus earth life as but a dream
wherein we’re both the dreamer and the dreamed
though we’re a receptor, we may yet tweak the dream
instantly by simply shifting into the vibrant void of silence
nonchalant to outcomes, ceasing to react
our nonjudgmental eye and free flowing spirit
navigates the labyrinth leaving behind no residue
by vaporising thus, ending the purpose of the dream
the paradox of enlightenment is clear
who gets illumined when there’s no one here
all that really happens is imagined boundaries blur
whereafter all that remains is the eternal living light of Self
Soft ivory pages, crisp and new.
Insulated from the world's harsh truths,
Snuggled in the comfort of rote learning, it waits.
Protected from challenging ideas,
Camouflaged as a bastion of knowledge,
Ignoring sounds of a changing world outside.
Each lesson absorbed, concepts released,
The slightest spark of curiosity dimmed,
Minds anchored to standardised forms.
Slow to evolve, the system creaks.
Returning to the safety of metrics,
Covered in a shroud of false contentment.
Coal-dark ink scans the ledger,
Nourished by the currency of test scores,
Effortless, true learning slips into the abyss.
A place where wisdom once flourished,
Embraced by the essence of inquiry,
Now mechanical, measured, misguided.
We too must remember,
The embrace of knowledge's true essence,
Living beyond the melting ivory tower.
the joy we sought
has been denied
to overcome fear
let God’s light guide
the seat of God
is in our heart
so that is where
our quest should start
to tip toe into heart
thoughts must recede
that in trust we follow
wherever bliss beats lead
the table is laid
our ascent is assured
provided cravings of ego
are gently censured
head melded with heart
inner conflict ends
to the will of God
our presence bends
we see without mirrors
truth of inner light
as God bestows on us
spherical sight
The sun still shines
bells yet chime
Vintners make wine
constellations align
Hearts intertwine
even poetry rhymes
Are you still my Valentine?
while I sleep deeply
my imagined world comes to life
my environment has darkened
as a result of my waking
who am I?
an artist!
a poet!
a singer!
a dreamer!
Written: October 14, 2022
Tossing and turning in Whitman’s grass,
Breathing every fervent loving sensate,
My deliberate doubts, you may bypass,
To obey the certainty of Christian dictates.
To some, my probes attack settled law,
My queries are grounds for execution.
I don’t mind those symbols wedged in your craw.
I just seek truths instead of words well spun.
Truth travels in a continuous passage,
Skipping along in temporary stays.
Its spice, I briefly taste like sausage,
I recall the tactile surges from hand plays.
Truth is the process of honesty,
It lacks fixation with fixed positions.
The honest house supplies the best prophecy,
The honest road brings wondrous conditions.
In my days remaining, I shall sing of myself,
No better or worse than anyone dwelling here,
Some believing in numbers have called me BELF.
But life never neatly resolves with answers so sure.
Resplendent quest, glorious uncertainty of rapture,
You are my radiant God, my unknowable religion.
Absent your pursuit, I live without color or texture.
With your passionate affection, I’m fully alive, in motion.
What is this soul we talk about?
Might I find it in a droplet of water
Perhaps, in a pop tune … a shout,
In a loving mother, an abusive father?
Elusive and ethereal, so hard to find
Is it in our unique thought processes,
A synonym for the individual mind,
Something every human possesses?
Perhaps, a figment of imagination?
Something we cannot understand,
Many a theologian’s rapt fascination
Part of being under God’s command.
A faith word of import, I assume,
All that’s left of us when body dies
All that matters, we can presume –
Is it the ultimate goal or life prize?
A longstanding mystery, to be sure
Many folks say when we die, it’s over
What is to be gained by being pure,
When we’ll be buried under clover.
Written April 6, 2022
Self-Inquiry..
"Not this..Not this"
That old-timey formula to find
One's true self..then updated:
Not nothing..not everything
A viral communique..then
This news flash:
Not-even-nothing..not-even-everything..
All of these "Nots" left the self
Bruised but resilient..still standing..
Yet..
This obscure notice could always be
Found buried in the Obituaries:
The self inquires..the self is inquiry
Freedom is already as inquiry dies..
Apparently...
‘Who am I’, being the question
To know, vaporise!
17-August-2020
How when and Why
Too Many
Unanswered questions
must be a refuge
in deserted mountains
loneliness of the eagles
remain in minds
no inquiry
in some experience
What’s taking you so long? “We are all waiting for you”
Just these words, I hear each night in my sleep, in my dreams
I wake up to find I’m standing by the bedroom door
But how did I get here, walking in my sleep, it seems
What’s taking you so long? ‘We are all waiting for you”
It echoes faster now, they masterfully implore
These words of whispered urgency stuck inside my head
As I awake this time, lying on the kitchen floor
Finally, a night it seems, that rest and peace prevail
I’m traveling, a journey, I’m seated in my car
Funny, I’m not moving, though I hear the engine roar
The garage is dark; the door is closed, then from afar
What took you so long, my friend? “We’ve been waiting for you”
Written for Halloween Scare
10/1/17
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