…if you gaze long into an abyss,
the abyss gazes also into you.
~Friedrich Nietzche
You haunt my nights like a beast of prey along
a tangled forest byway beneath a dark
and moonless sky, stars without candescent song
to orchestrate the dawn and ignite the spark,
chasing nightmare shadows into the abyss
of madness with not one day-lit thing amiss ~
as asylum nurses bring the daily dose
of magical pharmakeia from Hypnose.*
*Greek god of sleep
We know that we exist and yet doubts persist,
since demons we conjured have not been appeased
but if we simply erase our to-do list,
from bondage to ego, we will be released.
One with eye of the eye and ear of the ear,
we discover that God within is right here,
so though through our life, our mind was in a fog
but now we do not let the tail wag the dog.
“The mind knows many things and heart only one ~
Come home oh dear child and shine like yonder sun”
~ quote by poet
Gathering knowledge, small pebbles on a beach,
a pastime, the child in us has engaged in
but what have we garnered and what can we teach,
if we have seen not our true being within?
By knowing the Self, everything else is known,
to which end, our ego we must first disown,
silencing the mind, wherefrom thought forms arise
that we imbibe bliss mists in childlike surprise.
Mind pursues staid silence, assigning meaning,
thereby foiling purpose of meditation
but by promoting the thought pawn and queening,
ego dies in the stillness of cessation.
Doing nothing, save our head and heart linking,
upon attaining awareness unblinking,
the dark wisps of smoke in our heart centre clear,
whence we sense divine presence of God draw near.
caged in space-time and toyed by the gunas three
our consciousness witnesses the ebb and flow
collaborating and yet remaining free
resplendent in light of Self always aglow
which though is poised in the void of cessation
embraces and releases each sensation
being but a dream sequence in which we play
detached from outcomes and mindful not to sway
God is a poet, with Whom we resonate,
conjuring a verse, with no need to rehearse,
for the pulse of magnetism does not abate,
with which in vibrance we easily converse.
We do nothing yet all the doings are done,
channelled though our form, for God and we are one
and if in mindfulness we keep flowing on,
breath by breath in stillness our soul is reborn.
Why do I feel the tears wet my inside lids?
It’s not the pain but then again it might be.
The tender mind’s so easily stabbed with pins.
In motion, can’t be undone by cup of tea.
Lingers at my side, devotedly. I hurt
for my shin, calf, ankle, thigh I can’t exert.
It’s psychological as well as throbbing.
It’s not anyone’s fault, I feel like sobbing.
Having seen light of Self, knowing life’s a dream,
if we cannot hold our awareness therein,
then we’re back to delusion as thought forms stream,
having not attained tranquility within.
True enlightenment is remaining awake,
that as life’s dream ends, we have nothing at stake,
abiding at all times in glory of Self,
nonchalant to life, which just flows by itself.
What becomes of presence after body dies,
is the line of inquiry we must pursue,
that by doing so, clear truth dawns like sunrise
and we then attain a consciousness break through.
As living light, on earth for a brief sojourn,
in our mind-body urn we willingly burn
but our true abode is beyond space and time,
recognised when we dissolve in bliss beat’s chime.
The pavement in front of great-great grandmother's
house has become pitted, scarred and worn away
from the feet of young ones, sisters and brothers,
making their way for the next overnight stay;
they never were shy to race one another
to be first through the door for a hug most gay~
today the house has been sold, sidewalk repaired,
still that old pavement held memories well shared..
dwelling in subject-object relationship
we feel we’re here and God is somewhere out there
which then induces a flawed form of worship
since in truth we’re pure awareness self-aware
so boundaries blur when our eye is single
whence delighting as bliss pheromones mingle
God then is seen as everything everywhere
singular consciousness with which all souls pair
There is but one consciousness and we are That
and this is the truth which we must make our own,
that in silence our soul as we reformat,
we reclaim light of Self, in our heart home grown.
The world external holds for us no allure,
so focus fixed on Self, our pure heart demure,
we remain poised in stillness by day and night,
with clear sight beholding we are living light.
I find you once again in old photographs~
a devil's grin that stabbed my heart to passion~
mother called you mad and father said riffraff,
but I gave myself to you without ration,
unaware your love would become a mooncalf,*
fashioning nubile feelings into ashen
heaps of gruesome and decaying lumps of gray
until even the photographs fade away.
*a term that can refer to any monstrous or grotesque thing.
Head and heart estranged, inner conflict is birthed,
so befriending silence, let head meld with heart,
whence doing nothing, truth of Self is unearthed,
divine grace causing bliss ignition to start.
Love dissolves all opposites and once imbibed,
we get to a knowing that can’t be described,
that having relinquished ego’s resistance,
our true presence entwines with all existence.
Water my love, matrix, mother, sustainer.
Slips easily through my fingers, unconstrained.
It flows softly, all believing and seeing.
A living fountain, so free, and uncontained.
It's the fountainhead, the pulse that feeds the earth.
It's the medium of every breath and birth.
Its touch sustains every essence of our days,
In a flowing hymn that time itself obeys.
Yet when water goes, a watermark remains.
The scar of its absence etched in salt and rust.
A crust of sediment from dark regret stains.
A bitter nit grit that settles into dust.
It's not water's hand, but time's corroding breath,
that brands the world with the memory of death—
Its silent scourge true evidence of decay,
Of what, just pure water could not wash away.
Specific Types of Rispetto Poems
Definition | What is Rispetto in Poetry?