Month: Dec 2015

The Three Main Levels of Love

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three_main_levels_of_love

WHY DOES THE ESSENTIAL UNDERNEATHNESS OF EVERYTHING seem to be so wonderful, even though I know that, in earthly terms, what lies above it is not? Sitting here quietly on the quayside, watching the boats drift in and out of the port, the whole panoply of everything wraps itself in a vast ocean of love and I am thereby undone. I see a man with frayed collar and cuffs and the face of a worn-out dog walking as if he never has anywhere to go or anything to live for. I see a woman with makeup caked awkwardly on her face and her lips painted red inelegantly, rendering her with a tragic clownlike appearance. I see a weeping small child with dirty face and frayed, stained clothes being frogmarched by her distraught, blackeyed, run-down mother. What else can I do but weep for the world with its bottomless black holes and unfulfilments. Yet… somehow… everything (even that which appears to be dysfunctional) seems to be “in place” — suffering merely from the effects of a latent transitoriness, awaiting a regrouping of cells.

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Ancient Scripture Text

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ANCIENT SCRIPTURE TEXT: “When thou seest that the lunaticks have taken over the asylum, then thou knowest that the end of the aeon draweth near. Thus, not only must thou watch and pray but thou must also prepare thyself in every way. For there will be divers earthquakes, fire and brimstone, pestilences, wailing and gnashing of teeth. Children will turn against their parents and brothers and sisters against one another as light and darkness cross their paths. There will be division in all corners. Many will be perplexed and turn to each other and say “What can this mean?” The sky will also then be darkened. And at that time will man’s haughtiness come to its apex and onto the stage of this present world there will be revealed one who is not a man (but sayeth that he is). And he will rise up and place himself on a throne made of the bones of the martyrs and call himself a being of light (though he be not of the Light). And many [most, ed.] will be deceived by him and throw flowers in his path and place laurels on his head and will sing his praises, for he will promise peace and salvation. Those few beings of the Light who will remain alive on this earth will in that time see all these things and know in their hearts what is truly coming to pass. And they will mourn for the folly of the world and, speaking the truth before man, they will open eyes and hearts of those who have eyes to see and ears to hear. Then will chaos break out once more and many [most, ed.] will be swallowed up by the earth and consumed by fire and brought to naught by pestilences. All of these also are the birth pangs and herald of the new aeon. Therefore, at that time, in worlds unseen, there will be rejoicing among the angels and there will be new heavens and a new earth and all things will be made new in divers ways no man can now fathom and the former things will no more be remembered.”

Thunderbolt Illusion [sonnet]

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thunderbolt_illusion

Whatever happened to good old-fashioned
thunderbolts — those lightning strikes from heaven
drawn from synchronicity, impassioned
by some sudden morethanjust erection?

Self-obsession, shunning incandescence,
fear of being swallowed up in ego
death (returning to the gleam of essence),
we seek placebos — ersatz libeedo.

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The Red Carpet [sonnet]

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the_red_carpet

The breeze which hangs around me says surprise
and something’s in the air with pregnant yen.
I caught a glimpse of light in Saturn’s eyes —
in space beyond my stalled carcinogen.

The carpet stretched in front is coloured red;
my cobwebbed old tuxedo takes a bow.
The wind then howled: “I want you in my bed”.
The spirit in me said “Let’s do it. Now”.

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Who Pulls your Strings? [poem]

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who_pulls_your_strings

Who pulls your strings?
I’ll pause a moment while you work it out…
You might think that it’s you;
although the way you fawned before your boss
(ass-licked him, no matter what the cost)
and let some leechlike humans trample on you —
took that nasty slap upon your face
from that abuser dossing at your place,
brings into question “who’s the puppeteer?” Read the rest of this entry »

This Icy Mystery [poem]

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this_icy_mystery

You heard the call but didn’t (wouldn’t) go.
Your stupid worn-out used-up rancid fear
[“stupid” in the tragic sense of being in
a stupor like a drunken oaf would be,
right after partying hard on Saturday till 3]
has stopped the flow to join your fading
dancing twin to fly to distant galaxies.

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Radical Change in this World

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radical_change_in_this_world

RADICAL CHANGE IN THIS WORLD will never come through conventional means. “Radical change” (from the Latin, radix, meaning root) means total change from the root up. It will not come through tinkering around with a few externals in order to feign or simulate change (which is as effective against disaster as moving the deckchairs around on the Titanic would have been!). Real, lasting, profound, permanent, fundamental, revolutionary, groundbreaking change cannot ever come through conventional means. By “conventional means” I am speaking of the outward processes which we have been conditioned to believe can effect change on this earth, such as politics, ideologies, religions, insurrections, etc. Unless we relinquish ourselves of these illusions, momentous, permanent, radical change for the better will never happen in this world. I use the phrase “for the better” deliberately; because, if we persist with the illusions and keep using old and tried (and failed) methods, there will certainly be change… but it will only be for the worse — which, in fact, is what we see all around us every day.

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There’s Something Missing [poem]

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there_is_something_missing

There something missing from the picture
that’s imprinted on the scissors of my soul:
A c(h)ord that should have anchored me;
a featherbed (that’s heart-shaped) or a hole.
Nostalgia for the time before all time —
Before I was a twinkle in an angel’s eyes.
Before the fire was made into our star.
Before the light beamed from creation’s whys.
Before there was that visit from afar.

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Sonnet for Restored Knighthood [sonnet]

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restored_knighthood

How hard it is to be a knight today!
Damsels never now confess to feeling
that they’re in distress — caught in disarray
(building their pretences, not revealing).

The concept of his chivalry they deem
to be anachronistic foolery.
Such men, it seems, are judged to be extreme
and not respected for their bravery.

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