Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Words to awaken by



Is it possible that mere words,
but ideas that bestir the spirit,
can transcend inherent limits,
and somehow come to intend
the numinous wonder of nature —
despite what is said, or not said,
about the ineffability of the Tao.
Could it also be that perchance,
upon some mystical occasions,
a unexpected exception is made,
and out of some wordless depths
of fertile silence and stillness, 

a wormlike sentence is born,
and crawls across the page,
voraciously devouring the leaf,
whereupon it spins a lyrical cocoon,
emerging after a cryptic spell,
as if by divine grace or magic,
as an intricately transfigured
metamorphosed metaphor ...
an utterance taking wing,
that in a flight of imagining,
like Eros bewitched by Logos,
sings words to awaken by.

Saturday, September 10, 2011

Metamorphosis

 
We are dreamlike, entranced yet sleepless 
while the gods slumber, metamorphosing 
within our luminous cocoons, quiescent 
though not unmoved. Now discontent 
as net-veiled chrysalides of cyberspace, 
stirred by the warm awakening of desire, 
we await the furtive kiss of alchemy 
to render the timeless mystery entire. 
Once unfurling, faltering, fledgeless nymphs, 
now digital-dancers, imago-gypsies, 
flirting in the play of light and shadow, 
tapping worded wings upon the electron screen. 
Suppose out of instinct or innocence we seek 
soulmates in these galleries of hieroglyph and glass, 
where the exquisite longings and sufferings of love 
are laid bare in transfigured exhibition of our hearts, 
we who crave the secrets of serendipitous beauty, 
as elusive as the avatars of our dreams.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Deliverance




As I sat in that cathedral of life and death,
how many lives were born and lost
within the rooms of its labyrinth halls?
And where was god watching from?
As I gazed into the dazzling geometry
of its crystalline ceiling, did I see
the myriad crosses of Flanders repeated
there? During the countless hours
I waited, I tried in vain to count them,
until I could not bear them any more.
Strange, how one skin-cloaked skeleton
could radiate such beauty and light,
while yours, that shell of your being,
housed only darkness and despair.
And so I retrieved those fading photos
to remember your lost beauty and light,
to mask the pain and fear in your eyes.
And yet they too became unbearable,
as I sat helplessly by your side,
while some irrevocable karmic will
pulled your hand from mine. I tried
my love to read the failing words
upon your lips, believe me I tried,
but they also became too hard to bear.
And where was god listening from?
While everywhere around us, others
shared our grief, the nurses of our ward
went about their gracious business,
as they warded over us. So I borrowed
their dauntless spirit, as they bravely bore
the infinite weight of our untold tears.
And I prayed that perhaps deliverance
might find a way into the darkest depths
of your sleeping soul, and prayed somehow,
somewhere, an angel was waiting to do
what I could bear to do no longer …
and that some god was waiting too.

Time sleeps



Time sleeps while eternity stirs,
Songbirds compose morning overtures,
Blossoms sent on sweet-scented zephyrs
Fall into the dreams of two lovers.

Our lovers awaken, now his, now hers,
Beneath the covers his hand ventures,
A sleepy pretender, she demurs,
Then meekly surrenders to his murmurs.

And thus aroused, lust now ensures
A flux of pheromones from flesh and furs,
Endearments to begin, then foreplay blurs
Into a feast of sensation and fervent purrs.

One wonders how the heart endures
The outer limits of love's measures,
Climaxing in life’s exquisite pleasures,
While time sleeps and eternity stirs.

Let me dream of you



Let me dream of you when the light
of youth shone through your eyes,
not flickering with fear; when time
was our endless ocean to sail upon,
and not some empty bedside cup.
Let me dream of you when a smile
of joy played across your face,
and not a death-shadowed grimace;
when your mind was free to wander,
and not captive in a prison of pain.
Let me dream of you as your child
of memory, filled with your hope,
favored with your faith, and not
as this man with a grief-filled heart,
weeping for you as you did for me.
Let me dream of you as the gentle
spirit now embodied in my children,
their spirits now graced by yours,
your spirit now alive in their eyes,
not this spectre that haunts my sleep.
Let me dream of you as my redeemer,
my friend, my fellow dreamer, my giver
of life and love, never denied or clouded
by doubt, not a bated body and soul
weakened by the tyranny of despair.
Let me dream of you as you would wish,
crowned with dignity, so passionately
yourself, yet likewise devoted to those
you loved; just a woman I suppose
you thought, not gone, not forgot.
So let us just say goodnight my love,
sleep well ... I'll see you in my dreams.

Awakening



Last night I dreamt of a distant buddhist
shrine surrounded by boundless rainforest,
a crisscrossing trail climbing to the hilltop
where it loomed like a ship on a verdant sea.
I was home at last from a surreal passage,
wherein I'd traversed some briar-banked
river of tortuous currents, and grappled
with the demons of my soul. I awakened
then, my left brain and right arm numb
in the predawn chill, the ego dazed
and dumbstruck with awe and wanderlust,
the dream’s wordless meaning fast fading.
And yet the words whisper nonetheless:
in the diaphanous leaves of waking aspens,
in the soothing coos of a mourning dove,
in the soft breaths of a sleeping lover,
or the muffled grief of an anguished ghost,
whose troubles will not be put to rest,
until we meet and embrace like old friends.
But that is another dream for tomorrow,
as I rise from my bed to greet the day,
its apparitions now supplanting the past,
once again not-so-neatly stored away
where all our cherished realities become
a dream within a dream within a dream.

This Ineffable Mystery..


 

Walking in the gloaming wood,
gently bathed by its mood,
the mind awake, wide-opening,
the heart now shyly following,
the gut yet lingering on hold,

there, in fright and flight mode,
a lone doe from out of penumbra--
a stark still-frame in the cinema
of dusk -- gracefully bolts away,

vanishing tracelessly like a fey
ghost into the infinite abyss ...

as form dissolves into formlessness ...
It's then I know, so inexplicable,
I and emptiness are inextricable,
bereft of all but the eternity
of this ineffable mystery.

Cardinals




The first hint of spring,

the cardinals are singing;

there’s a flash of red,


in the budding birch.

It is the male showing off

 
 

to the fawn female.


She seems hesitant,
 

demure in my presence,

despite my patience.


Not daring to move,

lest I frighten them away,

I wait in stillness,

 

And in that timeless 

moment of impasse,

mysteriously,


my intuitive self

knows exactly what to do ...
 

thus I disappear.


There are cardinals

singing in the budding birch,

and that is enough.

Certainty

Ah yes “Certainty” ...

that most comforting of cradles

that lulls us into precarious sleep.

Seems change is ever-constant ...

in other words: uncertainty.

Beyond or before questioning,

naming, defining, describing,


even beginning or ending,

whether as absolute singularity,

or realm of relative multiplicity,

behold this eternal moment.

Perhaps best not waver from there,

or wonder at its providence,

its purpose, origin, or destiny.

Why, what, where, when, how?

And by the way, who’s asking?


Such is the mystery of mysteries,
 

this seeking ever so elusively,

beyond the ever-present presence,

missing what one is never not.