IN THE BEGINNING
Does the Light contain Darkness or does the Darkness contain Light?
Darkness is the gate keeper.
Darkness cradles the tender light.
Being born of a pervasive darkness,
I become conscious of becoming conscious
and in this learning to be, this learning to see,
I see a deeper darkness
at the infinite core of everything.
Harsh tendrils of this reach into my heart
and tear down my defenses of belief.
Searing pain charrs my will to live.
Hope has long gone up in smoke.
The light of truth of yesteryear or reason is meek
and tries to bolster itself with bravado.
This self-conscious light is but a reverse shadow.
One must be lead deeper and through
the darkness at the center of the soul
if one seeks true brilliance.
It can only be found after the flame of ego
has been snuffed out by an all-consuming annihilation.
Fury spent. Wisdom burnt. Knowing of ashes, only.
Then there will be a big bang flash of a singularity of light
rendering darkness an illusion.
And the beginning will have a word again.
And the word is Love.
Darkness is the gate keeper.
Darkness cradles the tender light.
Being born of a pervasive darkness,
I become conscious of becoming conscious
and in this learning to be, this learning to see,
I see a deeper darkness
at the infinite core of everything.
Harsh tendrils of this reach into my heart
and tear down my defenses of belief.
Searing pain charrs my will to live.
Hope has long gone up in smoke.
The light of truth of yesteryear or reason is meek
and tries to bolster itself with bravado.
This self-conscious light is but a reverse shadow.
One must be lead deeper and through
the darkness at the center of the soul
if one seeks true brilliance.
It can only be found after the flame of ego
has been snuffed out by an all-consuming annihilation.
Fury spent. Wisdom burnt. Knowing of ashes, only.
Then there will be a big bang flash of a singularity of light
rendering darkness an illusion.
And the beginning will have a word again.
And the word is Love.
KAMALA
Provocative silence is a potent aphrodisiac.
Uninhibited love subjugates the observing soul.
Ruthless pursuit of joy brings acclaim of power.
When you want too much, too soon, when you try too hard and do too much, the delicate female organism withdraws and becomes defensive.
Give me less than my desire and I will want more.
Give me more than I desire and I will want less, or non of it.
Less is more. Allow.
Tend to your afferent pathways,
the ones that gather sensation and channel it to the core of perception.
Take me in, don’t do me.
Love as is pleasing to the woman,
pause and let the ripples skim the surface.
No need to move the ocean, it cannot me moved, but the tides will rise.
Be still for a moment and let my desire reach out to you,
with breath, with imagination, with micro-movements.
Then do 5%, and be 95%. Do less, be more. Be with me.
If you touch me, take me for your own pleasure, you create a deficit.
I will have to give in, give up part of myself, to give. This creates a debt.
You then owe me that part of myself, and I am priceless.
No amount of silk and jewels will rectify that.
Your soul is your collateral.
I will safe keep it until you learn to be.
Then I will set you free.
Provocative silence is a potent aphrodisiac.
Uninhibited love subjugates the observing soul.
Ruthless pursuit of joy brings acclaim of power.
When you want too much, too soon, when you try too hard and do too much, the delicate female organism withdraws and becomes defensive.
Give me less than my desire and I will want more.
Give me more than I desire and I will want less, or non of it.
Less is more. Allow.
Tend to your afferent pathways,
the ones that gather sensation and channel it to the core of perception.
Take me in, don’t do me.
Love as is pleasing to the woman,
pause and let the ripples skim the surface.
No need to move the ocean, it cannot me moved, but the tides will rise.
Be still for a moment and let my desire reach out to you,
with breath, with imagination, with micro-movements.
Then do 5%, and be 95%. Do less, be more. Be with me.
If you touch me, take me for your own pleasure, you create a deficit.
I will have to give in, give up part of myself, to give. This creates a debt.
You then owe me that part of myself, and I am priceless.
No amount of silk and jewels will rectify that.
Your soul is your collateral.
I will safe keep it until you learn to be.
Then I will set you free.
9/11
Despair smells smoked and moldy.
Collective memories are composites of heaviness
oozing through thought crevices,
still smoldering with fumes from molten fax machines.
The I has disintegrated but the Me still lingers.
And there is an indistinct, moaning We.
We didn’t understand what was happening and we still don’t.
Fire is such a painful driver of motion,
but there was no where to go.
Stuck in and under each other’s burning flesh, we melted too.
The heat is gone, but the fire lingers.
I am the fire now, cold upon a cleared space.
Only forgetfulness could kill me,
release me from an afterlife of burning questions.
Perhaps today I will become the memorial.
Or revisit organic substances that have seeped
and mingled with new concrete.
Or ride upon the airwaves of broadcasts,
and sniff out new questions that will never be truthfully answered.
Perhaps today I will finally die.
And tomorrow too.
WONDER
Sometimes
the flowers are huge.
I love to walk
underneath them
and look up at big heads of daffodils and daisies,
of primrose and iris.
Some carry blossoms that defy description.
A bit like monster orchids, but more solid
and more transparent
at the same time.
Their stems are so thick that I can barely wrap
my arms around.
And it is warm, slightly.
The air feels different, sweeter somehow, and lighter.
Mists of fragrance dance upon a gentle breeze.
The sun filters through a layer of song
that is just below the range of my hearing.
Colors that have no names make me dreamy.
The shadows glow ever so slightly golden.
The puddles I splash through make no sound
and my feet don’t get wet.
Somewhere a bird calls to a cricket
and the cricket slows down its chirp
until it sings in tune.
I feel sated without having eaten,
and tired in a very pleasant way.
I sit down beneath the umbrella
of a rainbow colored tulip
and snuggle my back onto
its velvety leaves.
If I fall asleep now, I will dream of a world
where flowers grow around my ankles,
and driveways smell of spilled gasoline
and I will hear power tools.
I will be hungry.
the flowers are huge.
I love to walk
underneath them
and look up at big heads of daffodils and daisies,
of primrose and iris.
Some carry blossoms that defy description.
A bit like monster orchids, but more solid
and more transparent
at the same time.
Their stems are so thick that I can barely wrap
my arms around.
And it is warm, slightly.
The air feels different, sweeter somehow, and lighter.
Mists of fragrance dance upon a gentle breeze.
The sun filters through a layer of song
that is just below the range of my hearing.
Colors that have no names make me dreamy.
The shadows glow ever so slightly golden.
The puddles I splash through make no sound
and my feet don’t get wet.
Somewhere a bird calls to a cricket
and the cricket slows down its chirp
until it sings in tune.
I feel sated without having eaten,
and tired in a very pleasant way.
I sit down beneath the umbrella
of a rainbow colored tulip
and snuggle my back onto
its velvety leaves.
If I fall asleep now, I will dream of a world
where flowers grow around my ankles,
and driveways smell of spilled gasoline
and I will hear power tools.
I will be hungry.
