Guardian

Standing stoic
blank, black
and still.

Oh door man
Buckingham palace guard stance
guardian of
hidden desires
and lascivious dreams.

Dark curtains
quiet
motionless
featureless
drawn so many
eons before
hide a cherished
treasure rare.

Within
the Goddess awaits
locked inside
outside the door
silently she knocks
knocks, knocking
hands bloodied
on that cold
cold
cell door.

Still her song
drifts through
darkness’s shifting sands
silently passing between
the bars of
conscious thoughts.


Carried coded
within letters of
words
words within verse
verse within
her song
silently sung.

But
I hear!

So listen and
hear my words
well!

I feel her cries
in the beat
of my heart
in the core
of my soul
and my voice
commands you.

Stand aside!

Draw back that curtain
fling open the door
and let Eos
free.

Release my
Soror Mystica
to me!

Never Always

Always never
never quite the same.

Roots deep
growing deeper still
worms rubbing
entwining
sensuously
licking probing
round the
tips of
temptation.

Sunlight unfolds
spring arms
rise to greet
the morning sun.

Rivulets of streams
forging torrential
rivers making
art of
barren lands.

Time always
to touch
time never
to always.

Garbage
lain upon
the alter
as all
bow down
in reverence.


Tuesday
the day after
the rain
washed open
the portal.

Tuesdays gone
he sung
gone with the
wind.

Wind twisting
whirling
clearing
the earth
of rubble.

Leaves
twigs and
branches
lay
decaying
life
for a
new
day.

All phenomena are like dreams (Osho)

It is all a dream. All I see, feel, think or do
But I close my eyes and see more dreams
everywhere I look, dreams
decaying dreams
nothing real.

I don’t want to dream
I don’t want to see or think or feel
the dreaminess.

There is too much
I can’t shut it out
it won’t stop screaming at me.

I don’t know how much longer
I can keep this up.

There is no rest, no relief or escape.

Valium, pain meds, muscle relaxants
more pills
and glasses of scotch
nothing helps.

Perhaps I just need a few more.

Where is my ticket to oblivion?
Where is the sleep
the night when all is quiet
when it all slows down
when I can close my eyes
and it all goes away?

When will it all go away?

It has already started
gone is desire
gone is color
gone is fragrance
gone is meaning
and purpose.

I want for nothing
it is nothing only I crave.

Outside the winter wind blows
the rain falls
and it is no different
than a spring morning
filled with sunshine

Why am I writing this?

I have nothing to say
I have nothing I want to say
there is nothing meaningful to say.

These are only words
spoken to phantoms
from the mist drifting
in my decaying mind.

Soon, soon it will all go away.

Soon it will all end
I tell myself.

But, it doesn’t end.

The whole cycle of birth
and rebirth continues
unending.

This eternal cycle ever repeating
this maelstrom of consciousness
forever twisting
wrenching all the joy
that might have been
from the soul.

A soul that should die
that wants only to die
but is cursed to eternal
unending existence
with no hope of redemption.

And so ends another year
as I sit in this dark corner
and wait
once again
for the sun to rise.

I Am Moment

I am now and eternally all that I am
I am not what attempts to contain me
and yet I am my container
I am not my form
and I am form
I am not
my hands
my eyes
my brain
my thoughts
or feelings
Yet I am
all of these things.

I am not joy
or sadness
pleasure
or pain.

I am all these!

I am the ones
I love
and those I hate
I am the loved
and the hated

There are no limits
to what or who I am

I am the rock
on the face of the mountain
the trickling stream in spring
and the frozen branch bare in winter

I am God
I am Satan
I am demon
I am angel.

Whatever I see
or conceive
I am
Whatever you see
or conceive
I am.

There are no limits
to what I will do
There are no limits
to what I will give
There are no limits
to what I will take.

I will take all
that you possess
all your thoughts
I will take your heart
your soul
and have
all of mine taken
in return.

I am the hawk
descending upon its prey
I am the mouse
its final breath
wrung out
by the talons.

I am the stone
in the river
I am the water
that wets the stone.

I am the one
who gives you orgasm
I am the orgasm
you feel.

I am you
all you know
all you taste
all you touch.

There is nowhere
I am not
I am everywhere
I am nowhere

I am
those dark secret
thoughts
that excite you
alone in your bed.

I am the fire raging
devouring the world
I am the rain gently
quenching the flames.

I am the parched
sands of the desert
and the damp
blossoms of the rain forest.

It is my words spoken
by Osho
Rumi
Jesus
Lao-Tzo
Mohammad
and Buddha

It is my words
spoken
as I walk
homeless
conversing with
personal demons
in our rotting
inner cities.

The are no words written
that I am not writing
None spoken
I am not speaking

There is no pain
within you that is not mine
no joy that is not my joy.

When you hear
my voice
or read my words
it is I who am hearing
and I who am reading
your words.

There are no songs
that I am not singing
no lyrics
I have not written.

All that can be
all that is
all that is not
I am

I am nothingness’s
nothingness
and whispers
of silence.

I am Moment…

Prayer to My Muse

(As part of The Artists Way workshop I took, we were asked to write an Artist's Prayer. So here is mine.)

I pray to Source and with all your many masks of Gods, Goddesses
and muses.
And I implore you my muse.

I ask for your inspiration for words to express the inexpressible.
I pray for understanding for that which I do not understand
but feel in some illusive obscure corner of my consciousness
just beyond feeling.

Give me the acceptance
for what is
acceptance such that
if it is only
my rotting corpse I can offer
that I will stink proudly and profoundly
in its offering.

I pray to be always reminded
that darkness
gives birth,
often painfully to light;
for this is the dance, the play
of the Ying and the Yang

Give me the strength to experience what I feel
no matter how wrong it feels.

I pray for peace amongst the
storming angry crowds
in my mind
pounding and hacking at me
with their axes and curses
so that I may gently stand aside
to let you
flow through
and dance with me.

I pray that I may express in words, song and form
that which is the voice of Awen
and the inspiration you whisper in my soul
and that it will be understood
by those who see and hear it.

I ask you,
my muse
to embrace me
make love to me
as my soul intertwines
with you and I taste
once again your
epiphanous lips.

Let me go complacently
as I walk often blindly
amongst impossibilities
surrounded by the jeering
possible possibilities
shouting from my thoughts.

Let your magic shine through me
into a world where magic
has long since been declared
dead and banished from existence.

Though my mind and eyes
see only illusions
let me brush away
with my heart
the realities
that try to smother them.

Let my lips, my pen, my fingers
speak the unspeakable
though a myriad of voices
scream SILENCE,
You fool!

I pray that your words
songs and expressions
will touch and be as cherished
by the souls of others as they are
by me

I pray for seed, water and good soil
with which to plant and tend my dreams
I ask for the perseverance to nurture them
during the long dark times
before the first green sprouts
peak though the cold spring soil.
I ask for unyielding devotion to my dreams
and for my works as they unfold.
I pray also for unattachment
that I will joyously let their fruits drop
when they have ripened
and grown to maturity.

I ask for the acceptance of those times
when I am touched so deeply by you
that only silence
can be painted on the canvas;
times when our love making
is so private that
it could never be shared.

Help me to not feel abandoned
when my art is only
the tears of joy wept
when I hear your music played
or see your majestic beauty
unfolding before my eyes
and I am but the spectator.

I pray that you sit with me
in moment
and that I will remember always
you are there
arm around my shoulder
whispering softly in my ear.

I pray to remember to slowly exhale
and let go completely
opening my mind and heart
so your breath may fill my chest
and I may sing your song
in whatever voice you
have given to me.

The Invitation

Paradox

"Paradox as it may seem, we likewise find life meaningful only when we have seen that it is without purpose, and know the 'mystery of the universe' only when we are convinced that we know nothing about it at all."

~ Alan W. Watts from "The Wisdom of Insecurity"

The Grand Mistake

So what if in the perfect nothing. In a nothing, where there was no matter, space, time, or even consciousness; there was a random defect. What if that defect was an infinitesimal blip of consciousness and this colossal mistake was God.

So is this whole universe but a delusion of a mad God driven insane trying to find meaning and quell the immeasurable loneliness of being the only conscious entity, a freak in such a perfect nothingness that there is nothing to even be conscious in?

Are we only the phantoms of dreams, nightmares and delusions of his/her madness? The final screaming exhale of the single and only breath to ever exist.

Or are we the saviors of this God, the only tools who can ease the pain and bring peace to existence; the only hope in all the hopelessness that fills all that is?

So are we God’s attempt to find meaning and give purpose to his/her existence?

Is finding meaning in meaninglessness the purpose of life? Is that purpose, what gives it meaning? When our job be done, will our existence be swept away?

Should I bother finishing work today or have another cup of coffee and stop thinking?

Windering

Sitting and wondering
pondering
things that stop
my thinker
from kerthinking

All the klanking
and klattering
banging
and drumming
loudly
cantankerously
rattling
tapping
mapping
wandering lost
frantically trying
to exit from
my mind

All those thoughts
wondrously
splendiferous
awesome-iferous
mountaintopious
and iferouslyiferous

All
just a breeze blowing
in vacant
cavernous voids
wailing and howling
through cracks
and crevasses
swirling dust devils
whirling dervishes
dancing to an
otherworldly beat
in a hole
dry, desolate
wrung dry of
any gist
somewhere between
ears deaf
and lifeless

All these wonderings
dust ladened wind
winderings of
of a perverse
and twisted
mind

Brokenness

by J.J. Lafferty

We are shards
of our shattered dreams
jagged, wounding and wounded
in our incompleteness.

We move
drifting together,
to make a new form,
but fail to fit exactly;

there are holes
where the dark seeps through
destroying the dotted lines
to any destination.

The dark is empty
save for the whimper
and the whisper of a last song,
a light laughter, and
brighter days that like butterflys pass
fleeting away,
through holes
where the light never comes
and the dotted lines
of destination are invisible.