the Green Man

on a further note, I wrote a piece on 'the Green Man' as a poetic response to a spiritual insight -- the idea is essentially that the Heart is the 'centre' of our Cosmos, liken'd to what our Master Babuji said when he referred to the Heart as the 'Seat of God.' However, my take on this is that 'spirituality' and 'creativity' is not limited to 'religious' practices but can 'evolve' simply and naturally in an Artist/Mystic in tune with Nature.

the Green Man

As above, so in you:
the light, the warmth, the sky so blue;
and in the darkest of the nights
the stars that sparkle as they do...

the language of the 'Birds,' his secret tongue,
while silence is his noble one,
arises from a whirl'd within his heart,
and twirls in awe throughout his Art...

this then is what we can say of Art,
that it's born of a heart pulsing wonder,
which blooms as leaf from deep-down under,
and bears a fruit for all to eat,
-- ambrosia, divinely sweet...

"the Celts have him as Mythical figures such as Cernunnos, Sylvanus, Derg Corra, Green George, Jack in the green, John Barleycorn, Robin Goodfellow, Puck, and the Green Knight all partake of the Green Man's nature; it has also been suggested that the story of Robin Hood was born of the Green Man mythology. A more modern embodiment is found in Peter Pan, who enters the civilized world from a nether land, clothed in green leaves. Even Father Christmas, who was often shown wreathed in ivy in early depictions, has been suggested as a similar woodland spirit" (from Wikipedia)

HeArtMan -- the picture below


-- the Green Man is the Mystic in tune with Nature living in Peace with plain and simple ways -- sHe is Natures urge to Wonder -- sHe is the Poet and the Heathen and the Saint of the Green Earth made by Natures divine immanence -- sHe is oft represented as the Hanged Man in the Tarot (upside down smiling a frown: invertendo man: inside out without a doubt) to realize that his Heart is in Heaven and his Head belongs to the ways of the Earth -- sHe also is shown as having 'roots' in the Heart, a trunk up the neck and a rich foliage of leaves in the head to represent the connectivity to a juicy Heart of Wonder bringing the sap of creativity to the Head synaptically fired in a coalescence of neurons springing suddenly into Awe -- Art is being in tune with Nature -- Nature is the heart of it all from whence we become her 'epiphanators' ...

WIKI: The Conference of the Birds (Persian: منطق الطیر, Mantiqu 't-Tayr, 1177) is a book of poems in Persian by Farid ud-Din Attar of approximately 4500 lines. The poem uses a journey by a group of 30 birds, led by a hoopoe as an allegory of a Sufi sheikh or master leading his pupils to enlightenment.

Besides being one of the most celebrated examples of Persian poetry, this book relies on a clever word play between the words Simorgh — a mysterious bird in Iranian mythology which is a symbol often found in sufi literature, and similar to the phoenix bird — and "si morgh" — meaning "thirty birds" in Persian.

    It was in China, late one moonless night,
    The Simorgh first appeared to mortal sight -
    He let a feather float down through the air,
    And rumours of its fame spread everywhere; [1]

Its most famous section is:

    Come you lost Atoms to your Centre draw,
    And be the Eternal Mirror that you saw:
    Rays that have wander'd into Darkness wide
    Return and back into your Sun subside

In mythology, medieval literature and occultism, the language of the birds is postulated as a mystical, perfect divine language, green language, adamic language, enochian language, angelic language or a mythical or magical language used by birds to communicate with the initiated.

... and the initiated have a divine 'seed' planted in their Hearts to bloom as leaf in where they 'ponder' and bear a fruit for all to eat, yes, ambrosia, divinely sweet ...

the stream-winners

well, that's a choice and many ascending-avatars spent eons of time in their caves trying to get out from behind the many-reflections of this sentimental-reality in flow -- this was the goal for awhile and they were called stream-winners when they'd finally grasped that the numinous moving-us is just a trick of the light --

however, the means of getting out of the stream all together was as illusive as stepping in the same stream twice, so they sat staring at forever, until wonder turned into awe and their eyes glittered with the beauty that they saw, and then they found that the stream returns in an infinite 'eternal-recurrence' which means that not only do you step in the same stream twice or more, but that the stream craves you more and more each time it passes by, longing for you in infinite waves, speeding up to feel you deep-inside; 'tis then that you have more and more deja-vu's flowing inside-out to open your eyes wide, from this free-flowing streaming-embrace, this free streaming-love in which we each take a step in grace ...

ssǝusnoıɔsuoɔ.consciousness

it
begins in ʎʇıxǝldɹǝd.perplexity
as the absurd.pɹnsqɐ-man
arrives at the nature of reality

without conclusions ʎlsnoıƃılǝɹ
without religion ʎllɐɔıʇılod
without politics ʎllɐɔıɟıʇuǝıɔs
without science ʎllɐɔıʇsılɐʇɐɟ
without fate ʎlƃuıʍouʞ
without knowing ʎlqɐʌǝılǝq
without believing ʎlǝʌısnlɔuoɔ

perfectly ʎllɐɔıxopɐɹɐd.paradoxically consciously-pǝʇɔılɟuoɔ.conflicted
with all these incongruities converging into the
moment he crosses the street;
                        his-heart
still affected by the dark
                      restless sea of awareness --

bent before his fierce-vulnerability,
 he's an innocent victim like you and me,
lost between infinite-Love and "I'm not worthy"


we're all bubbles of consciousness, bubbles of brilliant shimmering hues, bouncing and bullying each other around while looking for ways to merge with each other; leaking through our surface tension, we're wiggling 'n jiggling for that 'special' one come to burst us free to really be whom we ought to be -- life is real only then when I am bursting at the seams of what I thought reality means

-- as such, the Poet is like a sphere with her centre everywhere and his circumference nowhere, without beginning nor end, always rolling, rolling ’round ‘unknowings’ wondrous bend - mostly metaphor is a trick of the light to get these reflections just right, so, you-know, it’s glinting in your eye as you release into the ‘flower of meaning’ with a sigh; like looking at the mesmerizing-sea glimmering-many-Suns, so sympathetic-tessellations resonate in your oceanic-brain, where synapses shivering-sentient luminescence, reflect again ‘n again … then you’re an ecstatic swimming in a whirl’d-view, swooning with another oceanic-dream waving inside of you…

“Nature is an infinite sphere whose center is everywhere and whose circumference is nowhere” Pascal

"God is a circle whose center is everywhere and circumference nowhere." Voltaire

"The center is everywhere. Bent is the path of eternity." Nietzche

neither compelled by the past nor future beckoned...

if fears 'n worries are nothing but a hapless-spin, then hopes 'n wishes are its better-off kin, nonetheless they're both creating the duality-delusion we're in ...

intellectual-ism is a knee-jerK reaction, a survival specialization, like an exo-skeleton or thick-skin made to cover your soft-flesh, and that beating heart flush with warmth 'n blood, and all those 'leKtrick-filaments dancing in your brain, flashing as lightning in your eyes, from whence you'll look and look and dare to see the Beauty in this whirl'd of creative-destruction, and the Truth in this human. this all-too-human sentimental-reality ...

The goal is Love! The goal has always been Love, however derived, denatured or deconstructed we make it.

-- that's where a cosmic sentiment is a serendipity which is bent toward your infinite-in, there where love is a radiant bouquet, bursting to blossom as you, over and over again -- there, where the music in you is wanting to play in a mellifluous-voice which only the heart can hear, that'd take you into a melodious rhythm 'n roll 'round the sound of a whirl'd swelling with a kiss of bliss, 'tis this that'd speak in that uncommon tongue, the Soulful one, which is willing to risk absurdity in an unfettered language, and is divested with an unbounded-eye not limited to the fatal-skin yer' in, there where you're looking and looking and daring to see, this creative-destruction outpouring into another sentimental-reality...

The French Symbolist credo that “To suggest is to create; to name is to destroy” can be modified here, on more neutral grounds: prose denotes; poetry connotes. Thus is Truth 'n Beauty made as if a crystal with many reflections.

As Lorca wrote: I hear the beautiful beating heart of God, in the monster of the world...

elastic-time

elastic-time is when you're on a roll, whistling as you go, feeling on top of the whirl'd, where compressed time blooms and unfurls, expanding your point-of-view to doing what you've gotta' do to be true to the authentic-you...

winds of change

In the phenomenology of Love coupled with the visceReality of constant-remembrance of the beloved, what remains is our own courage to change the world from inside out withoutta' doubt ... it starts with wonder imbued in awe, which is unbound by the language of 'reason' nor by the fatal-skin we're in. It's uncluttered with the pitter-patter of patterns promulgated by all of our bad-education nor is it spoiled by the comfortable-cliche' of mediocrity! Fear tunnel-visions and converges toward where all the dead-ends meet -- while joyous-remembrance opens the whirl'd in a frisson of being, in a revelation of seeing this sentimental-reality as a perennial wind of wonder that blows with creative destruction everywhere...

we feel it

Change is a seemingly hostile environment to our little cell:brain biology paradigm. Cognitive dissonance is a process where a massive retooling of our synaptic pathways is occurring, often resulting in 'temper tantrums' and breaking things and other 'bad' behaviours learnt by all of our 'bad' education. Yet it is in that very process where neurons coalesce into a new flower of meaning and significance.

This is reflected in these riots and random acts of defiance. We’re living through some very difficult times, and we feel it in our bones, in our hearts and in our minds; this new-paradigm is bursting at the seams of what it all means, and by an internal-fire made of many-reflections of realEYEsed light, our in-sight, where deep calls to deep, which’ll bend space n’ time ’round Quantum-tunnels flowing within as divine, and then all that matters in this whirl’d-view is that we cross the line, from what is old to what is a new interior-design…

All men make a God of their desire and history repeats itself ad infinitum ad nauseum... nonetheless, creativity is a process of change and the Artist is an agent for change. They'll disturb comfortable-meaning and unravel recursive-cliché by their fierce-vulnerability, by their courageous-authenticity and by having been bent by their beautiful-individuality...the Truth in this sentimental-reality is rolling in the changes of creative-destruction we see everywhere...

"...a progression in which each successive movement emerges as a solution to the contradictions inherent in the preceding movement." -- Hegel