the Secret: nine one one

My phone rang! I was startled out of my morning meditative reverie, my eyes blinked open taking in the daylight and scanning the clock at the time. It was just before 7.

Too early for a phone call. I grabbed the phone. It was my eldest Son. ‘Dad, have you seen the news?’ ‘Huh, what? You know I don’t watch TV! Well what’s happening, Son?, I stated with some irritation at being questioned so early in the day.

‘It’s World War III, Dad! Holy shit, Dad! go look at the news!, he exclaimed with a note of incredulity and surprise. I got up and went to the living room and turned on the blasted TV.

Right away I saw the footage of a plane hitting the first Tower. I did not believe what I was seeing at first. Was it a ‘movie’ prank or what? It began to sink in and I felt shock and then despair.

Like everyone else that day, I had a wake up call. Eyes wide open!

Many questions and many more questions, until questions are irrelevant. Conspiracy theories are weaving tapestries of fear now. Questions and muddled answers.

We need to have a scrupulous realism when it comes to man kinds triumphs of ignorance.

That man is more often a destroyer then he is a creator, is written in our DNA. Our Tribal echo and all of our bad education.

"... man plays with Fire, without actually being aware of the detrimental consequences to humanity.", a great living Teacher stated.

Everything is burning, a great cleansing, perhaps!

There has been a flurry of New Age Spirituality movies of late, such as 'What the BLEEP do we know' and 'Conversations with God'. A kind of ‘Chicken Soup of the Soul, for all those who have been wounded by this upsetting tragedy. A ’balm’ to settle the ‘fear’ reaction we are having.

The Secret is such a movie which describes how we all can create the world with our thoughts, our wishes and deserves an objective viewing.

"In truly spiritual work, the very concept of planning may be a redundant one. How does one plan for an activity in a field where thought and action are simultaneous, are really one? In the spiritual field they are not two separate things. "Think that such and such a thing shall happen, and it will happen. All that is necessary is an unfailing will.", so a Teacher has written.

Use Occam's Razer when excising the true story of Man: the arrogant destroyer. Yet the Secret takes the concept of 'we are created in God's image' to a new level of pitched salesmanship.

Where I find the Secret to fail, is in its very protracted execution of the ideas of manifesting: Raja Yoga. Imagine if we all decided to manifest a Monster House and a new SUV as portrayed in the movie. There is the rub ... Twin Towers falling because of resources, the fear of lack. Homeless desperation!

In our ignorance, drunk with Powers, we have become like Heir Doktor Frankenstein, creating all manner of Some Scary Monsters. Samskaras! A sanskrit word for ‘impressions’, the fears we keep in our Hearts and Minds and Bodies, and see as Reality. No wonder! No Awe! Just I, me, mine!

The Secret leaves out information in its positive approach. In a style commensurate with Propaganda campaigns in the past, honed to a cleverly Western style. Two stories, the one of Alladins Lamp and the other of the fabled King Midas of Phrygia to whom Dionysus gave the power of turning to gold all that he touched. Both are incompletely used to shore up the idea that we can be great creators and manifestors.

It is the 'moral' of each of these stories, that any child knows, which is completely avoided and ignored. The 'moral' as paraphrased in the statement, 'be careful of what you wish for, as you may get it'. Some Scary Monsters!

I believe the Universe grants what is necessary to our personal evolution. A relativistic Truth, objective all the same, toward the Goal: Love. Miseries must be transmuted in that Mystic Fire.

New Age propaganda is a lie too. A diversion into flowery niceties avoiding blood and guts and shit. They have covered Truth and Realization in flimsy forms and rituals like Religions have. The real conspiracy derives from Dancing on shifting ground, Beautifully, in tune with the ever revealing here and now.

A Brave New World is always made up from some of the bits and pieces of the old, after breaking the Icons:Towers ... The World is not breaking, Nature does not ‘break’, it roils in transformative longings; our ‘World’ is breaking.

In summary, we are Masters in the making. Yet we are fools of our own predispositions, a veil of ignorance covering our sight from the very Heart of it; the bliss of Reality.

We become what we Think in Joy! Remove the veil of fear and despair no longer. The world is breaking, and Love is the breaker. Let us become what we ought to be; Simple and in tune with Nature. Agents of the change we want to see this world become.

‘Power corrupts, absolute Power corrupts absolutely’, as the saying goes. We make worlds. Use the manifesting principles at your own risk! Risk the breaking and shaking, and Dream Up, Love Up!

'The poet is one who is able to keep the fresh vision of the child alive.'
- Anais Nin

That's how we start the change, with Wonder...

kiss: Binary attraction

the 'kiss' I referred to above, is all the little infinity of convergences in time and space, even beyond our foolish sense based metaphors... where water meets land, sky meets mountain, light meets eye, lips meet tounge, pen meets paper, yabyum you know, is that sort of convergence. This is a kiss and the kiss is a metaphor for 'attraction' and LOVE, that ancient ache ... and we are always being 'kissed' this way and never alone, separate, as this LOVE embraces us within and without ... a timeless recycled ravishing, consuming and reviving us over and over again on the edge of forever.


'twinkling' is what happens when the earth kisses a star and our eye
is ravished in awe and wondrous rapture makes our Heart to flutter euphoric...

Attraction;
an ancient ache,
vortex prayers and
fractal wishes.

frequencies combine,
harmonics converge,
over vast distances,
longing is cast;
crescendos and catastrophes.

two stars; disa-stars
orbitally dancing
time and space matters.
letting themselves
be consumed and revived
over and over again.
an invergeous ravishing
over the edge of forever

Dream of Narada

This morning I was dreaming of Narada, he came to me as an Incan/Aztec Saint and could grow and shrink. He was brown skinned and had a golden shine and white teeth sparkled with his smile. He told me to sing devotional Love songs, that my gratefulness has been graced with the boon of this talent. I hugged him close to my Heart, ecstatic. He is Dream walking between the worlds ... he plays his flute rapturously in my Heart, even now I am swooning ... teetering on the edge of forever

the secret of the kiss

rain drops
kiss the surface
of a quiet pond,
ripples converge
kissing, merging,
making many reflections,
entice the eye to the kiss
of light flickering

glittering
synaptic resonance,
neurons kissing
mind merging, fractal
dendrites musing
making many reflections,
entice to a breath,
sighing into eternity.

our Hearts know this,
Love attracts Love,
the secret of the kiss...

how to quiet Dragons

Where is my Muse this evening,
the rains fell and a red sky laid upon the mountains
I watched the sun breakthrough the clouds
and a turquoise Dragon fly alight on my finger
near a Japanese pond
thinking all the while of my Muse

Singer of Love Songs
Poetess and Beauty Divine
like Goddess Venus
She laughs like a girl
her mind is quicksilver
yet she will know
how to quiet Dragons
and play the viola

my flute wept a song for her
melodious resonances that played on water
every note a bird song
adoring her naked approach
even now
she smiles with glittering eyes

I am inspired

Body, speech and mind

No man is worthy of
such refined treasures!
don't keep them to your self
but let them have wings;
broken hearts fly this way.

Let no thief take your Heart,
hiding it in his pocket book,
when its only desire,
is to merge in seas and mists.

You are a Mystic Bird,
frail and hungry for the sky
your feet are on shifting
grounds, dancing beautifully.

Your mind is an instrument of Love
Crazy, piercing like a knife,
yet full of fresh wisdom,
as stars are to sky.

When your Hymn
breaks to Loves
passionate crescendo
and you awake sweating,
lust abated,

there will be your answer,
to heaven or hell…

You are easily lost,
Love is like that!
beyond the confines of our,
body, speech and mind’s.

I am easily found,
love is like that!
open arms,
open mind,
open heart…

That's why we Love
having each other
around!

The happenstance of meaning

The happenstance of meaning,
in a hodgepodge of words.
unskilled in writing;
deception...

Skillful means and voracity,
inherent meaning allured.
writing is playful;
conception...

One is Joy,
another addiction.

From word
to
meaning.
From pen
to
inkling!

Like me,
like my
inflated sense
of word.

Flags waving,
Look at me,
and my group
we are WRITEoUS!
We are what we
Write.

Write flowers
and streams
and
windy chimes.

Face facts,
Words escape
meaning
with cowardly
defences like
paragraphs
and
syntactical
alliances.

Prepositions
pasteurized,
so that whimsy
and
freedoms are
battered,
suffering
split infinitives.

Similes with
spiritual
accents
and
distinctive
adaptations of
cunning.

Read deLiberatingly!
Fight the
oppressor, as
the maker of
Meaning,
is
You!

sen·ryu: this longing heart

sen·ryu : a 3-line unrhymed Japanese poem structurally similar to haiku but treating human nature usually in an ironic or satiric vein.

Pattern:
Three line poem with a 5-7-5 syllable pattern that does not rhyme.

Oh this longing heart,
dreams of flying in freedom,
always falls in love!

Language and Meaning

Language is a bridge, connecting; Poetry is the stream below, meandering, murmuring, reflecting many Suns; meaning!

Love Up!

Man is what he loves.

If he loves a stone he is a stone;

If he loves a man he is a man;

If he loves God--I dare not say more,

for if I said that he would then be God,

ye might stone me!

-- St. Augustine


We become what we Love so Love Up!

Psychomachia; heroic journey

Embracing the moment, kindly with ease;
Within the voracity of that little bliss,
All is convergence without separation,
Hearts beat, memories disintegrate.

When you emerge from that anomaly,
Searing, aching, retrograde passion,
The fullness of meaning in longing,
Souls drink from this sweet forever.

Consider the world turning, ellipses.
Whirling realized organic orb, feeling!
Formed from attractions to a Star,
Dreams; heroic, reaching, infinite, far!

That is the journey of every particle,
Made whole by willing mass surrender,
Waiting on the edge of gravities reason,
Is the Sun, your Soul, evolving further…

Between each breath

Sweet Soul lingering upon a Heart beat,
This effulgence precipitating within.
Like a frail butterfly alighting so briefly,
Intelligent hunting eyes often miss!

A Rose glitters jewels of sparkly dewdrops,
Richness gathered where Hearts connect.
Enraptured by this soft meaninglessness,
An intelligent probing mind would miss!

Between each breath my Heart is longing,
Comes a second wind of fresh new Grace,
This probing and hunting mind remembers,
I do not exist when in that place.

Let me speak in silence

After gripping studied meaning,
let loose the Heart,
this seeker of light,
come of longing in the night



Let me speak in silence,
the feat of the pause,
potential in space,
the first cause!
Words of reason; pictures.
Sentence syntax; logic.
Language a bridge,
Poetry the river meandering,
reflecting many Suns.

Picture the sigh,
or the fluttering Heart.
fragile perception,
in between,
darkness and dream,
where the seeming,
oft is master of
reality and silence
the gift of Peace.

dumb, feeling heart

... how does one share through words the fragile percepts, that lingering 'kiss' of Peace, that comes of sweet effulgence in the Heart? ... this roiling bliss, this synaethasian inebriated surrender of a Soul reeling from drinking that ambrosia; sweet nectar of Divinity!

feeling Heart,
dumb,
idiot,
Fool of God,
giver,
lover,
staring at forever!
grinning,
empty,
free of meaning!

Cosmic time

In the light of Cosmic time, both great and small are extinguished in that infinity, yet it remains important that we create, explore and evolve with the courage of a Loving Heart.

Comparing ourselves, or anyone else, with others, only makes for vanity or bitterness. Always there will be greater or lesser than ourselves. (paraphrasing Max Ehrmann's "Desiderata" here)

Yet greatness in another, brings us all up; no one is left behind. When a Writer or a Poet lifts the veil, revealing reality, we are all made more by this feat! Nature always sends us Visionaries, Poets, Mystics, agents of change; mutations. They take us to the next evolutionary level.

The Heart does not differentiate,
it beats in the rhythm of the sea;
the head makes the distinction,
that you are not really me!

an ever prayer

While meditating,
time expanded,
disappearing into
a forever present.

While contemplating,
Beauty appeared,
revealing perfection
empty of meaning.

This ever prayer;
remembering always;
swimming in Divinity,
drowning in Peace …

In time and space

Meditation expands time;
there is no time,
like the present!

Contemplation folds space,
revealing beauty,
in everything.

Prayer in time and space,
is constantly remembering,
how sweet it all is ...

Mystic hunting eyes

Sin; missing the mark,
like an arrow gone askew.
No bullseye!

Mystics must have hunters eyes,
for bagging their Snark.
They must wrap them
in many Mansions,
for Lotus Blossom slaughter.

Synaesthesiac

frequency

frequently loves to
take the Heart dancing.

this sweet dyslexia,

may be resolved,
or separated;
by sense.

No place is alone

on that beach
walking nakedly across the sand,
walking stick in hand,
bathing in a stream,
removing the salt and sweat,
with the Sun in my eyes,
in the Clayoquot Sound.

walking with,
that stick with bells,
and a found Eagle feather,
feet to burning sand.
startled by dogs
lupin procession,
I watched, waiting to run!
They were three,
and white, watching me;
the Sun in their eyes.

Alone in this place,
no place is alone,
with dogs, sand and sea.

Dream up!

a bottom with the promise of a top,
likely to come up,
Dream up, dream up
Topsy turvy,
Flip flop,
Bottom to Top, bottoms up
Dream up, dream up!

Like you ...

Like you, wingless,
what I would be,
if limited by a feeling
I could not follow,
my most secret of dreams.

Like you, languished,
hole where whole should be;
Eager to fill it with
studied meaning and
reason's industry.

Like you, gnawing,
what sense would Love be
grasping little fears,
made of empty mimics and
stolen dreams.

Like you, wrapped
with stars and dust.
Longing like gravity;
aching for the light
we call Love!

Like you, surrendered
Hastened to a sigh,
where tears linger
and something sweet,
inside, waiting there.

constantly remember

writing is a way to constantly remember, that in capturing this moment, we realize the Beauty that is always there ...

by the time you read this, the ripples of my imagination will have merged with your eyes as pixels on the net ... peeling through the layers of impressions, old and new, until we speak from naked Hearts; merged within the carved words here are my memories, my perceptions interpreted. Regurgitated, spent. Spilled reveries emerging in time!

By the time I have carved my words to hold the image of my realization, you will have to be a breaker of moulds, an iconoclast, to release it; otherwise it is religion with its dead forms and rituals ...

Jesus, Buddha, Arhats and Bodhisattvas were all Poets; they changed Hearts! There words were 'alive' with realization. Written down, they became forms and rituals by the third generation! Kind of like Myth, i.e., the Map and not the territory!

Poets infuse their words with 'bellavita' or Spirit or whatever term you want to use here... Nature always sends us Visionaries, Poets, agents of change; mutations!

The 'language of the Birds', also known as the 'Green Language', is the language of the Heart; spoken, sung, spontaneously and in tune with the 'Eternal Present' ... it is the Lover/Beloved dancing between the Sun and the Moon; it is the ocean waves caressing the sand on the beach where these writings were written; now washed away... revealing potential

Sufi Mystics dance in awe,
Hearts in a forever Bliss;
Direct reality!
Connected!
Whirling feet, Realized!

Reflection

If reading Poetry is like watching crystals grow, writing Poetry is like crystallizing realizations in time; either way there are a lot of reflections!

He reveals hidden meaning,
in capturing the moment!
A lover from within,
sharing this light, his second sight
from the longing of his night!

the role of the Poet ...

A Poet is a way of being plain and simple, in tune with Nature; one who 'speaks' with the Heart. Where his words are imbued with potential; acting as agents of change. He is a Mystic, making language a catalyst of creation. Singing a prayer with Heartfelt words, igniting Grace to action.

A Poet shows us the magical all that is; where Beauty echoes through all things, like Natures laughter in a flower. A Mystic in a communion with the 'Eternal Present' where no past ever compelled, nor future beckoned! They teach that we are each a miracle; a song of Love, where sorrow and joy, laughter and tears, are lyrics and notes in a symphony of Creation ...

We are 'meaning makers', and choose thusly what is of value in our lives. We are 'Magicians' and can compel even 'creation' to move by our 'will'. But the 'Mystic' is plain and simple; Beauty and Truth are an organic 'Alchemical' treatise written on his 'Heart' with an 'elixir' of prayers revealing the 'Bliss' of reality! The true 'Gold'.

the Poetry of small miracles

Poetry often reflects the 'small' miracles in our everyday struggle. Like most Art it is subjective and produces few Saints. However having a 'Myth' is like having a 'Map'! We can share these 'stories' of our 'Map Quest', our experiences, and somehow in the sharing we are renewed!

There are Poets that can and do 'create' 'memes' of our time; who tap into the Zeitgeist of our present and make our struggle somehow more familiar and endurable. 'It is like this ... stories around the fire, a trick of the light'

Objective Art? What would that look like? What 'measure' shall we use to gauge its voracity and purport? Would everyone 'gather' the same important 'meaning' and evolve with the same eternal Vision?

God has no religion, and religions have no God! Art has no 'meaning', where meaning is without Art! Art/Artist is always creating itself! I see a Mobius M.C. Escher drawing here.

The Heart does not differentiate, it beats in the rhythm of the sea; the head makes the distinction that you are not really me!

Sun in your eyes

made everyday,
pausing at dawn,
or sudden vistas,
pulsing inner sight.

made everyday,
Sun in your eyes,
with a memory,
longing from the night.

made every day,
lingering dreams,
from shadow places,
changing in the light!

made every day,
luminous worlds,
birthed reflections,
darkness as its might!

Dreams like Poetry

Dreams are like Poetry;
Some are wishes, some are fears,
While but a few are prophecy!
Some are laughter, some are tears,
While some are mere philosophy!

Some writers write to be mean and right,
Others to be liked, feel they belong;
Then there is the Shiva-Grace; a destroyer,
a creator, a Diva of change!
An urge of Nature in lyrical song!

She is Mystic, language her crucible
igniting Grace to action.
no past compels, nor future beckons!
Her dream of light, this second sight
that comes of longing in the night!

Bukowski et alia

Why do drunks endear us
With there odes to death?
Shining on feelings consumed
Grinning, smoke hanging breath
Like Superbolides hurling to earth.

Acceptable suicides these, the frail
With a dearth of near misses,
An intimacy with somnolent musings,
From which they regal you stories
and picture poems sincerely.

Mortal fools that look beneath,
Seeing relief in passion numbed;
instead of television bathed!
Living mostly at being a bum,
as the only useful hiding place.

They teeter on the edge of our
meaninglessness and fear, looking
Into the dark places with
inebriated equanimity's
and noctilucent hang overs.

Shining twice as bright,
After a half gone case of beer!
Switching between ranting reality
Or critical ribald rhymes;
We still feel them Dear!

The Heart Detector

It was an unlikely meeting of Empiricism and Shamanism, and for the most unlikely of purposes; Homeland Security.

It had been the stuff of Legends that Sages, Prophets, Bodhisattva's and Shamans had a talent for seeing into the Hearts of men and could without prejudice, without error, adduce a Mans prerogatives, intentions and proclivities; they could see if there was murder and malice in their Hearts!

Joe Dumont was a rare Medewin Shaman from the Plains Ojibwa with an Engineering degree from Cal Tech specializing in Particle Physics. He combined the two Sorceries into various interesting devices and charms. One such was the Totem Gate; the Heart detector he called it!

Joe had been making Totemic charms for the locals for years, and was a fourth level Midewiwin, from a super-secret Ojibwa Medicine Society. He had learned these Arts from his Grandfather who had learned from his Grandfather and so on. He could with both specialties, transmute Elements, bi locate, fly and read and manipulate Fire. He especially liked to shape shift into Animals; his favorite was Grandfather Bear.

The essential characteristics of Medewin Shamans is the mastery of energy and fire as a medium of transformation. Skills that pretty well served him in acquiring his Engineering degree in Particle Physics.

Jill Duncan worked for a Super Secret faction of the Canadian Security Intelligence Service as a Forensic psychologist and criminal profiler. She met Joe at a Symposium on Criminal Intent and Biofeedback systems. Joe had a rudimentary apparatus he had thrown together for the show. They talked shared stories and became good friends.

The borders to and from the states was in Chaos; people from both sides were being detained and even imprisoned using faulty Security protocols and lazy sham Jurisprudence. It was better to err on the side of caution which did not fare well for Human Rights and Freedoms. Terrorism and Government Laws and legislative policy had made the prophecy of the book 1984 a reality.

Prisons were overflowing; murder and mayhem thrived. Conspiracy was the new Religion and even good people fell prey to the machinations of Heartless Security Protocols.

The need for a 100 Percent error free system to protect Life and Freedoms was an absolute necessity, for it was a foregone conclusion for anyone who cared to look, that things were going to hell in a handbasket pretty damn quick!

Jill had been meeting with Joe in his garage for over a year. They put together a rather bulky yet effective weapon against Terrorism and other Social miasmas which translated into Heartlessness. A LOVE relationship transpired.

The Totem Gate was a conglomeration of Piezoelectric Crystals, Gas chromatography-mass spectrometry (GC-MS) devices and EMF sensors with a Bio-Energetic field which could engage a dense Electromagnetic Grid around the Gate when detection was negative. It locked the 'Patient' inside the gate. A cortex inhibiting engram shunt was attached and the 'Patient' was neutralized for further processing.

Governments from both sides of the border mass produced the Totem Gate units. And they worked; too well!

Government Officials, Judges, Lawyers, Bankers and even Police and CSIS Agents kept getting 'suspended' by the devices. Realtors and Housewives, even 7 year olds were caught and through agreed upon procedures were summarily detained and 'processed.

Airports, Banks, Schools, Malls and Hospitals not to mention Government facilities and Military infrastructure all had the Totem Gates installed and change began to happen!

Only a very surprising few and some not so surprising some were able to walk through the gates unaffected. They came from all walks of life. Very few Politicians, Judges, Tax Officials and Bankers; well almost none of those got through.

Most Babies and children up to Six or Seven and most Animals could walk through except those whose behavior was damaged by mishandling Heartless humans.

There were more from the plain and simple walks of life then from the trained intellectual strata of society. Some Advanced Physicists were actually Holy Men able to comprehend the Vast Infinite Awe that permeated our Cosmos.

The standard was that the Heart detector could detect when feelings of Awe and Joy and Peace were in a person, because of the higher Voltages and Frequencies these feelings generated.

It took awhile, but things began to change. Even Prisons had no real Guards except for a few to keep the Peace. A prisoner could just walk out through the Totem Gate when he or she was ready. If a real 'change of Heart' had occurred they walked out freely.

People began to Trust and Honour each other without question; a new era of Peace, Joy and Freedom began. A turn to Nature and living in plain and simple harmony with her became 'the' way of life.

Earth danced my Heart

Anahay yo way!

Earth Spring, singing me her song,
Sweet heresy to this heathen heart,
While dancing I am played along,
Her Urges gesticulate all my limbs!

Anahay YoHo AnAway

Sweat mingles with my longing tears,
Raising me up another sighing breath,
Long and gone all my ignorant fears,
In that beat moving my feet along.

Yo anahay yo way

Lovers dance this song with alert madness,
Natural movements giving feelings sway,
To and fro like childrens playing gladness,
Leaping free in rhythms sweet caress!

Anaway yo ho way!

Feeling this is all I can do ...

This tender agony of parting,
Soul seered by sweet lament,
Love is the goal of all other goals,
Longing is the place that I am sent.

Window of the invisible opens,
Heart waves move of your Grace,
I don't remember where I live,
When you are all of over the place.

The language I use is without words,
Even my breathe is moved by you,
That book of Love that you expose,
Feeling this, is all I can do.

Miseries are Divine blessings,
You make them gifts so pure,
Impressions lost to Loves devotion,
Of this my Heart is sure.

These eyes which clearly see,
Only see shadows, partial images, dust and ashes;
Mere reflections of You... I am blind!

These ears which soundly hear,
Only hear echoes, random noise, modulated vibrations;
Inharmonies of You... I am deaf!

This mouth that moves to speak,
Only talks nonsense, utters prattle, articulates nothing;
Spacious double-talk of You... I am dumb!

These senses cannot grasp the ineffable, nor embrace the infinite!
You are beyond the reason of mere understanding,
I am struck deaf, dumb and blind,
By Your enormity and mystery!
Yet, nonetheless, You are in this Heart carressed...

the bicycle prayer

Riding this gift, my Bike, up North Shore streets,
Then I am nearer to this prayer cascading in my Heart.
As if lungs and limbs finally dance to the Rhythm of that awe!

All roads remind me of you!
Like a paradigm shift,
A mathematical uncertainty,
or a fascination with the space between the houses.

Then I hang upside down,
My Heart soaring in the sky,
My mind immersed in deep seas,
And You showing me that immeasurable chasm between.

Now, even my falls are careful reminders,
That You are keeping me from even greater delusions,
Now my Heart is not different from your immutable Spirit,
but roils and expands in Your simple natural Mystery.

This Prayer becomes You at every turn of the wheel,
My breathing is deep, Heart beat a simple song,
While you unfold your awesome creations,
And I feel the Peace of Your Beauty.

Poems to God that is 'You'

You used to scare me with your torrid schemes.
My mind was a parcel for your unraveling.
There was a time you used to play with its shadows,
And then you said you never took sides,
In War or Love!

I believed you then!
Now I know I was wrong.
You are not to be believed, but sung!
And when my eyes are wet, drowning in this turgid Heart,
Then I know this Soul has swelled with you that day!

...

A mass is a Higgs/Boson equation,
Deifying your mysterious principle of attraction!
Keeping your stars on an ever course,
While my mind is assuaged with your Peace,
My Heart swells with your Love,
And now I have been created!

...

This day has mattered to one so swayed,
By your hammer of fate!
I hung from remorse too often for words,
Yet you beckoned with tears and laughter.
Hidden in a Heart of infinite anomalies,
And mysterious mannerisms,
Like twinkling eyes at the moment of death!

...

There is no use with Human like innuendos,
That are crimes that make up minds.
No thought is made without particles,
You have ever before destroyed,
And no tear is without your,
Infinite recycled Love affair.

My heart is an elixir of prayers,
With which I consort and hum the Soul, Oh My
OM I

...

Waiting is a Lovers kiss,
Just before the eyes close,
And Hearts merge in crescendo!

No differences in your presence,
No stubbornness that separates,
No one to understand!
Just particles that whisper You!

No me. No You! No we.
Just the waiting without time.
Like an empty boat,
Carried by your never ending sea...

This Heart forever voyages,
Longing its compass,
Always going home!
And 'You' are Home to me!

Art?

ART? What is it? Whence does it come? Why is it here? There are, it would seem, two forms of Art. Objective Art, and Subjective Art. The latter being about 99.9% of the Art we see and/or hear. Subjective Art comes in 3 flavours, generally, i.e., Intellectual, Emotional, and Physico/Instinctual.

A quick example of each would be Picasso's Instinctual works, the Expressionists emotive works, and the Intellectual forms of so called Modern Art. Of course there are various blendings of the above which speaks to each of us on the level of our personal character, hence the like/dislike quality of subjective art werks.

With Objective art, like the Gothic Cathedrals of old, the Pyramids, and music such as Beethoven's 5th Symphony or Mozarts 40th, 41st and 42nd symphonies, each and every one has a similar experience. Often getting us out of our personal time/space habit patterns; lifting us in awe to the greater nature of life. So it is that Nature reflected in Art moves us beyond our tunnel realities, whilst the subjective forms chain us to our habits of seeing and hearing, or provide us a diversion at best.

This opinion is subject to change by cosmic coincidence and other natural factors...;)

impossible things

... Curiouser and curiouser

The Queen character in "Through The Looking Glass" says that she likes to think about two or three impossible things every morning before breakfast. It helps air out her mind.

Through the Looking Glass
http://www.infomotions.com/etexts/literature/english/1800-1899/carroll-through-101.txt
by LEWIS CARROLL

Alice laughed. `There's no use trying,' she said: `one CAN'T believe impossible things.'
`I daresay you haven't had much practice,' said the Queen. `When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.

This kick starts the mind and helps create new local pathways synaptically, thus growing your mind to wonder again.

Habits create tunnel vision that takes the joy out of life and dampens Reality Selection abilities with 'rule' based expectations. You see only the Map and not the Territory.
Dance and some fun Hatha Yoga does this for the body.

Co-create with Joy. The Heart is the key to Wonderous things, Impossible things ...

Canada Day!

Canada Day: Is it Flag waving nationalism? An identity prop for the dispossessed and estranged? A psychological buttress for fragile egos! Like my car, like me! Dis my Flag, dis me and we are all in it together! It is the plaint of the powerless, the cry of lost and the hope of the disconnected!

My take on being born somewhere is that you are a fragment of Nature's urge in that landscape. That you reflect the land you were grown from.

Somewhere, an ancient voice sounded, in this land. From times when this land was peopled by the various red nations. A time when the white nations first gathered on her shores. That voice told of how it would take several generations for the land to change these new people. That the land would mould them for whatever evolutionary urges the land would require. That time is now ... these new caretakers come from all the colours of the Medicine wheel. It is you and me ...


I was musing about the 'cultural hybrids' that make up the Canadian melting pot of peoples yesterday, Canada Day. Watching all the differences with my mind, following the threads of history each 'hybrid' carries in their DNA and level of consciousness. Each a bridge, from a place, a people and a past.

Then, I watched them with my Heart, with eyes Divine. As the Heart does not 'differentiate', I was able to see how each and everyone, fulfills Natures purposes, whether or not they are aware of it.

Nature chose us, as the mediums of change, it wants to become. We are a thin organic layer upon the face of the earth. As the Earth's consciousness evolves and changes, so does our own. Unless we choose to accelerate with simple, in tune with Nature, techniques.

Each of us is a synaptic impulse transmuting cosmic energies, into the stuff the Earth can use. Each, a bridge of energy transforms, dancing in ways the Land realizes, in its march towards the goal; evolution!

As we are the Lands Agents of Change, we all have purpose and are connected to her. Even in death, we are utilized for the stuff we transmuted while living; recycled and born again. Then, as the Land Aspires to become a Star, we shall all transcend in that blissful transition ... dust to dust, each mineral born of Cosmic agencies, the furnace of Stars; from Stars we come, to Stars we shall return ... So be it!

So I mused yesterday, laying under a Spruce tree, on a Beach in West Vancouver ...

I awoke from a feverish dream

On my birthday, June 21st, Aboriginal day and the Summer Solstice, I awoke from a feverish dream; I am watching the sky, I see thousands of Eagles flying from East to West. I go into the building behind me to tell others.

A native elder, sick from long years of neglect and abuse, comes out to look. His body as old as Earth itself, his eyes as bright as the Sky. By the time we get out, the last of the Eagles has disappeared behind some high clouds. The elder looks up. He says he sees them, and would have a recording on his PC using a sky WebCam. We go into his rooms and he let's me tinker with his machines as I am trying to play back the recording. It takes some fussing about.

We are sitting across from each other. The elder tells me the stories that he is keeper of.

The elder continues...

He says that the land has become sick; like him, like me and like you. That a healing crises is imminent. The Eagles are gathering, he said.

"The Earth is running a slight fever from greenhouse gases, after enjoying relatively stable temperatures for 2,000 years. The National Academy of Sciences, after reconstructing global average surface temperatures for the past two millennia, said Thursday the data are "additional supporting evidence … that human activities are responsible for much of the recent warming."

http://abcnews.go.com/Technology/wireStory?id=2108649

http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2006/06/22/ap/tech/mainD8IDH6HO6.shtml

http://www.wired.com/wireservice/story.php?nosubnav=true§ion=Science&storyId=1539693

On Prayer and the Seven Rings of Splendor

Mystic is another way of saying being plain and simple, in tune with Nature; one who 'speaks' with the Heart.

We are all 'meaning makers' or as the Bard says, "There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so". - (Hamlet Act II, Scene II). Raja yoga, indeed!

My purpose is to speak with Heart, and write with 'courage', from the French 'le couer', with Heart. To 'see' with the eyes of the Heart, and tell that story.

"If you treat an individual as he is, he will remain as he is. But if you treat him as if he were what he ought to be and could be, he will become what he ought to be and could be." -Goethe

I do not think Goethe was compelling any singular future for those individuals he was referring to in the above quote. Rather, I believe his intention was to 'free' the person from their self imposed personality, their Samskaric shackles, their pain bodies. Neither compelled from the past, nor future beckoned! Free to become whom they ought to be; in Gods image, you see.

Each, a shard of the crystal, all shiny and clear, reflecting the light within, choosing Love over fear

Knowing is an addiction, while Loving it's balm. Our Hearts do not differentiate; all it takes to be a Brother or Sister is to have one.

Goethe was, amongst other things, an Alchemist. As such, he was aware of the principle of 'Sympathetic resonance' found in the Emerald Tablets of Hermes Trismigistus, a line of which is, 'As above, so below'. Even words are imbued with potential; acting as agents of change.

Simply put, he believed we are all Gods, but we have forgotten this over lifetimes of uncertainty and fear, the veil of ignorance; and that by the miracle of Love and faith, and our God given freedom to choose, we can become again as Gods. It is this, in which he beckons us, with the quote above.

Ghandi stated, to be the change you want the world to become. Dr. Wayne Dyer said, 'change the way you look at things, and the things you look at change'.

Quantum physics has shown that depending on the observer, light is either a particle or a wave. It is a strange power that the observer has, is it not? How we see ourselves and others would have similar consequences, n'est-ce pas? To see with the Heart, is to have eyes Divine!

A prayer, then, is Heartfelt words, igniting Grace to action.

I suppose I have the Heart of a poet which is reflected in my prose. So be it.

As for God, this is a personal matter best experienced in one's own Heart. How do you define something which has its centre everywhere and its circumference nowhere? We as humans tend to use language as the measure of all things. Is language not really a tool of difference?

For instance, I have studied some of the Ancient personality mapping techniques and am quite familiar with Astrology, Numerology and Kabala as well as Buddhist and Aboriginal Shaman mapping systems. They define their own percept’s into languages that are useful as exploration tools. Shards of light to ponder and keep.

When you see light through a prism, it refracts into the various rainbow like frequencies, which our eye can see. Some of these frequencies are only visible through machines; although some animals and bugs can see a few of these hidden spectrum's.

In cosmology, when we look at all the known frequencies, we see that what our eye can perceive is really only a small part of our overall universe of light. So to say, that the Human experience, can only physically comprehend a small subset of all the possible frequencies of all of manifestation.

This then points towards a pattern of possibilities in the basic Human interactions and personalities. We see our Brothers and Sisters all manifest in unique but similar ways. Personalities can then be mapped, as such.

That is not the point, however. What we can map with tools of old like Numerology, Astrology or Shamanic systems, or with the newer tools of Psychological types, is, as the saying goes, only the map and not the territory.

So, on the one hand we have a small sub-set of human variability that echoes and repeats in all of our human dance. On the other we see that this dance can change and evolve in much more clever ways then these maps or even our language can construe.

It is an Art, His gift, to change and evolve where our skill, experience and Karma is but the beginning, The Heart forever voyages, surpassing these circles of splendor, always going OM! By HIS Grace...

Anna and the Nature Spirits

Keegan the Fire Faun: Chapter 1

Anna was born with the Sun in the Heart of Leo the Lion; and she showed it. She could speak in English, German and Czech. She knew her way around a keyboard and mouse and any other gadget her Father brought into the house. She could dance and sing with her Mother and she could do Arts and crafts like it was in her nature. In short, she was very creative.

Anna was also very curious and she was indeed very mischievous.

Anna had a big heart, and a long memory and she was also very sensitive

One morning, Anna awoke, in her bed. A sunbeam was dancing on the wall. She watched it, with her big eyes sparkling. She put up her hand to catch it. The light from the sunbeam bent into a shape like a little man. She pulled back her hand quickly.

Then she heard a flute playing. It seemed to be coming from the sunbeam. She sat up and looked out the window to see if there was someone there. The flute playing seemed close by. It sounded like it was in the room with her.

Anna bent over her bed to look under it. She saw a sock, a plastic train and Dad's TV remote exactly where she had hid it. "No one playing a flute, there" she thought.

Then she stood on the bed to look at the sunbeam painting the wall. The flute playing made her smile. It was like playing outside, by the brook under the trees, and watching the bubbles float and burst in the water. It was a happy song.

The song drifted off. Anna waited, watching the sunbeam. Then, in a wink of an eye, someone or something, jumped out of the sunbeam onto her bed. This caused Anna to jump back, falling onto her pillows, teddy bears and stuffed Unicorn. Anna swallowed and looked up at the ...

"Faun," he said with a whimsical look. He began to laugh and dance around the bed. "Anna, I am a faun, a fire Nature child, riding a sunbeam where you caught me. I am your friend and my name is Keegan." , he said aloud while bowing low. He stood up and placed the flute to his mouth and played another happy song. He danced and looked at Anna with smiling eyes.

Anna watched for a moment, then said, "Keegan, what kind of a name is, Keegan, and what's a Faun?"

The Faun laughed and sat down at the end of Anna's bed. Keegan cocked his head to one side, as if listening to something or someone, far away. His ears were fluttering about. Anna began to giggle at this very funny looking faun.

Keegan stopped his ears from wiggling, looked at Anna and said, somewhat offended, "Well, Anna, I am your friend, and friends don't laugh at how they look, you know." He closed his eyes and turned away, a little pout on his mouth.

Anna put out her hand, touched Keegan on the arm and gently said, "Oh, I am sorry Keegan, it is just that I've never seen a faun before, and watching your ears wiggle," she paused, "Well, it is very funny." She smiled with a look of caring on her face.

"Besides, Faun, how come you are my friend, when I have never met you before today?" She said with a quizzical look on her face.

Keegan looked back at her. "Anna, only our friends can 'see' us!" He exclaimed with pride. "and only our very special friends can open a sunbeam to let us out." He pointed to the sunbeam on the wall.

Anna thought for a moment. Then replied, "That seems to make sense, but you still have not told me what a Faun is or what you are doing here, dancing and playing the flute, on my bed" Anna just wanted to know.

Keegan bowed low again. He put the flute to his mouth and played another happy song. After a moment he stopped playing, and looked at Anna. Smiling, he said, "Anna, we are the keepers of the flame of life. Creativity, energy, dancing, running, jumping and laughter are all our gifts. We are Nature's children and we share our gifts with only those children who can see us. And we only come to those children who really know Joy in their Hearts." He pointed to Anna's chest saying, "Like you, Anna!"

Anna smiled. She got out of bed and looking back at Keegan, said, "OK Keegan, then let's go outside and play by the brook where the trees are." She went to the dresser and opened the top drawer.

Keegan looked out the window, then jumped onto the sill with a single bound. "I'll meet you there, Anna. Other Nature children are wanting to meet you. They are your friends, too"

"There is the Air faerie", He continued, "She is magical, and a joyous little creature who loves to dance on the wind. Her name is Aurea. Then there is Nancy the Water Nymphet who likes to splash and swim, and Ernie the Earth Gnome. He likes to sit and always looks like he is waiting for something.", he laughed and ...

... leaped out of the window riding a sunbeam to the ground.

Anna ran to the window and looked out after Keegan. She watched him continue to dance towards the brook and heard Keegan playing a wonderful happy tune. She smiled and dressed quickly to catch up with her new friend.

It was the beginning of a magical day; Anna rushed out of her bedroom, down the hall and ran, giggling, down the stairs. She was thinking about the new friends she was going to meet today.

Anna slid on the wood floor, in her stockings, coming to a halt just as she heard her Mother call out, "Anna! Stop running down the stairs and come have your breakfast."

the old man and the young woman

Neptune and Triton; the old man and the young woman

The day was hot and sunny. It was a late summer afternoon. A breeze came up the hill from the sea below.

An old man made his way up the hill. Slowly, to the inner rhythm of his own nature. His gray-blue eyes sparkled and a smile creased his face. His clothes were edge-worn, yet had the look of long years of care. He loosely grasped a wooden cane with a rainbow of threads woven around the handle. His gait had purpose as he gazed softly at everything he passed.

A young man and woman hurried down the hill, pushing and shoving, laughing and smoking cigarettes. They wore sunglasses and the latest in neoplastic fashion; there seemed to be corners at their shoulders. The young man took off his glasses and pushed the girl into the path of the old man. She cursed and whipped around, causing the old man to halt his progress. She laughed nervously and shot a look of derision over her sunglasses towards the young man. The young man smiled, animal-like, and looking down at the old man said, "Who are you, old man?"

"Who am I?" the old man echoed back, smiling at the young man. "I am! And yet, a meaning maker, after all." His eyes glistened. "I am swimming in a sea of Love, where it is never too late!" He laughed and chortled in his white beard, a softness in his expression.

The young man made rude, threatening gestures and screamed angrily, "Ah, you're just a crazy old man!" The young man grabbed the girl by the arm, pulling her to him as he strutted down the hill. She resisted slightly, staring back at the old man with a curious look.

The old man had turned, watching them hurry by, and said, "That I am, yes, that I am!" The old man continued his walk up the hill.

The old man sat down at a bus stop to rest, looking up at the billowing clouds above. The young girl came running back, stopping before him. Her breathing was loud and raspy from years of smoking. She took off her sunglasses and asked, "Whad’dya mean, a meaning maker? That's crazy talk!" She cocked her head to one side with a quizzical look.

The old man looked up at her, smiling. He said, "Oh my dear daughter, the place that I am sitting, He makes this place for me. The thoughts that I am thinking, He makes those thoughts for me. The sights and sounds that I am seeing and hearing, He makes those sights and sounds for me."

The old man paused and watched a starling dance in the sky, catching a bug in the breeze. He looked at her and continued, "What is not His, my daughter? What you see and hear makes you feel separate and alone. Even when walking and bustling past others in the street, you feel separate and oh, so lonely." She crossed her arms on her chest defiantly. "Even this is His gift; all are translucent atoms twirling and whirling in and out of existence; the dance of Alive, the dance of Nature, the dance of Love!"

"Let go, dearest daughter, let go of your loneliness and shame." He smiled tenderly. Her arms now hung at her sides and she looked down at the ground. "You are becoming what you ought to be! Knower and known—you are the original face, full of His grace! Let go to the beautiful Alive, dear daughter." The old man closed his eyes, as if in prayer.

She sat beside him. She felt an unusual peace. She looked up at the clouds, then said, "How do I know if what you say is true?" she queried. The old man opened his eyes and looked at her. Then he continued, "Your mind is an instrument for your particular research while you are here. It is duality-based and doubt is its main condition. It is a good tool as far as it goes, but the Heart"—he grinned, eyes sparkling—"yes, the Heart, that is the place where Love and Peace and Joy reside, my dear daughter. That is the place where God sits, and where the courage to be a sincere, authentic person arises." He sighed, as if swooning.

She began to feel something in her chest, a pressure building there like before a cry, but different. A feeling of sweet sorrow filled her; a longing for something arose, like a long-forgotten memory. Her mind began to settle. She felt a breeze on her cheek as she watched a dragonfly whiz past, its wings glittering, rainbow-like, in the sunlight.

A bus rolled into the bus stop. Air brakes hissed loudly. The back doors swung open; a man and woman stepped down to the sidewalk. They were arguing. The girl and the old man looked on.

They watched the man and woman walk down the hill, still arguing and gesturing. Then the young girl said, "Old man, you’re full of it!" She got up and ran down the hill.

The old man watched her disappear around a corner. He helped himself up with his cane and continued his walk. His heart aching with longing, a feeling of sweet sorrow, carrying him towards the Divine. He smiled to himself and said aloud, to no one in particular, "Yes, I am full of it!"

 

Memorial of Viktor Alexander Duzik

50 hearts gathered at Boal Chapel to support the Young Duzik family and to see and hear of the brief, remarkable life of Viktor.

A slide show flickered on a screen at the front of the Chapel. Pictures lovingly assembled by Jaromir, the Father. A time-line, from pregnancy, birth to the death of little Viktor. Below the screen, a table with blossoming Spring flowers and a small oval yellow cedar Urn.

Music wafted through the Chapel; a symphony that carried the Heart to the sublime. A longing of sweet sorrow, in every note.

Anna, Viktor's 3 year old Sister, began a slow rhythmical sway to the tempo of the music. Her arms elegantly held akimbo. Turning gracefully, interpreting the sounds intentionally, with a gentle pious smile on her face. An Angel dancing for her little brother, with all the Art and Soul she could gather, well beyond her years. It was a gentle prayer offered in graceful movement with a heart full of the presence of God.

Alexandra told Viktor's story. The room of people transfixed; all eyes forward and ears alert. She began with tears of grief. Then a quiet settled in the room; her face lightened, shining from some secret joyous place inside. Her heart spoke directly; sweetness in every word. We all experienced the pregnancy, birth and passing, of Viktor. It was no longer words and phrases, but a sympathetic vibration from her heart to ours; until all Hearts beat as one Heart. We became intimately connected; we knew her grief and her joy. A Mother's love embracing us all.

Outside, Thunder rolled in the dark clouds over the Mountains. A warm rain, like tears from heaven, fell gently all around. Three little girls danced and laughed gaily, in the rain. They were celebrating the joy of life; Every life.

on the Death of little Viktor

It rains today, and then the Spring Sun returns. The soil is alive; plants thrive. Yet, the death of little Viktor lingers on.

A sadness presses upon the heart, like the weight of rain laden clouds.

We are all of us, destined to die ...

It is with a heavy heart that we witness the passing of one so young. A weight made seemingly impossible to bear, with only our frail human understanding.

What can a small newborns death possibly mean in the cosmic scheme of things.

How can this be! We plead, we negotiate; denial, anger and bargaining. Depression! What's the use! Our tunnel vision of human reasoning breaks under the weight of this death.

Tears pour like the Spring rains; the Sun's light streams through a gap in the heavy clouds, whispering a rainbow, like a promise. Flowers bloom with their beauty. A mystery of Love and the promise of Love to come!

The flower, soon fades, disintegrating into the soil from whence it came. Dust to dust. A moment of Beauty, come and gone. Some blooms take years to come about, lasting mere moments before wilting into decay.

Why does the flower bloom, what is the purpose of this Beauty, if it only lasts but a moment in time. It is a mystery of Nature; it is a mystery of Love.

A Star lasts for an eon of time. Each of our little lives but an instance when compared to this cosmic scale. Perhaps, our bloom of life is Beauty to the witness of the Stars. Perhaps, we are inspiration to Stars, with the brief blossom of our lives.

I have been witness and participant in the births of my children. A wondrous mystery full of the presence of God when this new life bursts into the world; as if a warp and weft in the Tao opened and let through this new being. The feeling is bigger than me, bigger than the room, bigger than the world somehow. Perhaps as big as Love itself. This is the same feeling I had when I was witnes to Viktor's passing. It was as if the heavens had once again opened up and let me embrace that mystery; touch the divine...

With the 'eyes' of the Heart, we see Beauty, even in Death. We don't need to understand it. We don't need to know why.

In this, Viktor has been a Teacher. In this Viktor has shown us a mystery that is Love.

the Crematorium

Upon opening one of the two large wooden doors to the Crematorium, our Funeral assistant greeted us. I looked around the small comfortable room.

There on a trolley with a green linen cover was a little white casket.

The grieving Mother and Father approached the simple box. Alexandra began to weep. Her tears fell on the white linen which covered the casket, making water spots there.

Alexandra asked to see inside. We opened the casket and looked at the tiny body, wrapped in linens and sheepskin with a small Teddy Bear at his side. Viktor looked like he was asleep. Alexandra wept deeply.

We moved to the next room where the gas furnace had been made ready. The furnace man stood humbly by. Jaromir took the casket in his arms, and with a look requested me to take an end. We approached the furnace opening with the box and inserted it. Standing back, the heat already noticeable, Jaromir pressed the button. The door slowly closed. The dial for the gas set to 3. The furnace wailed.

We returned back to the waiting room. Alexandra wept for some time. Jaromir wept quietly, holding his wife closely. I meditated and thanked the little one for his teachings.

The thought came to me as I listened to the wailing machines in the next room. This little ones water was now in the air, outside. Carried by the light breezes on this Sunny day. Falling to the ground all around, becoming part of the earth again, nurturing the Spring flowers there.