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 ...