Hail to thee, Lady. I love you beyond all love
For where thou art, there is nothing
And Everything is within
As my words rise in me,
High as heaven and as deep
The sun rises,
Inside me!
And the grass, wet with dew
And the tears of my forgotten self
Glows with sudden life
In the thrill of my ecstatic dance
Suddenly in this dawn of dawns
The world is clear.
And my laughter rings silently
To the end of all things
For I am alive
And I am Nothing
At Last
A Moan, from my body to my Higher Self
Whilst scrubbing beneath a boat on a winter’s night
“I am divine and undivided
Neither mind nor body.”
So you say, but frankly that
Makes me feel fairly shoddy.
“I am not my body”
You again begin.
But hang on, if you’re undivided
Where do I fit in?
Lying here beneath this bilge
It’s cold and dark and damp
There’s not much luminosity
From this old paraffin lamp
I’ve seaweed slime and antifoul
Upon my hands and face,
My hair is full of barnacles -
Is this what you call ‘grace’?
The further off you go towards
That ideal state of God
The more it seems to me
I lie forgotten in the mud.
Yet locked up in this frail box
Of flesh and blood and bone
Is a quite amazing mystery -
It’s yours, you know, to own.
So how about it, take a break mate
Leave that pinnacle high,
And get to know the scene
With this old grubby human guy!
Blinded by the light
I stand
Torn
Tortured
By my desire for what I want
That unattainable out-of-reach
Light.
Blinded indeed,
For as I turn my back in agony
On that false god
I see with horror
My own fearful shadow
Darker still from the brightness of the light,
Stretching before me.
I have missed the point.
In my passion for unity
My shadow grows ever greater.
I have missed the point.
It’s not about light and dark
But what is in between.
I have missed the point.
Too long have I wandered in the lies of light.
Now, with resolve,
It is time to walk
Into the Night.
I hold in my hand
This brittle darkness,
Blackened, charred wood
My hand closes tight…
A thousand thousand years of pain
And there in my opened palm
A diamond sparkles
And every day as I perceive
Old Saturn’s tattered veil
I’m searching all the time
For the key to end the tale
And falling through this endless space
One thing I know I trust
Is that nothing has more value
Than that diamond in the dust
How real it seems, this world of shadows and dreams.
‘Real’ – what point is there in this word, and how many centuries of futile argument has it spawned about what is and is not real? It seems to me the ultimate in foolish questions to ask, what is real? It is the start of a meaningless voyage. Yet I must have asked that question, as I am here.
For how can I tell anything about ‘real’. Everything I perceive is ‘internally constructed’. It is obvious after just a little thought that the light rays hitting my retina and sound waves hitting my ear drum have no meaning to me in themselves. They require interpretation, just as the binary 1′s and 0′s that make up this Post are meaningless unless interpreted and projected onto a monitor. The interpretation creates the meaning, and the meaning is the interpretation.
Even science tells us that information reaches us in electrical signals. From these signals I create my virtual reality, a drama that plays itself out on a stage that I call the universe. But that universe and everything in it is created by me, within me.
Including my body and mind, which are the Theatre itself, as well as actors in the play. For “I” am neither my body, nor my mind, otherwise they would not be my body and my mind.
Coffee is good for thinking, but not so great for anything else. After all, who wants to think all the time?
 | Odiz on The Fool’s Question |
