I’ve yet to get a handle on my self
What hope is there of grasping you?
Sitting there,
Greater than the sum of all my senses
A manifestation,
Born of perception
A version of truth?
Or a manifest deception?
A mirage
A visage
Whatever you may be
Just, continue to be
Do my eyes deceive?
Do I just want to believe?
Honestly,
Irrelevant to me
So I beg you please—
Just, continue to be.
Tag: Philosophy
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Beholdher
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Walking with Dante
A strange addictive quality—
The draw of yearning and desire
As though I’m playing hide and seek,
Yet deep down, I don’t want to find you
For the pain and pleasure is the pursuit
The resistance, the obstacles—
Each step a stumble toward a home,
Though I fear what I find will never be enough.
Merely an inn, a halfway place,
It will be the spark alone—
An ember fanned by my own breath
Its flicker swelling into a blinding inferno,
Until I can no longer see the way,
See the truth
Only the figures I manifest—
Dancing…in the flames.
Thus I walk
Willfully ignorant in pursuit of elusive bliss,
I shun the end of the road
For limbo isn’t torment,
If the journey becomes the station.
What do you write after ‘the end’ anyway?
I’d rather die half way than ever pen those words.
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Bird of spring
God make me a bird of spring
Stretching the first time its wings
Wary of the drop below
Yet fearless of what it does not know
Take this knowing away from me
Undo all I’ve seen and set me free
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Silence
For the longest time there was stillness
Unspoilt, uncracked, unbreakable
Until silence awoke and spoke to me
She broke through and spoke to me
She spoke in such a way,
That I heard her voice
Though not a sound was made,
I heard her voice
Though not even a blade of grass did move
At once, I was soothed and scolded
Soothed by her presence in solitude
The companion I could hardly discern
She held me and strengthened my fortitude
Though her touch was not gentle, I learned
If I had known it would burn,
If I had known it would burn so deeply
I would have chosen to keep her at bay
Instead of harbouring her voice
Harbouring her voice so close,
As if to savour the sensations
The sensations of her labouring intonations
Savouring her lamentations
Or did she just echo mine?
Did I pour my heart out willingly?
Or did she decanter this wine?
When did I become her cupbearer?
The cupbearer of silence
Did she have my acquiescence by design?
Or did I seek her counsel?
Perhaps she was always here
Biding her time
Biding her time to thaw the stillness
To breach these walls
Knowing they’d fall
Knowing I’d seek her call
I wonder,
Did I finally choose to listen that night?
Or was I compelled to stay?
The night that silence spoke to me
When she spoke in such a way,
That all I could hear was her voice
As if I even…
As if I even had another choice
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Unravelling I
Why is one never full?
I fear this appetite will be the death of me
Yet, I will still ask why
As my last breath slips through my throat
This insatiable desire to know,
Tell me how,
Tell me why!
And then why and why again
For a moment, I’ll pretend I’m done—
I’m satisfied
Untrue
Deep inside, I’m never satiated
The wise say, “to be is all”;
All else is white noise
Make the wise choice to accept that being is enough
And then diffusing as does ink in an ocean swell
As does the sweet fragrance of jasmine
Stolen from its home by the breeze
As does the sunset kissing the horizon
Yes, yes, yes!
I understand the concept
I’ve read the works and felt the shiver of being
The shiver is evanescent
Yet my thirst, is an unquenchable curse
A famous poet spoke of a thousand desires
Many fulfilled, yet the yearn for more burned inside
In truth, this is all I know
To know
To know I know not enough
To know that knowing is peering through the looking glass;
To be is the other side—
Is peering inside oneself
Finding the source of I
Removing I from within the heart—
As the old Sufi – Bulleh Shah – once pondered
It all sounds so profound yet impossibly simple
I wonder where to begin…
There it is again
I wonder, before I can pretend that I do not exist
I always come first—
Ego before everything else
A prisoner to I
I think…
I think I will wonder why
Until the ink is lost in the swell
Just as it was before I ever wondered
As it will be long after I cease to be
I wonder how long that is
Perhaps it is not for I to know,
Perhaps the question is the folly
I wonder what will unravel first
The thread I’m pulling or I?
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Ghostwriter
With no free will
These words were always to be
No mistakes, No second takes or abandoned verses
Each ends as it began, as it was written, as it was dreamed
Consciousness flowing through lucid streams
Always to be,
Never to wake
Not ever knowing why
For I was destined to ask,
And ask, and ask.
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Laundry day
Friends tell me, Everything happens for a reason.
A hollow platitude dismissing discourse; disarming of any control.
Stoics tell me, It doesn’t matter, it’s all out of your control.’
Forget the heroics and the storytelling.
Focus on your actions and choices alone.
My therapist tells me, Your actions are an inevitable result of everything that came before.
Learn to forgive and accept what is.
There is no hope for control here either.
Go with the flow, and they will say, I don’t think so!
Don’t let life happen to you, take control!
Seize the day, get the universe to work for you!
The friggin’ universe can work for me??
Yet I have no control over my actions, thoughts, or beliefs?
What to make of these mixed messages?
I guess no-one really knows.
I guess it doesn’t really matter anyway.
Come on universe, we’ve got some laundry to do…
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The Cave
Love yourself
Love myself?
Love the shadows on the wall?
What’s casting them?
Is it me?
My self?
My ego?
Is it everything?
Is loving myself turning around?
I wish I knew how to turn this thing around
I have to admit, I don’t love this
The shadows are too black and white
I want to feel the heat of the fire on my face
Look beyond the flames and see
See Everything
See it for what it really is
Unchained and unfettered
Maybe, see what’s worth loving?
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