Thursday, May 3, 2018
old gods
i suffer and i err.
i am struck with pain these days.
i think in a way i am stuck in
the oldest mythology, i accuse the archetype of parents,
of these very old gods who created and destroy me
at their will,
they sit together on Olympus ,
needy of entertainment they show off their creatures
to the other Gods. It is a game, they laugh or they get
violently angry as the game goes on.
They win or lose,
their creatures have no choice.
The old Gods are mental realities, hungry ghosts
with a greed for blood, sacrifice, submission-
and they stay in us when we will not throw out their thrones.
The old Gods are mental realities, hungry ghosts
with a greed for blood, sacrifice, submission-
and they stay in us when we will not throw out their thrones.
And i shout at them, i refuse the life as given by them.
I try to destroy myself, the gift of this my life-
though i need not do it.
I keep smoking in rebellion against life
and to numb my false perception,
rebellion against these gods, parental dictatorial regime,
mixing up conditioning, context, archetypes, experience and memory.
Although self needs cycles of destruction, it does-
i do not believe in life given by personal gods
nor to be only fate happening to
me like a stone falling on my head.
And to overcome these ruling images of superior God actors,
i can forget them and create the beauty of life by seeing it same as i can bring forward its ugliness by witnessing.
As i am not a mere monadic existence nor fixed
but in flow and change and inter-dependent with all the universe and you and us and all experience i move through: this is more easily said than done.
It is the work of making the song not thought and composed but heard: this needs to learn to be not only one with
but to be the instrument-
and faith that i can be.
is there a better reason to be alive?
to be song and joy?
tell me.
elementary
your moon-lit eye, it swims
and it floats with almond
flowers, calls in the river so dark,
moves the river of time, of me,
your eye brings, takes memory,
and all your tears wept they flow
together with me towards the sea,
always towards the sea, the sea
with the endless, the unfathomable sky.
and in the night, in the bird's cry
all creatures' loneliness meets
silence, and there we fly, we fly
with beauty, your eye and my ear,
all unsaid fills with a voice, the
wind takes all, takes all and us
and the noise, it takes the tears,
the smiles, the laughter, it blows
all with fallen leaves and dust,
the wind and the river take us
to meet in the sky and in the sea,
take us wild and we shall be free,
and then, and then, and then,
we shall sit by the fire on stones,
slowly shake our mind, our heads,
see us, and then we shall smile.
and then and then and then-
what else.
and then does not matter now.
and it floats with almond
flowers, calls in the river so dark,
moves the river of time, of me,
your eye brings, takes memory,
and all your tears wept they flow
together with me towards the sea,
always towards the sea, the sea
with the endless, the unfathomable sky.
and in the night, in the bird's cry
all creatures' loneliness meets
silence, and there we fly, we fly
with beauty, your eye and my ear,
all unsaid fills with a voice, the
wind takes all, takes all and us
and the noise, it takes the tears,
the smiles, the laughter, it blows
all with fallen leaves and dust,
the wind and the river take us
to meet in the sky and in the sea,
take us wild and we shall be free,
and then, and then, and then,
we shall sit by the fire on stones,
slowly shake our mind, our heads,
see us, and then we shall smile.
and then and then and then-
what else.
and then does not matter now.
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