Into the Cool
The Collected Poems of David Saxton
1992 through 2007
Published by Gegensatz Press at Smashwords
ISBN 978-1-933237-50-3
Copyright © 2008 by David Saxton.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or if it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this poet.
"David Saxton has found
a poetic voice like no other,
mixing a passion for the earth and a
vision of other worlds
and an insight into other beings and a
plain old lover's perplexion.
Harken to it."
- Kirkpatrick Sale
December
1991
****
Contents
The Kali Devotionals and Other Poems
My Time With You: Sonnets of Loss and Renewal
One Life, One Earth, After Ryokan
Previously Unpublished: The Find
****
After Walking in Dream
Among
the Bodies
"and death ?"
Angel Time in Manhattan
Anna
Maria Island
Authority
The Beat
Being Pressed
Being With
God
Black Snow
Brief Song
Certain Powers
Certainty and
Change
Charlie's Soul's Destiny
Crazy Charlie: An Elegy for
Charlie Watkins
Crazy Charlie: His Dark Origins
Crocus Time
The
Dance of the Be
Dharma 5
Each Father's Prayer
The Face of
Man
The Fall
Final Etchings
The Find
Flypaper Hopes
The
Fool
Forgetting at Good Sam Hospital
Furious Me
Gaea
Gathered
in the Light
The God in the Clown's Hat
The Great Escape of You
and Me
Hidden Speeches
History Betrayed
The Idea of Hearing
in the Buddha Mind
"If I Were To ?"
Intricate
Puzzle
Invocation to the Great Mother
Jesus
The Kali
Devotionals
The Lover's Intent
Mumbo in the Jumbo
9/11
No
Hope
No Mind
North Point Star Report
Now Time
On Almost
Losing
One Life, One Earth
Poet's Postscript
Precious
Things
Returning
Rising
The Ritual Dream Journey of the
Green Codicils
Rooms Beneath the City
The Scratching of
Tomorrow
The Second Coming
The Self is Not Limited !
Sitting
With Jack
Sitting With the Unknown Dead
The Song of I
Am
Sonnets I-XLV
The Soul in Action
Spring Again
Star
Knowledge Caught at Lunch
Stupid Things
Such Silence
This
Damp Earth
Time
To Be Old and To Be Young
Watching
While
Waiting
Wondering With Spring
The Zoo
****
"I peer out at my
universe
which looks as vast
to me
yours to you."
- Jane Roberts
"If We
Live Again"
The title of these collected works, Into the Cool, is taken from the title from the marvelous book of the same name by Eric D. Schneider and Dorian Sagan. The subtitle of that work - Energy Flow, Thermodynamics, and Life - is meant to reveal the subject of the text which in its way is one of the most fascinating and insightful scientific books I have ever read. Not only for what it reveals about the universal application of the Second Law of Thermodynamics to the phenomena of life, but what it says about the human condition when it confronts the implications and meanings of a universe that is ceaselessly in transformation, renewal, and finally in irreversible decay.
The mind of humankind has always been aware of the Second Law, of course, as its truths are embedded in the folk wisdom of all peoples. Simply review the proverbs and aphorisms of any culture and one is struck by how they refer to the flow of time, energy, and the meaning of that for the experience of the individual and society.
The human can only finally accept the finite and transient terms of its own personal consciousness and need admit that even its own species form is subject to the same certainty of extinction - that the planet itself is on the same course toward eventual disappearance.
It hurts and it terrifies, but it does compel a response that makes for what is unique in the human experience. That response is what we may call the poet's stance against the seeming certainty of the decay and disappearance of all meaning with the assertion that "My feelings, my thoughts, my joys, my visions, my love for the world will not die! I will set them down before you and their beauty will make them and me immortal!" Such is the vanity of artists, but it is also the source of the heroic and gives humans the courage to go on to do their best to create and engage the cosmos as creative, self-determining agents resolved to serve the highest potentials in themselves and the species, thereby honoring the planet from which they have so recently emerged.
It is in that tradition that I present to you, dear reader, my Collected Poems. They have been created since the 1970s and placed haphazardly before the reading public since 1992. With this publication they have been brought together for the first time for your consideration.
The first work, From the Road at 40, is an assembly of poems I had composed in notebooks for a period of fifteen years. They deal with the challenges of life, political realizations, life with nature, and the challenges of finding meaning in a strange and difficult world. They are simple and straightforward and require no explanation.
The second, The Kali Devotionals, were created in response to my reading and becoming enthralled by the beauty and the spiritual power of the Gospels of Ramakrishna. I was attempting to recast the meaning and the obligation of the person to the divine energy that lies at the heart of all phenomena. In so doing I attempted to reflect the ecological dimensions of this energy as it relates to the eco-holocaust of our time. These poems were created during a time of seeking wherein I thought that some sort of ultimate realization was possible. This belief emerged from my study of the eastern religious classics.
The third piece, The Second Coming, came from my involvement in occult practices aimed at self-realization and self-discovery in service to the world of nature. I was probing the inner worlds of the unconscious in service to creating new forms of self-understanding to assist humankind in transcending the limits of the human form and making an evolutionary leap in self-understanding that would result in a new world or new age for the species and planet that is so needed by our earth at this time. The essence of this occult journeying in service to planet earth is embodied in the Hands of Hope / Sacred Ecology Statement contained within this work. It warrants a close reading and sensitive reflection on the reader's part.
The fourth is My Time with You, a sonnet series created, in service to personal and collective healing, during a difficult period in my life. They are deeply connected spiritually to my love of the poetry of Conrad Aiken, particularly his sonnet series, And in the Human Heart.
The last previously published work, One Life, One Earth, After Ryokan, is a continuation of the occult theme and, like The Second Coming, incorporates trance sessions with poetry in service to the subject of self-discovery. It explores the methods and promise of self-realization held in the Hindu tradition known as Jnana Yoga. This piece may be thought of as an extension of The Second Coming, in that it employs automatic writing to explore the unconscious and its wonders.
Finally, new poems, "The Find" and "9 / 11":
There is a great painting by Raphael that describes the essential problem that reflective intelligence has faced since the species emerged into self-awareness some one hundred thousand years ago. In that image we are confronted with the two principal philosophers of the west in dialogue with each other as they walk in the city square of Athens. They are Plato and Aristotle. Plato motions heavenward while Aristotle motions downward. These gestures reveal the basic dichotomy the human mind has faced since the project of inquiry about the ultimate nature of reality commenced. The tension this image describes is as to what is primary in the act of knowing. Does the world of becoming precede awareness or is awareness simply an aspect of the presence of the absolute that is known as being, and what is the relationship of the intuitions of these two modes of knowing? Is awareness of and perception of being the end of the project of becoming or is the intuition of the realm of the absolute simply a figment of a living, ever changing mind's imaginative faculties?
These same questions have been dealt with to one extent or another by every people who have come to an awareness of themselves as a distinct species with unique ability for communication and the transmission of knowledge. The answers brought forth have established religions, schools of thought, shaped civilizations, and structured societies. It is in many ways the central question for the human mind and for the life of the person. How it is decided on the personal and collective levels forms the basis of culture and how a society meets the challenges of its continuance and reproduction over time and space.
It is no wonder that this is the central preoccupation of the worlds of philosophy, be it western, eastern, or the oral traditions of preliterate peoples. It engenders myths and can make us mad or saintly, launch wars, explain the working of the cosmos, or make for poets to give their own views on the questions.
The series of poems that make up "The Find" is a meditation on this theme. They attempt to show the tension of these opposing views as I have come to know and experience them. I have been a student of western philosophy as well as a devotee Advaita Hinduism for some thirty years. I have been doing a meditative practice known as the yoga of self inquiry for years. It consists of asking of oneself "WHO AM I?" and responding "NOT THIS" to all temporal constructions presented by the mind seeking to know that upon which mind depends. This practice is an ancient one. Its most recent exponent and exemplar is the renowned and revered teacher Maharishi Ramana (1879-1950).
This practice has graced me with the conviction that there is a place within the temporal, changing mind of the personal self that is beyond the realm of becoming, being that which may be described as the eternal, unchanging self. That in this place lies the promise of a peace that can only be suggested by words. That the phrase, "peace beyond understanding," that mystics use to describe what it is they experience after long years of devotional practice, is real.
Now I am not a mystic. I am a poet and an occultist. I see the poet's role to be one of divining and knowing this place yet resolved to return to the world of becoming to try to explain its nature using the tools of language with its marvelous gifts of metaphor, rhyme, alliteration, symbol, and chant to give assurance and hope to others that they are not lost in a world of ceaseless becoming only to finally disappear into a pitiless void of non-being. That in each of us dwells this divine spark that is both temporal and timeless. That though we are challenged as plural aspects of this ONE WITHOUT A SECOND to live our conditional and temporal lives there is a promise of a permanent escape from the travails of personal existence in the idea of a self-realization transforming our personal identities to one of impersonal knowledge. That we are in truth ONE and the myriad ever changing world of name and form is one of illusion.
But there is a catch from what I have come to know. You can't stay there. Knowledge of the absolute comes with a charge that must be met. That ALL THAT IS may grace you with a glimpse of its effulgent and eternal being making for the certainty that the endless drama of becoming takes place in the realm of changeless being. That you though, as a plural aspect of this one, need return to the world to love and serve in the creation's drama of endless becoming in which all are graced with existence and the prospect of self-realization. That this knowledge makes of one a servant co-creator with ALL THAT IS in its unfolding drama of being and becoming.
As a poet I'm doing my part to help explain that, as the Master Meher Baba once so simply and beautifully put it, it's OK to "DON'T WORRY! BE HAPPY!"
I'd like to think that at the end of their conversation Plato and Aristotle agreed that this is as good an answer to the argument as the mind allows.
So this is my little stance and little screech against the certainty of the Second Law and what it means for me, you, and the whole of the creation. It may seem outlandish or over the top or simply crazy in parts, but nonetheless I am responding to my understanding of the Second Law, claiming that though it may be oh so terribly true it only takes place in me and that alone makes it harmless and somewhat comical in its horrific pretensions of certain doom. And yes it takes place in you as well and in us is in the here and now of the divine self wherein all takes place.
Hope you enjoy the read.
The illustrations on the front cover, the title page, and page 36 are by Colette Elick. Thank you, Colette.
A closing note: I would like to thank Eric Luft of Gegensatz Press. After hearing me read one of my poems, "Such Silence," at a public reading he was kind enough to comment to me that he enjoyed it and said he would review others and consider them for possible publication. The result of that chance meeting is this book. Thank you, Eric. Your kindness and encouragement have been heartening at this time in my life.
David Saxton
February 2008
The Lover's Intent
She a seeker and I a seeker
Each
made in our separate place
Waiting for the fall of God's Grace.
She a seeker and I a
seeker
Wondering at the other in place,
Drawn to loving the
other's face.
She a seeker and I a seeker
Of
our creators unknown face
Who made us separate in space.
She a seeker and I a seeker
Each
alone in our present's space
So to love the one found in place.
She a seeker and I a
seeker
Hoping that time will fall away
And love's source be
found as life's way.
And so we will no more need seek.
****
Black Snow
after the Gulf War, Spring '91
I
There's black snow falling in
the Himalayas !
Blackened from the madness of war
And carried
to lofty heights where Gods dwell !
What does this mean ?
Will the Gods rest quiet as
we
Desecrate their abodes ?
Will the place where the heights
of Earth
Touch heaven the most be still
In the face of puny
man's sin against
Those places it is said Gods dwell ?
What does this mean ?
Should we fear
Black snow
falling in the Himalayas ?
Or should we be proud
Of our assault
against the abodes
Of the ancient, silent ones
Who have not
spoken to us in our
Suffering darkness of violent
Wars of
ignorance.
Will the Gods see our
Black snow falling in the
Himalayas ?
II
Where does it come from ?
This black snow falling in the
Himalayas,
Where does it come from ?
"From the black, oily fires
of hell !
~ ~ A hell we have created !
~ ~ That is where they
come from !"
Why has this hell come ?
Why
is there black snow falling in the Himalayas ?
"To show us that we are
Gods
~ ~ But remain as men."
What will happen from this black
snow
Falling in the Himalayas ?
"It will go to deepen our
death as we
~ ~ For all failing Gods die !"
What of life ?
Will black
snow falling in the Himalayas
Harm life ?
"It is through the death
~
~ Of life on earth
~ ~ That we will die !"
I don't want to die !
I am of life and so
I desire
to live.
"You will die by
~ ~
Death created
~ ~ By the sight
~ ~ Of black snow falling
~ ~
In the Himalayas."
I pray this be not so !
Please hear my prayer
You who
witness black snow falling
In the Himalayas.
III
This be so -
~ ~ That the
cruel Gods of war
Be destroyed by me.
This be so -
~ ~ That weapons
of destruction over life
Be destroyed my me.
This be so -
~ ~ That systems
for mass death
Be destroyed by me.
This be so -
~ ~ That the
heartless
Be destroyed by me.
This be so -
~ ~ That those
who exploit the weak
Be destroyed by me.
This be so -
~ ~ That those
who harm the meek
Be destroyed by me.
This be so -
~ ~ In service
to who sees
Black snow falling in the Himalayas.
IV
Time grows short and life grows
tired
With the shameful antics of you in life.
Time is nothing to fool with
when it grows short
With life cornered with no place to turn but
in you.
A generation with no quick
payback
Will make life leave you
Whereupon you will find only
mindless
Parasitisms of you dependent on the
Clever, manmade
things for life.
Time grows short,
Life grows
tired,
Nature grows ugly,
You grow poorer.
Are you to now grow ?
Are you
to now serve ?
Are you to now love ?
Are you to now live ?
Are
you to now die ?
Only you can choose !
So choose !
Choose now
Because
there's
Black snow falling in the Himalayas,
And such a thing
must not be
From you in life.
There should be no
Black
falling snow.
Falling in the Himalayas.
****
Anna Maria Island
I walked away from my loved
others
To be alone in meditation.
There I did my thing; hid
mind
For a time to better know that which
Makes mind out of a
silence always here.
Then I returned and walked
Back
alone along an expanse
Of steely blue and white Gulf beach
Beside
the pounding of the Gulf 's
Spring surf.
As I approached my loved
others
Who anticipated my return to them
I thought of what they
must think
About my dropping of mind.
Then I turned to find myself
attended
By a flying sandpiper who paced his flight
To my walk.
I looked over my right side
And
his bird eyes turned left
To meet mine letting me know of his
presence.
As I did the background
sea
Beyond rose up to meet
My mind as an equal to the
small
Pulsing thing whose flight paced mine.
This small, living bird in
time
Was alone in my view
Silhouetted against a vast
Presence
that I alone
Was present to witness.
Then I, bird, and sea
Knew of
our present state
And mind so saluted the other.
Then out of my love for the
other
I chanted OM to my companion
Flying beside me in freedom.
"OM SHANTI ... OM ... OM ... OM ... OM ..."
****
"If I Were To ?"
If I were to read
All poetic
utterances,
End to end,
What would I be ?
If I were to think
All great
thoughts thought,
End to end,
What would I be ?
If I were to see
All art in
completion,
End to end,
What would I be ?
If I were to hear
The sounds
of all things changing,
End to end,
What would I be ?
If I were to then and there
be
What and when would I be ?
****
The Idea of Hearing in the Buddha Mind
Courting silence I found myself
gone
From the sounds of me changing
|And I then was no more
alone
Nor together nor there
But simply HERE, straining to
hear.
In my straining silence
Mind
fell ahead of me.
In such silence there
Was no more or no
less
For me to do but
Hear the silence of
Minds becoming
sounds before me.
I could stay HERE
Forever and
simply hear
Things changings in the mind.
I could stay in silence
And
not be mind
And there what thing find ?
"NO MIND !"
****
The Face of Man
I
Now twisted in terror at what
it's witnessing
Happen to its place in life's unfolding
present
The face of man is changing into something else.
That
something else
Is so new that face,
For a time,
May vanish
into nature
Only to reemerge on another side
Of time there to
be found
Renewed. A new face transfigured
By what it has
witnessed in its
Not here moment of threatened
Planetary death.
The face of man is changing
And
this means that something
Changed elsewhere
Will come into
man's place.
II
Smiling, gift giving
Mother
Reveal in me your place of being
So that I may know
That
all things presented
By you are gifts given
By you to me in
life.
Only such a revealing of you
In
me will make me know
The coming gifts of death
To man are
things to be loved
By man for their gift giving
Power to future
life on Earth.
Smiling Mother, death giving
Mother
Make known your place in me
So that I may see
The
coming of the face of THEE
In the humbleness of ME.
III
The face of man is changing
!
Will you change too ?
The face of life is changing
!
Will you change too ?
The face of earth is changing
!
Will you change too ?
The face of death is changing
!
Will you change too ?
The face of God is changing
!
Will you change too ?
The face of love is changing
!
Will you change too ?
The face of change is changing
!
Will you change too ?
IV
Be of brave face,
You who are
to change,
Be of brave face.
That which is about to happen
Is
at best an illusory
Upset of you in time and place
With no
power over you
Except that which you
Allow to have power over
you.
Be of brave face
Who is to
change face
Knowing that all things
Change and everything
Is
becoming something else.
Be of brave face
You who are
to change
Be of brave face.
****
Such Silence
The silence at mind's end
Knows
no other.
Such silence need no longer
Bother with mind's
storming poles
Of self and not self.
Life's bitter partings
And
sweet conjoinings
Are no longer present
In this world of such
silence.
Such silence is there in every
Point where mind
conjoins
With the mystery of NO MIND.
"Where is the point where
mind
~ ~ Conjoins with NO MIND
~ ~ In the self's convergence
~
~ With knowledge and time ?"
There is such silence
In the
ceaselessly present answer
That to know is to be.
****
No Mind
I am HERE - ~ ~ Heart
pounding,
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Blood teeming,
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Lungs
flooding.
I am HERE - ~ ~ Mind racing,
~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Fingers writing,
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Feet resting,
I am HERE - ~ ~ Emotions
rising,
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Joys passing,
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Peace descending.
NOT HERE - ~ ~ The slow birth of
our star,
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ The spinning earth of NO LIFE,
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ The rustling winds of other times.
NOT HERE - ~ ~ The MIND of an
hour ago,
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ The MIND that wrote the last line,
~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ The MIND that is next in line.
NOT HERE - ~ ~ The NO MIND that
isn't
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Yet forever is present
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ In the
MIND of the NOW.
NOT HERE is NO MIND'S locus
MIND
its present focus.
****
Being With God
All that you see is God.
All
that touches you or that you
Touch with hand or thought is God.
God in morn's paper. God in your roll.
There is God too in the harsh
words
Of strangers and enemies.
In the mother's cry of grief
over lost
Sons and daughters - God is
Heard there too.
Know this of God.
There is a place past silence.
A
place past the thought of deep
Where the body cannot see.
A
place where flesh, goes not
As living flesh.
A place where
hope, love, and light
Are as the stone's eternity.
There, where
you go in sleep,
And finally do go in death
Is God too.
****
No Hope
Say that knowledge, reason, and
desire
Are of no use like thistledown in the wind.
Say that the
beggars before the temple
Of our living God waste time and
effort.
That better they'd pick the sores
Of mirth and
forgetting the moment brings.
Say that and in speaking
Remember
your moments flooding diastole
And the singing rage of
systole
Against all that withholds
Your noblest desires for the
other.
Then, for a moment, know this of that -
VERILY THOU ART THAT -
And be done with hope
By
being hope's source
That lies outside of time
And circumstance.
****
Time
for Sophia Mumford
That you see the light of day
In
the face of your daughter.
That you embrace and hold the
space
Enfolding the body of your infant son.
Such blessed acts
are the simple
Gestures of the embodied soul in time
And time
graces your wishes with embodiment.
So go to your days !
Go
with heart thumping, hands reaching,
Teeth chattering, eyes
darting,
Blood teeming, lungs flooding !
So to know and look at
time
As the wish of the body
And the gift of the soul.
****
Crocus Time
Every year at crocus time,
When
hopes unfurl before our sun,
I wonder where my life path
wanders
And where along that path stand I.
Do plans unplanned have
tomorrows ?
Or will some great shadow
Fortell my life's work ?
Does "it" or "what"
or "if " matter
To the "I" of crocus time
?
And will there be an eye in
The world's bright rings of
days
Being born into my bright present ?
For now I'm not to know
Nor
wish nor dare to know,
For now is crocus time
And our brief
yellow, blue, and purple
Friends are making haste to be away.
In their visits is the
meaning
Of all of time's arrivings.
Then these frail
immortals;
These pretties of crocus time
These frail markings
of time depart !
And that is enough and all I
need know
Of now and of then and of when.
****
Flypaper Hopes
Caught at 3:00 or shortly
thereafter
It wiggled and buzzed till half past 4:00.
Now it is
10:18 and its pleas are
Weak and infrequent as my mute
And
feeble desire to hear them.
I can be of no help !
No act of mercy on my part can
free
It from its pinetar fate.
Its wings are sealed in goo
Made
immobile by its flying fate.
Only you who have known the
power
Of the fatal touch of flypaper on
Wings can divine the
meaning of
Such a fate.
But its legs and pretty face are
free
And I've heard its pitiful voice these
Few hours first
strong, brave, and determined
Now weak, fading, and desperate.
The fly knows of me and the
presence I
Represent as a possible freeing power.
It swings
above me this moment
Twisting in the lightest of evening's summer
breeze.
Staring down upon me or into my
camp lantern
In this last night in life
It buzzes furiously at
the shadow I cast
Upon my rising acknowledging
The presence of
light and dark.
What does one do in such circumstances ?
Do I gather up will and
mercy
And with my plastic fork from dinner
Pierce the side of
this sinner ?
Or maybe, while time allows, I
should
Rush with fierce tenderness
Seize its body and tear it
from
Its sticky, piney, tar prison.
Only then to see it damned as
its
Wings are ripped from its fly body
And the object of my
mercy
Has become a humbled bug
Not suited for the world of
bughood
Tortured by memories of wings
And the glories of
flyhood.
There I hear it buzz again !
It is getting late.
My lamp
weakens.
Time and setting call
For a moonlit stroll
Lakeside
with me alone.
I rise, turn, and go
Knowing
of the wonder
And of the sleep to come
And of the fly's coming
death
I swear to a remembrance of
The subject of this
dark
Summer night's meditation.
As I outen my lantern
I lean
and whisper into fly ears -
"Please before the promise
~ ~
Of my shadow departs and I leave you
~ ~ To your separate going
that is all
~ ~ We know of life give one more cry
~ ~ Of terror
to know the power of terror,
~ ~ One more plaintive buzz for
compassion
~ ~ To know the unanswered anguish of
~ ~
Compassion's cries unheard.
~ ~ In those sounds I may hear
~ ~
And know a foretaste of my own pinned
~ ~ Wings, failed hopes, and
cries
~ ~ Of terror that others will know."
But only silence and twisting paper answers.
****
Being Pressed
There will be time for that
No
matter the task.
Be it making new the earth's forests
Or
cleansing the sweet waters of life.
There will be time enough for
that.
That which time is is not limited.
The intent of the
loving self
Surfaces in time and space
Creating earth's life
face
Happens with a power that is
Born of a belief
That ALL
THAT IS
Is time as well as place.
That you and that exist
alone
As infinite self that is time
And that is space
Wherein
life finds
That which makes life's face.
There will be time for that.
For
you are that
And you are time
And you are our earth
Who
gently breathes, wills, and knows
There will be time enough for
that.
****
Each Father's Prayer
Your stumbles are less and
less.
Sureness now becomes your walk
Providing there's no silly
dress
To make you slip and talk
Of mumbly poo
And jiggly
da
Or curia loo
And pibbly sa.
You now approach me from across
the room
On hope's singing wire cast forth
From our reaching
one to the other.
This moment's light will
fade.
This light of you looking to me
With your round diapered
bottom
And graceful breast.
ALL FADE !
That I could catch light !
To
ever see you going I would catch it
And hoop it around me
So
that in life's quick turning
I'd forever be able to see
You
fall your foot or so
And murble curiously to me:
"Blubby jo and blikky dee
~
~ Father I need grow
~ ~ Come grow with me !"
****
North Point Star Report
We are no longer afraid !
The
guns, bombs, and torture centers
Of demon otherness no longer
Stir
our anxious fears.
FEAR IS NOT !
Our single vision
Sees fear's
source
Connecting experience
To our ceaseless,
Churning
wills.
And so we shall free life's
Headwaters through
fearless
And rooted knowledge
Out of which will come
A
clamoring of acts
That will fell,
Like Jericho's walls,
The
bars our new life dream
Is pointlessly behind.
It is the great
coming
That walks before our soul's hopes
In this present time
of tumult.
Thought now carries act.
Action now dances
with
Thought's many toned chorus.
WE ARE NO LONGER AFRAID !
Life cannot now be afraid
In
this present of tumult and terror.
****
This Damp Earth
This body.
Its skin
breathing,
Moving about
Is sometimes cut
And opened.
Then a healing emanates
With
infinite cells
Performing delicately in service
To one
another
While colors remain hidden
In venous cavities
pulsing
With the body's life.
They are brilliant
these
Cavities when newly shown.
"Is it dark inside ?
~ ~
Is the body's insides dark ?
~ ~ No light or sounds or paths to
light ?"
So wonders a frightened
child
Thinking of the grave.