Phoenix
by Dale J. Sprague
Op. 6 The Ark
Cantos One Cantos Two Cantos Four
Cantos Three
1 The purposes by which one may live, as deep as they may be, are subject to random, yet through time, balancing forces. Forces that produce upon a windless doldrum sea, the rhetoric of spontaneity, or notions connected only by the unseen regions of one's own being. The reason of such darkness lays beyond the light through which I perceive..living within a world that I, by myself, do not wholly conceive. Therefore let it seem to be whatever it may as aimless imperceptible winds upon an ocean say..."No feeling or thought is rehearsed, revised, or re'chosen under the auspices of a single notion..for the purposes of prevailing darkness, conquering dreams, and pleasant movements of unconnected themes"
2 Dark space. Gleaming twilight. Glimmering night. The waters of the sea are transfigured instantly by radiant light of day. Cool blueness of a clear sky! The moon gently wavers upon the dark mirror of still waters. Storm clouds brood when a feeling left alone too long finds itself suddenly exposed and disconnected. Identity. Purpose. The heart of such...could it only be simple emotion?..what has been set in motion by anger, what has been sweetened by joy. A flower is stepped upon and trampled into the mud so that one identity may, in time, see itself where innocence once was. And the cool white snow, and the clean drifts of void, and the shifting wind renew well'traveled hills and valleys within. And the aestival festival celebrates new life where cool..limpid pools of springtime melt gather, and down the valley they move. Fathered by the radiance of the sun, the waters swiftly and suddenly gather..moving through, coursing around, rolling over..finding each other in brooks..resting in lakes and quiet ponds..moving as river rapids..above ground, under hills, surging and ebbing as the tides of the moon, groping for a place, constantly changing, urging, compelling, traveling..until I find a universe greater than I...to be more depth and breath so the rain may be more intensely felt..feeling its delicate essence enveloping me..surrounding me, the fragrance of evergreen embraces me
The gentle moss, the sweet grass intertwine to form an intricate carpet upon the floor, and the clear sky above becomes an open window through which ancient images of distant places pass. Above, in the night, such cool twinkling lights from the past can only be imagined touching the skin. Yet, by this slight assist so much within can be so readily aroused and moved. For every memory of the past, there is a haunting. For new seasons, there are renewed celebrations. For every moment, an emotion turns occult. Of life, the compulsion, the dark compelling drive to survive likens itself to the incessant wind..a'constantly moving from tree tops to mountain peaks..seeking, forming, reshaping...being reshaped, never stopping, always feeling..enduring, always striving..perhaps for no more reason than just to be. Hardships are so readily endured at the prospect that enough time is leftover to harvest the fermenting grape..to enjoy and preserve the delight of distractions and distortions of thought and perception..to transform a tree into imagery, or a horse for a savior with wings. Aye..how far have we evolved indeed!..that we may see these things..that we may have the time to relish and treasure sensations of enlightenment
Of the morning dawn, cool sparkling frost upon grass..upon quiet reeds of a misted pond where I am deeply mollified by its dark silence..as the lark arises, slowly rising..gaining speed and control, as I slowly spiral, higher and higher..rising high above the earthen floor, I look down...there are no boundaries..gliding, descending, gliding, ascending..turning, spiraling toward the only home I know..within a melody, within a song..for so great is the world of spirit! So great is this space of life. From the small beyond..from the large beyond, from far away beyond me..from the deep within, I anticipate, I dream, but I know not whether it be fantasy or future reality..for a part of me is unique and must become real. Another part always belongs to all that is around, making future and past dreamlike. So isolated from, so entangled with convolutions of light am I, that I have aimlessly wandered between opposing beliefs with equal station, between mixed emotions..a spirit with no name deranged by dichotomies of feeling. Between two extremes, we are bilateral and endowed with a certain dichotomy..a right brain and a left one. At least two. More often one or the other, presidiary. A universe for 'we,' and another for 'I'...and a third, the liaison with no name...and a fourth..the soul of this lifetime on Earth. Striving to blend, working to harmonize...how dynamic is creation!..for a small floral is made through many millions of years, to hold fast upon a rock or a piece of earthen floor..to suddenly find itself afloat perhaps, upon a swiftly moving river to the sea. How great creation is!..for the deep molten magma in sudden metamorphosis, can so readily, swiftly change one world to another
Essentially aware of passive elements in transition, we may survive transient moments of death when massive inner worlds in collision do battle. But on the brink of extinction, the feeling is not forgotten, for so readily do we change if in return there is some reasonable chance for a new sensation. With perception narrowed or broadened as need be, change only as necessary, we are compelled to continue to be, even within an alien world. In creation, there are the physical objects which are not recognized as the living. Yet, the sun has a beginning and end. And life is, at the very least, some beginning and end..as a story is. As all life uses everything else to live some story..is the sun no less alive!?...passive, predictable, but alive! Is the world of passive matter as much a belief system construct as any we could create for ourselves? Is the familiar living but matter self'aware, using other matter, made passive by profound un'self'aware attitudes? Are we but self'aware bits of matter!?..commanding passive elements of consciousness for our own distraction from our own imponderable self consciousness
How life springs so easily into darkness! So readily does life boldly venture, feeling deeply, everything, exactly for what it is..seeing within the darkness of the womb, seeing the beginning'end of things, the life adapts within every fissure, every crevice of uncertainty. Tender youth. So much is new that all becomes suspended in time, becoming some sense of eternal unchanging opening to perceive anyone and anyhing. Like the eyes, large, open, and vacant..snow flakes are wondrous..falling from some white grey abyss above..softly and quietly laying itself upon the Earth..all becomes cool, white, and clean. And the spirits beyond us enter with each breath and become our own spirit. The arbors drink the waters of which all life share..and always growing, they are yet stationary..like the eyes of children, all absorbing, a dreamstate deeply rooted into the darkness of Earth, rooted deeply above, into the radiance of the sun. Between these worlds of darkness and light, we know creation. We feel it within the cool shade. We feel it upon soft carpets of grass. We revere it..even the violent upheavals of nature where darkness lurks behind grumbling clouds. The cold dark rain. The pelting stinging ice. Like an ever drying sponge, does the living absorb the living and the passive un'self'aware
Everything is grouped into structures, sizes, and shapes..the way the ancients arranged bones, all according to length and width, shape and shapelessness..according to pleasure'giving or pain'causing...useful, useless, fantasy or truth...everything and their intermediators that is perceived through 'I think therefore I am,' becomes a conglomerate within the mind, layering upon itself throughout the years as easily as we breathe and eat, thirst for water, hunger for spirit..this conscious streaming, this con'streaming about the the waters, the salt, and elements that fashion our body..which is mostly water, and in turn, mostly space
That the salted blood is likened to the salted sea, that the metal in our blood is the heaviest the sun can produce does not weaken how easily a self conscious eye can separate one from all that is. As much as all may be related, all would be blocked if need be, or knowledge readily fabricated to serve the emotional need of the inventor, for the cause and effect of a coincidence shall artificially connect, when personality becomes presidiary over intellect, when fact contradicts Will..and shall remain so, unless there is a 'live or die' need for insight, the inner light that, when genuinely appearing, becomes a great source of energy for thought and work
Aye!..it is true! Some will capture and sustain a genuine insight. Yet, soon after, the rapture fades. The power of insight makes new light within, and the bearer changes, and begins again decision...power of Will?..or enlightenment? And if the choice is enlightenment, the truth bearer will seek a greater context for truth, and sustain it, and enjoy it, and position it with the rest of the treasures carefully cleansed and arranged. And others will reach for the sweet light..but afraid of what might be revealed in their dark, the quest for light is often forsaken. Such poverty amid so much treasure becomes a deep attribute of character so profound that it readily pervades nearby substance..as whirlpools of space and time reflect the ever'present need to be in every way, a "gift for all," as existentialists hold..."all living is in profound isolation, and from this act of creation does the struggle 'to be' inevitably spring"..but 'to be'?..is it necessary to conjure up a sense of a greater supernatural one in this isolation? with a sense that one is of that greater one, if there is already enough reverence and respect for all that lives
From the paradoxes of space and time, emerge massive existential spirits..great spans of peace and relative states of consciousness, and the sensual moods having evolved for them, foster the dimensions of a living ghost. Yet, a living ghost must live also through what earthly mind perceives. A kitten attacks a moving piece of string. A dog chases its phantom snake tail. Or an adolescent is startled by its own creeping shadow. How strange may the confinement of perception be!..or how much we may live within the spanse of a few seconds..when the mind decides to collate a multitude of sensations before seeing..for within the world of perception, there are untold numbers of "I" through which sensations are processed. The isolated "I." The un'named, unqualified, existing as it can only be, relative to its surroundings according to the nature of its unspoken, un'named 'I am that I am.' I comprehend the un'ending all'and'everything, the alpha..and simultaneously feel the utter nothingness, the omega. So the un'named says of itself, 'I am that I am.' 'I am,' the alpha and the omega, the 'all and everything' and nothingness. Alone, 'I am that I am' enters life. Alone, 'I am that I am' is the core of all conscious light. Alone, "I am" is the great equalizer
In the heavens, does every living entity aware of life have their own sun from which to draw power? Why are the days of genesis measured by the days of human life?! Is humankind so egocentric or vainglorious that it must measure a day's work of their eternal creator with a single spin of Earth? Is the love of power so consuming that only one turn is imagined? Where is the light by which myself I perceive in a mirror? What composition of glass must be, through which I can truly see? What compels one to be the center of all that is? What compels one to lose one's self in the midst of all that is? Where are the wise when all experience the same fear. Where is the sage when all feel the same sorrow, or resolved to the same impending doom? Is an insect munching on a leaf so different from my own need to eat? Or the tree taking from the Earth..as we must. And the ideal!!...what a rogue! So vitally necessary, so difficult to separate one's self from..for once an ideal has become greater than life, so do those who are no more than their ideals, and so readily do ideals, un'self'aware, become disappointed and subsequently attempt to upload its dark resentment into other minds in the form of some over'lording vision..conceptions of evil, inventions of fear and hate, and as their darkness wanes late, their shadow grows taller..but soon, it becomes apparent that the faults of life they call out on a broken horizon, merely outline the sun setting on them
A day in my life is like an autumn leaf transfiguring from the absence of sun and presence of cold. From lustrous green, the tree of life releases its sensitive green. They fall to Earth. They reddened from isolation, and the Earth receives them. Dissolving, they become one with all and everything. Passive bits of matter unselfaware already know. The tree is ready to sleep. Self aware, we do not know and continue to seek, and after the passage of winter's dormancy, life continuing inevitably springs. The rains gather more dust of Earth, and the leaves form under a radiant sun. The sun deeply penetrates the green, and fruit replicates more life and more green. And the rains gather more dust, and the leaves radiantly shine. The sun deeply penetrates, and fruit is abundant. And the rain carries the dust from autumn leaves far and wide. The flowers blossom and fruit ripens, and the dust is taken up from the Earth to become again, bright new leaves
Self'aware light having long since passed into its own shadow, returns a'new..when dark desires rule, self righteousness becomes heavy, requiring suitable wine and silent song. Truth un'tempered with time becomes a heavy rock tied to changing days and nights. Into dim mornings they are dragged because truth inside did not awaken to itself. In the morning, afternoon, nor in the evening did anything become alive within. By midnight, sweet silence and darkness makes no demands, and I, reclined, ponder vacantly until I become accustomed to the darkness, for divided in darkness, I readily absorb the sweet night with suspended twilight, shutting out painful dawn. From the Earth and sea, the dust and waters are assembled into fragrant blossoms. Sweet color beckons life. Within the multifarious derangements of dust bearing Earth, decaying twigs, and pieces of straw..of minute amorphous rock and crumbling leaves is the wondrous shapeless chaos of random bits of substance do the orders of life spring
From random feelings and aimless moods, from the muck of unconnected thought does life spring, does a genuine notion become a lotus. The senses have lower and upper thresholds, and I perceive through them only a very small portion of creation. My touch and taste..sight and sound are but portals into manifest creation. Through them, I live now. Transcending them, I live an adventure of my own making. Denying them, I simply exist 'as is' from some past dimming. As the Earth turns the seasons, living dreams with the sun and Earth blending, adapt, and grow. As the all'giving light radiates blue, yellow, and red, living dreams evolve through cycles of growth, conservation, and decay
In dark eternity, a commander is born, a dark warrior armed and ready to wage war..but no one knew that a war has been declared. No one knew when the ideal became disappointed and armed, but it soon was discovered when the apocalypse was not confined to within, when love and life became occult and barren, when the world within, became points, planes, and quantum energy..simple processes within utter nothingness, unknowing what is within, dusty emptiness. Unknowing what is within from what is without. Seeking in desperation..union with a greater self?! By violence do the darkly polarized seek themselves, canonizing the mote in their eye, and setting it upon a mission throughout their metropoli of hate and fear
Yet, even for a dark warrior, there is a place in creation..at its edge. A place where the Earth is barren, where bleached sand drifts toward the shores of ghostly lakes. A watery wavering mirage, a haven where dark warriors are soothed by the steady flow of rising heat. They are relaxed by thorny cactus and dry scrubby bushes, and tumbling weed roving with dust'laden wind. They are calmed by the hot stillness and bleached rock in the day, turning to bitter cold at night during winter's stay. They are at one with all this because life here is intense and fearless. Vipers, lizards, and venomous spiders, and scorpions..all living ruthlessly, struggling for themselves and their own kind. Such vainglorious warriors are comforted by jackals, varmints, and treacherous scavengers. They love the spirit of the wolf. They know the burrowing weasel and the vultures high in the sky, patiently waiting nearby for some flesh to become abandoned carrion. Indeed!..there is a paradise in creation for the dark warrior sired by indifference and isolation
The pendulum swings between time and eternity. For some instant, am I catatonic between them? A little death. I would readily die a little to continue to live. A new sensation. In darkness, so many ways of life readily adapt..life hanging on...surviving! Self light is equipped for isolation, no matter how small or large, with the Will 'to be', equally strong, reaching beyond itself when necessary. Each life seeks to touch, to feel, to hear and see..to perceive more..for what if an entity of evolution's time should actually appear? whose life is so long that it can clearly recall the beginning of the sun and its vast galaxy..and so vividly sensitive that it draws up from memory enough detail to answer any question about past or future. Say such an entity should appear among us, and dwell for us....what would we become? with someone who knows more than our imagination could ask, who knows the answers to all problems, knowing all that is known now and all that will be known. With such an entity ever ready to give true light to any question that one could imagine, there would be no frontiers of thought, and work would not be needed..except what we would volunteer perhaps for the sake of restoring a feeble Will. Where would this sensation of life go?..with such an omniscient entity. Past nor future need not be remembered or imagined, for any question posed would be answered with lasered light. Any misunderstanding?...ask the lord! Any problems whatsoever...the lord will provide. With such an overlord, there would be no darkness by which we can perceive, no mystery..no abyss to avoid for feeling of ascension, no care but an occasional faint groan of an empty stomach..no fair way of life, given a fixed past and absolute future light. Nothing but finality of a benevolent keeper serving all needs, eliminating all darkness, programming all deeds. In this existence that death could not change, nor common sleep relieve..from such a benevolent entity serving so completely, would I reverently ask through its ominous power..for a bit of ignorance, a place to live it, and wholeheartedly receive the blessings that ignorance has to offer
3 In the heavens above, at night, darkness is deep from scattered dust. Only a few blinking points of light can be seen where the dust is not. And I feel drawn. My mind is lured by the emptiness there. A single point appears. A very small, perfectly shaped one that I know cannot be physical, nor having any dimensions of its own, known only as an intersection of something it has yet to create. Yet, how am I able to conceive such perfection, having arisen from the physical dust of Earth? if the physical dust is not more than what we suppose. Other points appear. Apparitions aligning themselves without deviation until they become so close that this perfecting eye sees only a straight line..without any deviation whatsoever! The line, solid and straight, is within rigidly fixed space, and another line appears and passes through the first, passing through at a single untouchable point. And another line appears, and many others pass through the same point until the lines abruptly disappear and become a plane. The plane is conceived. As a new dimension of thought, it has the thickness of the untouchable, unmeasureable point and inscrutable line. It has no thickness, but nevertheless is. From another direction, a duplicated plane passes through the first to make a form. The forms are moved into all directions at any rate, or change of rate..all shapes and sizes, static or changing, having exact absolute dimensions without any deviation. Without substance..they nevertheless are! Of substance, of no'thing I am. Substance imperfect..perfect nothingness! Perfectly imperfect..am I this paradox of mind..a clear window through which a portion of creation may be seen? This emptiness thinking ponders on itself, for as metaphysical words can only approximate the physical, the physical cannot account for all and everything. Only the metaphysical can choose whether or not it be the cause of effect. Yet, ironically turned..I feel exactly, I think approximately. What gradient creates this sense of unerring perfection? For the cosmos to be, must upper and lower thresholds of senses also be? And from the margins of error these senses bring, the very large idealizes the very small. The very small, conceptualizes the very large. Is it from the very large and the very small brought together from wavering margins of sensual error? that the mind and its absolutes spring..or is it simply? 'I am' in my beginning and end..where the comprehension of 'all and everything' reduced me instantly to nothingness and became inherently endowed, enabled as it were, to comprehend and think with a zero'infinity faculty
4 What are you doing here in the midst of winter? The first snow has arrived..yet, you remain. I feel your color, and relish the pleasure, but there is now only cold winter's spirit around you. All others have long since disappeared with the first frost..yet, you remain. Winter flower so pleasing to the eye, there is only the howling scowling winds for you, and the harsh bitter cold of northern winter nights. Tiny twinkling crystals of sleepy thought silently float down from above, gently laying down, laying life down to rest within an aestival dream. Yet..you remain. In this frigid stillness, you insist, you persist tenaciously, holding fast to another time whose time has long since passed
A winter flower defies its time in front of an abandoned house, old with outside boards weather worn to the grain. Its family last, a vacant house now, living worn and bare grained to the window pane in a home long since past. Within a barren room inside, brilliant yellow flows boldly through dust'hazed window panes..and the fly seeing its god, frantically attempts to penetrate the invisible barrier. Faint opaque particles are lazily suspended in the midst of the room as though carried by the brilliant light beaming through autumn leaves. Upon the floor, warm stillness penetrates a worn empty chair..and except for an occasional frantic buzzing, only a haunting stillness occupies this shanty place that once served life so well
This abandoned place, so thoroughly lived, lived to exhaustion. It is cracked and spinter'd. Its sharp edges worn smooth, like ancient rock by an ancient sea. It reveals simple life once lived..pleasant daily routines structured by resolute tradition. Deep within the womb of nature, they lived, and from the dust that now lives here, we hear its voice, a distant echoing
"As we wander, we see far'off, for our home is where we may freely dance and sing as our ancient forefathers did. With the earthen foundation beneath us, we are deep within creation, ready to move to wherever our tradition may live. Our children's children will learn that a house, or even a piece of land is but a rest'stop or wayside attraction of a great journey..for the cosmos is in ceaseless motion, and all substance is but transient possession
"There was a rumble outside..and there were people yelling, shouting, impending danger..and the noise of a large crowd was getting louder, and there were many horses and carriages approaching. Suddenly, one of the windows broke open with a loud crash, and then another, and then there was breaking glass tinkling everywhere. There was heavy coarse commands outside. The dint of profanity and chaos penetrated deep into everything around
"And I had to ask, I needed to know. What made these invaders so deeply afraid? How could our peace cause this?..for are we not only onto ourselves? Our goods and services are only for you. We ask only..that we be left alone
"From outside, we saw the temple burn, and our books thrown out and burned. The fire stretched'out through the windows into the night. We watched wild anger, rampaging, feverishly and violently attack old pages of books..a penny's worth of ink holding a vast treasure of light for us...useless vellum for them
"We were being attacked. Amid the death, a deep silent cry, a dull aching pain, hypnotized, I fell to the spell of this violent apparition in this dark night. Timber crackling..words burning, friends slaughtered and bleeding in the street. Into the red flickering shadows, I retreat. The temple and books turning to ash. The mysterious leader of the marauding crowd approached with blazing eyes that were compulsively shifting. His hair was bristling with fire and violence, and by its angry light, from high upon his horse, without hesitation, he trampled a sage who was bending over to pickup a book
"Powerless and with no opportunity to understand, the fire of hate burns, but I leave unscorched, for I do not curse and hate the violent storms of the seas, nor the hot flowing mountain magma consuming living dreams. I do not hate the cold blizzards that freeze time, nor sultry drought sucking spirit from life'giving thought. Likewise..is the judgmental violence of humankind any different than rocks tumbling from a resolute mountain?..or life consuming fire?..or flooding rivers giving far more than what the living needs?..or any creature of life attacking each other for what some territory may contain? By their own hate, they have reduced themselves to simple abrasive winds upon a desert plain. Violent night, dark inquisition..cindered rubble, broken glass..a disaster that shall return if we remain
"In the hour of my departure, I feel radiant beams of a morning sun penetrate my silence. My heart mourns, yet this destruction around us is also of 'all and everything,' and only with 'all and everything' do we atone. I am hung low in sorrow. I am cast down into the morning snow..until into my gaze did a flower beam. A blossom had somehow survived..a dream out of its time survived"
5 Beyond our eyes and ears, deep within substance is order and disorder. Between chaos and rigid form am I, within the deep of matter, bits of a star am I, am I law and rebellion to law. Wills in opposition, in mutual exclusion, each with a beating heart manifesting the physicality of a rock, and the rocks congregate into great towers..as mountains jutting up to the heavens to the stars from which they came..and from its height, do restless waters stream, flowing fast or slow from its source..gathering, separating, and re'gathering through its course
Residing upon a river bank, a tree reaches outward with its roots deep into the ground, and up from the trunk, branches and leaves reachout to the air for what is there. From this tree, an eagle arises upon a wind, and looking down, sees a tree, reaching with its roots deep into the sea, and up through the river, streams and lakes reachout toward the mountains to air for what is there
Rising high with the ethers from the seas, the spirit of the eagle rests easily upon a gentle breeze, for this spirit is high..aloft..easily turning, any direction..and being of the wind, the wind freely courses..swiftly moving..in an instant, stalling and falling, its wings extend to catch the wind..and when some overbearing spirit so high insists upon the direction of its current, only the eagle will prevail, rising higher, seeing greater..resting, gliding, round and round, spiraling gently toward the ground
To feel as the eagle sees, I too readily ascend upon the first wind, for only mountains with frozen peaks, or gales motivating the dint of a flooding tide, or great vortices of whirling wind spinning destruction inside, can stop this freedom. Only by such far extremes of nature can the eagle be bound..but even bound, the spirit of the eagle continues to soar..for feeling as the eagle sees, I fly high upon every thought born free. No where in this world so coarse or fine, can true freedom be..but in mind
6 While this stone is very hard, it rapidly softens to an inquisitive mind. And made of many species of matter, and as unyielding as it can be, water it may contain, to suspend in time, the essential awareness that all life needs. And within the universe of this quiet substance, this stone, known as the philosopher's stone, appears as a commonplace and dull dormancy of time, only to inevitably awaken and shine! the brilliant, the colors radiant, whenever any new philosophy becomes apparent
7 Returning in circles of time, it recalls old laughs or adventures from the past. Through it, hollow'd time is felt from the ghosts of forgotten dreams. Its spirit lingers, but only as light dimming, growing dimmer where a path had changed. As a hidden treasure, it quietly lays..to awaken by a place, a word, an object, by whatever may happen with some glimmering aspect of what had once happened. And resting upon paths that wynd through life, it readily disappears when the future is clear or the past with blessings or misgivings. But even with tears that have a slight edge of regret, misted, or stricken sad, it inevitably reappears..and from its 'eternal return' the mind can madden, but just as easily, suddenly brighten, when the same tears sweeten
8 From below an uncertain horizon, it rises bright upon the rim, crosses over to disappear at the other end. And with a radiance serving life, and being the simplest of substance, companionship is restricted only to elements of itself. Darkness says it cannot be everywhere, but it tries being known as a focus of time, making distance and time with the simplest of substance. While time has but little presence within its essence, by it, eyes are gifts through which, in the misty sky, a heven'bowe displays its splendrous nature
9 Captured by it, a sea is seduced from beyond, and by this affair, the tides of the sea we see. With unebbing motion, it moves to bring special moments within the dimness of evenings where everyone may see by the gleam of silvery water streams, or bluish sheen of dark obscure arbors. As it labors through the pitch of night, a cool incandescent glow is passed from the farside of Earth to all as yellow'silver of a brilliant globe lays blue'grey upon everything everywhere. Listening carefully, shadows of its gentle light are especially silent. Silver'lined clouds are high in the deep night, and day life is soothed because its velvet light is soft to the skin, having been renewed from the darkness in the night
10 Arriving as steady light, in the dark of night, they will faintly blink and later fade from the dint of day. Many sizes are they. Some radiant, some dim..passing slowly across the black sky, returning the following night, they seem to forever stay. Figures of creatures and gods are they, all made of light, of near past and distant past, and those that streak the sky are really not what they seem. Yet, upon one that is genuine, if that one of should capture an on'looker's gaze, the heavens permit one wish if their colors can be seen, for they will remain forever bright until night covers the heart, having long since passed into the midst of a dream
11 Turning with precision, in rhythm around the sun, tilting toward, positioned away, the living upon its surface all at once, live and die, arise and sleep like day's bright and night's deep, blending rare elements of the cosmos plenty, making a fair haven for all the living. Nearly upon a circular path slow, it harbors all that will live and grow. From some place distant, if it is seen, its quiet moon feels deep blue and soft white. Like a perfect globe it is shaped, and because it turns on its own, we know day to be both dark and light. To embrace it, lay prone upon the ground with outstretched arms..and feel its aura glow in the midst of starlight's eternal night
12 Moving everywhere, the flora bends to its mighty strength. Through valleys it flows, from mountain peaks it speaks, across vast plains it causes tall grass to appear like gentle swells of a sea. It moans and groans within the deep of night..and even by the light of a glowing full moon, it is hidden from sight because it can only to be felt
13 High to the stars, it rises from an infernal cauldron that is a part of a large intense heart, and for all, the cauldron beats through eons to some obscure rhythm. Veins of fire are hidden within its body, and as a citadel of power, it is usually nearby a sea. When the cauldron beats, great fiery bodies of light and heat are hurtled into the sky to make rivers of fire flow, and its body glows and grows within the darkness of night. With cool winds and time, it becomes larger and larger. Higher and higher it rises, until rain becomes snow..and to remain, are the voices of the wind blowing over its peak as to say..."It is the only tower in creation that may be seen from a distant horizon!..to be disturbed only when it must grow, to otherwise reside without explanation, before anyone's eyes that behold creation"
14 Swiftly moving, at one with the wind, only when divided does it brighten. Quietly, in ceaseless motion, when it weeps, so happy from freedom, its tears become the blood of the living, giving darkly, always with a silver lining. Desert Edens spring from its presence. Its lofty spiritual manner may swirl in great violent vortices arousing though, only the surface of itself far below. As it rises boldly to itself in the sky, its deep is not so easily aroused..but when it is!..its force is great, as great as the command of shifting Earth, its murky violence surrounds a clear calm center. Like the spirit of the wind, it dies as readily as it lives. It is essential but elusive to the touch. Intimately always needed, yet often not appreciated, while serving by suspending and bearing what it is not. Born to wander, life seeks to live nearby, to feel it freely passing'by. And the Earth will always surrender to its gentle persuasion, while it travels freely as it might..every day, every night
15 Within two worlds its body dwells. Dividing and re'dividing, it reaches into one that is always dark, and into the other where there is light. Where darkness is, many fingers grow, having delicate hair that can not be seen, always reaching for the water it needs, and with the substance of Earth, its body will grow, upon mountains and throughout the valleys far below. It holds together, the worlds of light and dark, and while it continues to breathe, the sun, Earth, and water are always the means by which it is known as first life, and the estate of dreams
16 It dwells unwittingly between spaces of conflicting light, being self initiating in this vast cosmos. Just when its beginning began is as much a dream as perhaps will be its end. Easy to deceive when flooded with feeling, only sometimes does it truly know..yet, how else can it be?..as one among all the living. What can it be when all is relative to me? The center of the universe I be, and all is, regardless of me now, for all is not all vanity because I am also myself removed. And neither is all selfless because with my self removed, my vanity I see!
17 It can live only alone, but constantly seeks company. It exists invisibly, yet needs a mirror, looking everywhere, seeing only itself, it recognizes none but itself as its own peer
18 Even though fragile, it's always out front. Always shining, always assured, yet more glossy than wise and demurred. It is strong, it will stand'fast against any wind..rigid, solid..not inclined to bend. A progeny of vanity, a dividend of triumph! It's first to shine bright, being always inclined towards vainglorious light
19 Stubborn and immovable, it is darkly rooted. Seeds of despair it will sow. Self'impassioned, representing itself as soul, it is strong but only when collectively commissioned. Always saying, "I know," but seeing only through its self'conceived notion of evil. And disguised as truth, not to be freely given, with ears muffled, and eyes affixed, it rises from a dark cavern to beset some unwitting alien next. As the nemesis of the righteous, its opinion is not cautious, not even for the apparent to be somewhat reverent
20 It seeks the glitters of gold, but saddened when gained, and craves the glories of triumph, yet resigned to despair. Bold in disrepair, in dark stillness it will always be shy while staring at life, quickly passing'by
21 Deeper than the darkest void, it consumes more than the fire of the sun. And raging as a storm within an empty heart, the mind becomes a furnace, for it surely loves beauty and carnal passion, yet readily devours beauty's substance as it hungers from beyond the limits of sensation
22 Hiding what it always needs, its treasure rises to become a mountain. High into the sky the treasure will gain, a peak from which blindness looks for the most precious. Becoming lost, a timeless ghost, it's always in want, only for that which makes it more gaunt
23 Sharper than any knife could be, it makes the mind eat first what fear conjures most. Enshrouding the soul with voids, the mind becomes mad'stricken, the heart sickened, the soul..grief'ridden. Burning and void'centered, eyes turn..one to fire, one to ice. It has no substance, yet can turn the living into a thing
24 Restricted in body, it exists only in mind. It is sensed between peaks of laughter, or between tears when sadness remains thereafter. It's seen in an arbor bending to the wind, and in the wind, it may always be felt. We may notice it, having more than one direction to move, and know it, moving as we wish from some apparent law immovable. As a dance or absently wandering, it is because there is only the one of each one of us. And it is rare..because within the vast cosmos, life self'aware is rare. Under its influence, the seas become like mountains, and great mountains crumble and become suspended within vast seas. Through it, there is always a prospect for a new song. And often longed for by the young in heart, it has been known as a song, a silent prayer, or the parent of an original thought. So close to what we essentially are, it often lingers beyond immediate sight..but as a precious sense within, dim or bright, that can be made of anything!..even darkness or light
25 It's hidden as often as it's not. Allusive by hiding, and hiding as the obvious, it's sometimes bold, sometimes cautious. Has no substance, yet is priceless. Ready to serve, always working, it becomes darker when its convolutions become greater. Its power can turn the eyes inward or outward. Courage is required. Its lover is Time within its universe, the mind. Its body, a vision. Its shadow, a question errant. It speaks without reservation, and offers itself as the final arbitration...even though to itself, it be only apparent
26 With fiery assertion of what is true, it has been known to speak unknowing how deep tongue was imbedded in cheek. Compelled to seek, running towards a cliff's edge to be free, wandering backwards in any direction, it lives tall and thin without sight or sensation. Seeking..searching for eons..running from eternity, this sense of impending doom lives desperate, impoverished of Will..for it has wandered backwards and forwards in time, enduring the nagging voids, daring not to enter, knowing that some emptiness, some eternity, something unfathomable lays there. Even the light it may dread, the death, forever changed, and after all being said, to no avail a tear..each, a moment of eternity it must bear
27 It lays or stands..stoic, silent, with no motion nor life unless there is learning. Suspending time or using time to guide, it may often entertain when its smallest parts, rigid and unyielding, blend to become..as alive! For of it, some are new and many were borrowed. Sorrows, delights, enlightenments..a few of the ingredients. Some are old..very old, but this only inspires the new to be bold, so it may say of itself...'all was told that could be told'
28 And I knew I would be forever changed, once I enter, dispelling my fear, comprehending these few words that I would indefinitely bear, apprehending time, its nature..of time present, past, and future
It has rhythm and melody without making a sound, and knowledge of its ways is rarely known. It may move backwards or forwards while always uncertain, and can be measured by any event, only if it happens again and again. With a starting point that always becomes the past, it moves both slow, and often very fast. Imperceptibly it may stand still, having no substance..yet, it is among the greatest treasures that one may have. Many have given a king's ransom for just a small measure of its nature. Through it, freedom is felt...the rivers, and oceans, and whole universes that would otherwise remain obscure, when magic and fate rule. Sometimes blue, bright, or clear, it's in common with all things perceived to happen, only to, in that happening, somehow disappear. Where adventure arises and passes in an instant, where a thought is difficult to keep.. colors, fragrances, and sounds are vivid and deep. The overlord here is joy and laughter, and all innocence would live in this place, because life is adventure. Without measure it moves making everything seem to suddenly appear. The spirit soars here, with the lightness of heart, and the mind is hungry, touching, seeking the next adventure to start. It is where affections freely express, for affections are the waters that allow 'love of life' to season strongly. And so strong is this place that only sleep has been known to end it...yet, even in sleep, it may awake as the wake of what traveled through the day. In the absence of this place so precious, the moon in return, will appear radiant and full..heart and imagination, out of control! With ears wide and open, and eyes large and silent, this 'now' having spoken enters forever, a dark quiet..where many legends are told about it. Some are true. Many are not. It always lingers as memory, sometimes clear, sometimes not. Bitterness or love may spontaneously emerge from it. With it, some hope waiting for the circumstances of sentiment, and others come to enlightenment about what lays ahead..giving no light except what a single eye can see, or will see..and as uncertain as it often seems to be, many nevertheless go there, to live and dwell where they wish within its dimly lit caverns. And many are therefore ruled by those vague ethereal and often eerie apparitions which are better off remaining as sustenance of the mystic..for from here is where mystique gathers its magical power, where all things fade into conjecture, where all search for those beliefs that they want to forever hold, and fantasies are made about the boldness and daring of those..who had no idea how they would be set in memory! It also speaks of dreams and aspirations..sometimes of hope for spirit, and for those with the Will to achieve, it is where vision lives and breathes..where the unknown within, may become known..where only prophets dare to speak, for its ways are truly mysterious. Sometimes cloudy, sometimes clear, it become more certain only when the present draws near. Courageous leaders live here, where a civilization or an entire empire is first built. Here, the ways of innocence fade whenever it is considered, and savings are made for an arrival that can never take place. It is where dreams may live bright and daring, and the imagination caring not what may arise, freely produces many wonder worlds of such fine substance that all or any of it, could disappear within a flick of an instant. Through its ceaseless nature..this elusive presence having been called by some, an invention, does seem to be something alive, or at least enhances what is alive!..for if you quietly remain still amid mundane activity, you will feel an entity always ready to emerge..to change tears into a drop of sea, and through its way, to see this part of the sea enter the earthen fingers of an arbor..to be drawn'up and outward to the green of its leaves..the turning leaves of autumn gradually disappear, and enriching the foundation, the earthen floor becomes small blades of grass, and the grass turns to become a creature of life, the end of creatures becomes the beginning of new plants and new creatures who join others to become the waters traveling aloft to other places where all bodies relate to other bodies..where the relation of all may be felt..and through a small portion of its nature, perhaps little may be seen or felt..but all that is needed, to sense the pervasive delicacy of its many melodies
29 My gentle woman, if you please, I am an alien here because the place and time for what I know has not yet arrived. I sense deeply and see the colors of your need. I sweeten from your laughter, brighten from your anger. I become the shadow of your sadness. With you, all of me lives!..past, present, and future. I often feel as a man of the sea because I am accustomed to a foundation always moving beneath my feet. And I ask you....would you be, simply with me?..in motion through the universe, upon this small vessel, Earth, dark among the stars, where there are great oceans of time to span
I am not regarded as wise by most..and by the values of most, most rightly so..for I do not spend time learning the weakness of others for advantage and gain. Nay..because of the nature of what I know, I am more often than not, alone among peoples..but not so with the creatures, the children, and moods of the vast spaces of darkness and light. I have come to dwell, per chance perhaps, within a larger world than most..most of which has rarely been seen amid many systems of suns, of stars, whose space boundaries end where space and time takes its turn inward as being. Yet, an ocean of time may pass, perhaps several times before we can be seen. And upon this sea of happenstance and chance opportunity..of what you can be assured, I can only promise me
30 There is dignity of being. From oppression in youth, a world is simplified with notions of stone. The stones are gathered, and one negotiates life through them. Stony self'conceptions and attendant self'esteems are created to fit into a metamorphic world. They hold onto their stones with the same fasting 'instinct of survival' as any creature in the forest has. But for some, the stones weather to dust, just from everyday living and the need to be freely
There is dignity in being, but more demure with no fear at its core..dwelling at times perhaps in heart's gloom, but always brightening from whatever may bloom from living
31 Within me, there are indeed those who hold themselves sane, and there are those who have a'judged others to be otherwise..and there are those who would be both, as long as we have at least two brains..both of which would be very busy arguing their case..and both would, until one prevails somehow, and there, somewhere within the temple of thought, one cognitive Will rests with notions about states of being that distinguish the sane from the insane. Thus, there are many questions of sanity that also have apparent answers, and apparent answers to such delicate questions are made easy enough. They are made in response to the manner or style in which the logic of argument is versed, for even an argument that persists with eloquence makes the premise of logic eventually fade in the memory of some, and in others, the premise becomes arbitrary, having fallen under its spell. Well..these troublesome questions concerning proper states of mind are known by most to rest upon particular definitions that come alive however, only through persistent assertions
If a clear definition of sanity is conceived in mind, there then is where insanity must also reside. As sanity lives, so does its doppelganger within the same universe, to linger on the darkside of emotion..perhaps never seen, but always there for those intrepid sane through eons of cognitive evolution who seek to meet their dark moon upon a battle field and plan its demise
To many, sanity appears bold, resilient, and strong..however, the gravity of logic captures me, wherein, I must admit, that insanity within a rigid, logical, self'ordained sane society is far easier to prove than sanity, and therefore must be by far, far easier to live with
32 Newborn emerging, newborn crying until first rest. And later, the best of what evolution can offer perceives and feels new circumstances. Newborn living, newborn in isolation amid the many wonders of creation, the spirits there enter, and newborn eyes and heart awaken to see. They were not forsaken, for newborn children of the moon, they are of the seasons, the Earth, of all that lives and grows. They know their father who is from the sun. They are enchanted and moved by his heart, the moon, for when his heart moves, his children can feel the swaying tides of mother's womb. In return for his brilliant radiance, the mother gives freely to her children of the moon who delight beneath the heavens of their father, living always within the bosom of mother. There is no abyss of sorrow, nor any tomorrow. There is only the father above, and mother Earth's love. They live not much longer after their spirits' beginning, to return to water, the womb of their mother..to return to dust, her body, and to light, from which they also came..only to begin again somewhere else, faraway in the darkness of the over'soul of those who dream life
33 In the heavens above, chill gathers the mists of the waters. Into drops of rain they form. Happiness and sadness shed the same, the same death is caused, but such origins are always in grace with a greater sky, for drops of rain adorn every place, whereby this 'essential awareness' soon comes to rest, to be eventually taken by the living. Upon mountain peaks, the waters harden into glistening white. Timeless, the white stillness remains until the Earth, inclined toward the sun, allows the radiance to beam directly down. As the spirit of the land warms, time resumes with the spirit of waters cascading from glistening white high above..tumbling, streaming down..becoming greater as they emerge into one another. From the coolness of the heavens above, the waters gather again, to merge and remerge into a large raging river. Wearing smooth, sovereign rock, its undulating manner meanders upon the earthen floor, to give itself to the living, to harbor the living within its turbulent depths. In constant movement, this 'essential awareness' seeks the molten center deep beneath the earthen floor, only to end its incessant yearning, its constant journey, at one with the Earth as an embracing sea. High in the sky, frozen in time, spirit seems absent within crystals of thought. And as the most supple of matter, the waters are within the grasp of the wind..indivisible..hidden from sight. From everywhere'nowhere does this supple spirit emerge in motion..concentrating here and now..the white so high in the same instant born, falls to the sea, like any life, in its own way, in its own time. When empty space settles upon the Earth, so do the waters as a gleaming mist, and wherever there is water, there is also the chance for life in the midst of the starry darkness above..within the wakes of rolling seas..within the quiet stillness of lakes, those secluded wells beginning and ending, darkly streaming, and the quiet dreamstates by them, drifting through generations, into far valleys..into far distant plains
34 For the rebel without a cause, these words are not a revolt and thereby revolution..not as insurrections to the learned or wise. This is a form of a statement however..of how one may begin, such as I, whenever oppositions of conscience become a vise
Within the cosmos, this place called Earth has been at peace with the stellar elements for many eons. Here and now, we may behold the labors of the past simply by holding a bit of substance in our hands. We may feel the future as our vision envisions the temple of life around us. We feel the seasoning of life, we take for ourselves, the products of timeless labors, for the peace of limited darkness and light amid this violently erupting expanding contracting cosmos has indeed settled here, where we are..settling within the quiet clearness of a gentle brook, within the cool morning mist over the stillness of a meadow pond..in the ebb of motion the tides of moon bring..in the evening, its silent darkness..and in the mid of day as the brightness of our star penetrates the fragrance of a blossom. And far off upon many horizons, there is the lofty silence of mountain peaks as they too, embody time. Within this particular place in the cosmos, enough time has passed in this manner..enough time for us to emerge in form where my deep may toil and struggle, yet feel the original peace of Eden, upon this ship in space, where all has come to live and take root..where all cultures and all beliefs may live aside one another..where dictums and would'be kings and queens come to know themselves as part of a greater whole. Here, all forms of space and thought have their place and time and, their representatives. Therefore, no one way of thought..no single manner of doing will prevail at the expense of all else within, over all ways of thought and manners of being..for living in freedom, a way of thought seeks naught timelessness, but rather, the time and occasion it may live! Freedom of thought, a manifesto of an inalienable right, is defended by all so all may have its time and occasion to live. The destiny that involves the stars and the expanding space of the cosmos will evolve from the bosom of its work, its love, and its vision
35 We, of the universe within, in order to form a greater union, to establish general principles of relativity, to secure and ensure domestic tranquility, hold this truth to be self evident...that each quest of thought is endowed with an inalienable right to pursue and assume the responsibility of any truth it should see, any compromise it should make, and to establish any belief or any variation thereof, that would be as unique and distinct as necessary to bear the labors of its love and receive the truth of its work
For the end of such pursuits, to begin, we establish and ordain this constitution, these canons for the integrity and cohesion of self'light within
"That the all'and'everything of creation is the oneness of all knowledge and ignorance, all space and power, with which atonement is made
"That love is need..the need to give, the need to receive, for the sake of living the world we perceive, for love of life and love's labors, for freedom to be, to be any of these splendors
"That what has been made conscience can perceive only in terms of itself. The good and bad perceives only the good and bad therefore, and only evil, can evil perceive
"To fear power, power shall rule. To conquer power, the power shall be of you. To respect power, power benign. To ignore power..inert to all, for all time
36 By our will, we live throughout the day, by month, by year..we are here in a larger world made by eons of trial, extinction, and new life within the nature of creation where freedom of expression prevails. With each generation are these expressions selected within a greater world than what a single universe can be. We are not born in debt for life, for we are the life!..the life'giving entity. And we know the elegance of nature, we sense its devotion, its eternal song..because the stars also live, and their meditative chants are subtle as their images of the past are fragile..and within their chants, I feel the delicacy of its pervasive awareness. I feel it within each bit of substance, a faint awareness, this existence feeling the whole of creation, a genesis testament with thanksgiving
37 Dark force rising, always arising to remold self'molded knowledge. Like deep waves of Earth passing down'under, the dark swiftly passes through the light of conscience, the omnipresent darkness surrounds us. Trembling mountains of certainty are suddenly uplifted and set into motion, and the dark force swiftly penetrates self'sovereign light. The Earth shudders and the solid floor pitches and rolls. The walls of an earth'sod room become the bulkheads of an unsteady ship. Terror obliterates time, and lost in eternal vagueness, the triumphs of "I" momentarily have no more weight than a fragile image of a distant star. Dark force rising, we feel beyond and see past the brightness of illusion, into the darkness where the stars truly are. An apparition of a sensation prevails. Faces appear and vanish. Faceless, darkness drips from sadness. A familiar feeling becomes a fleeting figment of a dream. Sweet melodies are chanted over and over again. Alluring grey moods lay us down, still'born..gently, in eternal sleep. Words in eternity, crippled truth..half'truth roars, but only a weak tremor of a bleating lamb is felt. Lost in hinterspace, impending doom..sovereign dictums impale the living flesh..searching, I am deeply pooling. The consuming dread has arisen. Solitary rhythms..aimless wanderings, a melody is searching for a greater world than itself. Rage! Indignation! Space'slicing being! Suddenly exposed and from everywhere seen, crimson claws reach for me. Horrid torrid fires scorch me. I move deep, deeply within. Swiftly moving, in reverence to all, greater and greater the depths I seek..the quiet, the sweet silent, the loving dark, I want to forever sleep. I want to be some place where forever sleeps. The grey walls rise. The poisoned air penetrates my eyes. Heavy metropolis heat feeds a violent war. Profound congestions of competing wants inspire chaos, and embittered eternities of hate burn and smolder amid pungent odors of indignation, for the judgments of good and evil inherently larger than life rage a relentless war. Good'evil, half'truth, a thorny flower from which the living aura is so readily scarred...and prickly hate having laid to waste its object of evil, lays spent in its agony of peace. So many compulsive habits! So many restrictions and constrictions! So many conditions to simply live. Fear'stricken fantasy, shallow lungs gasp from acrid vapors. Suffocating darkness, a heavy darkness is where my heart should be. Floundering within a polluted sea of unconnected feelings, Armageddon already old within me is a spinning storm of wanton desire's searing cold. Deeply within I move, for so tired am I, the bones of my soul I need...enduring Hate and its mate, Jealousy...having been pursued by all they beget. For immortality's sake, Hate is exceedingly proud of its self'made divine order. And from behind its priestly guise, Hate is always envious of power it has not. To be clear and changeless, it must be un'evolving, it must lust for pleasure now..and being timeless, it can only pre'judge. In eternity, Hate knows Greed, for it always needs. Aye! Wearied am I, hollowed and absent. If for only a bit of death!..and an end to this eternal restlessness. So deep within am I, so far away from all I am..this dark silence is heavy, the ecstasies high having paid so dearly for itself with pangs of void, seem shallow, hollow, and faraway. Falling, sweet peace, warm darkness envelopes me. This deep within...I know not when it began nor when it will end! Within this dreamless dark, I am in stillness. My heart, intent on making the final blow, slowly opens within the darkness, and suddenly from it, lethal light is cast to where evil was conceived, for love's lost had equaled love's gain suitably enough by some heavenly domain..and it is plain, that evil is in the eye of the beholder, as its creator, hate, is. Here, where life begins, where it ends, I seek at'onement with all light, active and passive, I seek peace with all that was, is, or could ever be. I seek where the moon shines quietly through the dark and gives its life'giving light to the wandering rivers..laying its gentle substance onto fields of still grass amid lofty trees, where the golden luna from above casts its silky essence upon the meadows below, upon shallow waters, a still'waters pond, and the fragrant flora breathe deeply, the peace of a translucent evening
Cantos One Cantos Two Cantos Four