The Zen of Hospitalisation

 

i am stripped bare

shaven

and put under sedation

(( aham asmi - i exist))

awakening, the breath obscured  by a tube

  i am let out 

   from where i don't know

into a world of beeps and tubes

 nurses like angels swing 

  thru dark clouds of drugs 

(( morphia - soma ))

i am present in the moment

sitting up in bed

 someone brings me orange cordial 

(( nectar - amrita ))

the Buddha smiles but he is sharp

a needle goes in 

i am not the body that is suffering

(( i am breath i am prana ))

i watch the clock hands slowly plough the day

i push through the minutes like hours  

hours like mountains 

-  mountains of solid rock

this is the practice 

the sesshin

 - a routine of sharps

 "bed 14 is a 48 year old male..."

suffering is delivered in little morsels

and as a wash over everything

this is the business we attend to

  but then - 

   a mental flip 

   and there i am walking on Arunachala

   breathing cool air, touching moss on wet rocks

   seeing an empty sky

 there i walk 

 looking for my cave

 where i will sit and inhabit that close emptiness forever

back in the ward

someone is moaning. a tray brings soup.

a nurse lays a hot blanket on me

nausea rolling in my belly 

i am present for another needle

that night i get trapped in a dream

running around inside there is no escape

some task i must do.. a coil of rope.. 

but i have forgotten what it is i must do..

awakening i find my pain medication has worn off

the rope was the buzzer to call my nurse

i press the button and summon relief

*  *  *

when i was young songs and poems used 

to land in my hand like birds

    they still do

 but first i need to treck far into the mountains.

anniversary poem

 4 years and i was in a rush to go

to smiths (the musical haunt) it was

friday night, so i got the kids fed

then dashed off in the car like a typical

loon too much on ---

 Mayday i had my guitar yamaha

clutching its neck strtiding down the arches

of the Melbourne building - arrived a bit 

late - you were there with your white yamaha

in boots leading a sing thru of "Imagine"

 and I just thought - I could see u were

shy about it - i just thought how brave

and you know, good on you, for getting this old

motley greyish greying haired crowd to

mouth this Anthem - on Mayday

 that was the first time i saw who you were

though i recognised you from the past few months

in theat happy haunt of music - Nigel and Beth's -

and later knew about the Attempt and the string

of bad boyfriends - but in that moment all

I could see was your courage and the sort of

lantern you held, a hopeful light, in the gloom

 and a few weeks later at home in front of the

fireplace whipping off your pants, i knew the

bigger you of cheeks and bosoms and lips all very 

large in my sight so close up and the smells of 

sweet joules glistening in sweat. baby dats u.

 Four years later and we are in a paradise of birds and 

dogs, pigeon, chicken - the rest of a wider family 

some flown, some staying, but returning, the safety of the home

you also dipping in, then flying, then returning for nourishment

then off to box with the little children, your 100 charges

 Faced with a peculiar future I am just here in bed holding

onto the matress, your feathers brush my cheek, and I

think about us careering through time, out of control but steady,

safe but never sure, cause the adventure unfolds unknowingly

taking us from perch to perch. And i'm happy like that.

I'm happy you are safe wit me babe. The dark cloud glistens

on your brow but babe I know you can imagine our future too

- and that's the imagining that we as lovers do - when we

dont know the way but we know we need to get thru.

here's to 44 more years of lovin u.

(We are all going to) War Again

(We are all going to) War Again

Eat up your pudding and eat up your pie it's the last meal we've got for tomorrow we'

put on our clothes and get ready to fly the soldiers are coming, please don't ask here, take my hand oh a tear don't you understand? crying's banned, so stand! and fall on your knees for the soldiers are here we'll serve them with coffee and we'll serve them with toast to the king and toast to the queen and toast to the incredible killing machine grave is the charge that you put in your pocket grave the surprise for the ones who un.. look at the moon so big in the sky now we'll take your little knife and we'll cut off it's here come the drones oh, the moans the blades that are their breath bringing death - death! so tie up your shoelace and get ready to play and if anybody asks then remember to say you don't know daddy and he don't know me and this is the way that we three shall remain free one two three four five six seven eight nine ten we are all going to war for fun two three four five six seven eight nine ten we are all going to war for fun two three four five six seven eight nine ten we are all going to war again

mysterious algorithm

I have found that Google refuses to index this blog anymore, even though Google actually owns blogger.com or blogspot or whatever it's called now.  The only way I can get here now from Google is through a link on the main menu of my website (www.forkword.com) or linktree. Anyway i guess this is just how the fashions of the internet go - everyone is over on substack now, reddit, places like that.  

I guess the real human content of the old web is just lost now in the torrent of AI produced flotsam. And what is the value of real human content now anyway, when it's just words.  People want sounds, images, video, the touch of flesh, the exchange of fluids. And even then, they only want those things from certain specific vendors. The rest of us go on the compost heap, the pyre, the verbiage pile, ashes to rot down and become a nice damp moss for the next generation, a dank dark reminder of a past ecocyde.

I am happy, it is good to be part of the dark earth, funelled through by worms, dug in by badgers. Supporting trees and ferns and vines. This is the Way.

Fire the Fox

Fire the fox

they fished all the fish from the sea
poached all the birds from the sky
just to furnish the mansion of some guy
now we stand in the wasteland
wondering what to do
well i've got an idea, in fact i've got a few
we should go into that mansion
fish out that guy
bind his hands and blindfold his eyes
talkin' revolution baby

little ruger rimfire tucked into my arm
but unless you're a fox my friend you won't come to any harm
but if you're a fox, you'd best be on your way
Get off my television, and don't come back today
it's not that i don't love you, not that i don't care
it's just that there's an order from the sambar to the hare 
and it rules everywhere

there is an order, an order and a plan
and whether or not you like it 
whether you understand
it'll smash you into splinters or raise you on its hand
i'll quarterise the mighty, and magnify the small
till everything is equal in the journal of the poet who sees it all

so if you're still waiting for justice to be served
the laws of space and time won't deliver your just deserts
and there is no reason
but there may be a rhyme
for the hands that shape the future are the poets' hands, like yours and mine

You can listen to a demo of this song on soundcloud  
 

understated jesus

 I was parkin in the park

it was startin to get dark

so i thought i'd come and see you

so i jumped into reverse

and i drove over a bump

and i spilled my tea all over me

(that's why they say don't drink and drive)

you were standing on your step

and i stepped right up and kissed you

and you said "you'll never guess"

i said "what" you said "this is a dream"

if you feel

what you feel

then  it's real

and the needles' in the groove

and the plough is in its furrow

and the geese are on the wing

and the toad is in its burrow

and the fires' on my back

though my tea is getting cold

and the sugar on the bottom

like an insoluable problem

a sensation like it's over

as we pull over into

a pull over and you pull up your pullover

there's a light on on the dash

and it's saying that you're hot

so i guess we'd better pash

whether you've brushed your teeth or not!

if it's real

then you feel

that it's real

if you feel

that it's real

then it's real

you were walking on the trail

and though i was just a snail

i was tryin to catch you

but my boots filled up with slime

and i fell way, way behind

this shit happens all the time

when you're a snail

oh to be a gentle sailor

understanding all the breezes

like an understated Jesus

with a hankerchief for sneezes

and the cartridges are rolling

rolling rolling on the floor

and an autumn wind is blowing

blowing blowing in the door

demo: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OQVz5xWpRro&ab_channel=muletonic 

THE PECULIARITIES OF DR P

You once knew me

and I still know you

you are my bleeding

and I am you sinew

I have born you

you were churned from the milk of my oceans

where I grew you

you were within me

and I am still within you

born onto the shore

you have learned to walk

you have learned to run

you have learned to hurt me

you have left a velvet scar on my skin

you look me in the eye

as you stick your pick in

you mined me for gold

you mined me all night

we once fled together

out along the old road

you have tasted the water of my second mouth

it was just one lonely month

just a single pipette

you frown so darkly now

as you recite the alphabet

you were my best bastard friend

and now you want to forget

how many days

how many evenings

what is the juice of your mind

it has intoxicated my lung

forever together

eternally apart

your blood is a ribbon

where the earth began to part

I am a 

I am just a splash in your face

you tried me

you tried me again and again

to hit my darkest place

now we untangle

now we jerk apart

your fist is too frantic

mine is clutching your heart

lay us down now

lay us under the earth

we will make the mountains groan

we will reside in a city park

This poem features on my new EP: See it on Bandcamp

She'd never think twice

See her there

staring from the second floor

of an old house on Frenchman's Road

what has she seen? what has gone before her?

a mane of snow where violets grow

eyes of turquoise blue

and she smiles at you

When just a little girl she used to play in the streets

and all her friends would be there

and she'd never think twice cause it seemed

those days would never end

And now she lives alone in her empty home

once hers was the only house on the street that had a phone

now people never call, except for those call centres

she looks outside to see the schoolkids walking home

they're all on their phones

and she remembers the games she used to play.. hopscotch, marbles, knucklebones

When just a little girl she used to play in the streets

and all the neighbours kids would be there

and she'd never think twice cause it seemed 

those days would never end

She accidentally touched the glass that separates her from her past

it leaves her feeling cold and she remembers "oh i'm old!"

despite her new cardigan with the violets sewn on

that she has worn like she has worn her body

ageing while she herself doesn't age

not for 100 days, 1000 days, 30,000...

When just a little girl she used to play in the streets

and all of her friends would be there

and she'd never think twice cause it seemed

her days would all be nice

and now she's 94 and her friends have gone

and her days have grown long like the shadows of the memory 

of her mother's songs that she'd play to her

before the war, in 1934.. 

the pain of the game

Open up the borders release the plague

open the carnival, open the graves

send for your bible send for your cane

sit down at the table, feel the clank of the chain

can't you explain, why can't you explain?

the pain of the game

the moment you were born the race had begun

and you run and you run to catch the fast-rising sun

don't tell them your dreams or they'll laugh in your face

just climb up the ladder, put them in place

and as you climb higher, they start to feel small

pretty soon you'll rule over them all

you run through the forest you run to the lake

you'd better run faster or you're going to be late

to your own execution, it's drawing quite a crowd

and as you draw closer, they start to get loud

the executioner greets you as a friend

he says "everyone's here! everyone you sent (with your pen) to their ends"

you awake with a sweat from the terror of the night

in your bed of delusions its sheets crisp and white

with your lover beside you and the sun on the floor

surrounded by all the good things you adore

but you wish you could speak to them, the ones in your dream

you'd ask them "what does it mean?" 

that your dreams are the machines of your grief

but you spent all the money on new machines of war

while a shivering ex-serviceman dies right outside your door

you run to the churchyard to bury your head

or seek some forgiveness from the souls of the dead

but they won't forgive you, they're not even there

all you can squeeze out is an insincere tear

the further you go, the further you run

the longer the shadows from the fast-setting sun

'till it stares at you coldly straight in the eye

the witness to every one of your lies

the witness to every deed you tried to hide

then it sinks and leaves you alone with the night

now only the mirror can see what you've done

but it won't forgive you it's just like the sun

your family won't protect you nor will the police

nor will the prisoners you have released

but it's in your own head where the judgement is found

it's there with the sound of the pound of your soul going down

There's also a demo of this song here: https://youtu.be/Kyx6hF0rQVU (at about the three-minute mark)

Pay day

how long

must we remain strong

with a shit storm blowing in every other day

you work hard

push through the final yard

and the boss is on his way

you don't know what he's going to say

but today is payday

'the work's done

but you coulda done better, son'

then he rolls off on his merry way

a blank stare

you fall back in your chair

and the kids climb on to play

the tv's on 

but you know it's all wrong

people just say what they're paid to say

it's called news 

but it's a kind of abuse

and the boss watches every day

and before they say it 

he knows what they'll say

especially on payday

and today is payday

you scroll and scroll 

through the wall of trolls

you wonder who their baiting for today

it seems true

like it's you their talking too

and they know who's going to pay

the conspiracy 

will set you free

it's a play within the play

and the boss watches every day

and today is payday

but tomorrow is payback day

you don't fear

cause he can't hear

the words you choose not to say

you feel them though

and sometimes it shows 

when you look at him in the eye that way

he always drives home this way

and the tools are in the tray

and you don't care what he'll say

cause we've all got a new job today

and today is payback day

Muletonic · Payday full lyrics demo

in the old days

in the old days

i would want to write to you about all this

this devastation, this departure

i would want to tell you all about it

about the void you have left in my life

i would say 

how in the blank portals of my room

i look for your lovely body

its familiar bones and places

your corkscrew smile 

puncturing my heart

and drawing out my breaths

about how i'm using the recipes you taught me

how i'm wearing the clothes you bought me

i'm tasting the words you gave to me

every time i speak

and i desire to hear your voice in echo

correcting every dumb thing i say

there's no more familiar voice to me in this world

i am dying to tell you all about this

and hear your reply

because i assume you are going through all this too

and no one would understand this mess i made

as well as you

so long in tune

this pain is the loss of our alignment

its intensity and its reason

is just the very absence it records

that familiarity is what

no longer exists

if i went looking for it in you

i would be faced with the horror

of its disfiguration

as would you it in me

we carry each other's ghost

and we can imagine it as we like

to imagine it

i can imagine you

as in the old days

your tangly hair tumbling down your shoulder

your blissful cheek and your hip

ghost piercing through the London streets

like a wonderful disaster

the wonderful perfect disaster

that i welcomed into my life 

just so it could be messy forever

This is what we chose

 if they ask

you should tell them

that we could have stopped it

but we chose not to

you should tell them

we had the tools

the technology

and the time

but we chose to enjoy our comforts

a little longer

those same comforts we have now lost

and so we rake the leaves

the autumn leaves

the leaves of our history

 our poetry, our learning

we rake them all into piles

 and then we burn them

we burn them to forget

for to remember

brings too much pain

and all the leaves are burning

for the forests are drying out

and the coral reefs are turning bone white

the storm is coming

but there won't be much snow

and so the glaciers retreat

and the seas rise to drink our cities

and this is what we chose

this is what we chose

the poppy

 i saw a poppy in the field

waving its bright red head in the air

one fine summer afternoon

and i said

'the storm is coming

dark on the horizon

it will tear your petals

from your face

and crush your body

bend it down into the earth

'why can't you be stronger 

like the thistle over there

with its spikes and firm flowers

no storm will worry that one'

and the poppy replied

'my beauty is inseparable 

from my fragility

just as the thistle's beauty

comes from its daunting strength

'when the storm comes

we will all do as our nature requires

and afterwards you will remember us

for the truth we embodied

and not lament us 

for what we could not be'.

a reading of this poem with music

The Pacifist (long version)

They killed my mother
they killed my father
they killed my daughters
they killed my son
now I must avenge every one of them

The police have been disbanded
so the law of the land is in my hand
and in my hand is a gun

Some call me a partisan

but really I'm a pacifist

and for peace I will do what must be done

There is a tree in the square
I cannot say what was hanging there
but we will take the fruit of their deeds back to them

So if you are free and you want to
you must join us we are many
but the fight must be faught to be won

Some call me a partisan

but really I'm a pacifist

and for peace I will do what must be done

There is a cancer, it is spreading
we must cut true, we must cut deep
if we're to save the country that we love

So don't turn around
don't look back
don't doubt
and don't fear
for the march
is to the heartbeat of the dead

Some call us the partisans
but really we're pacifists
and for peace
we will do what must be done

I kiss my mother
I kiss my father
I kiss my daughters
I kiss my son
and now I must avenge every one

Muletonic · PACIFIST - LONG VERSION

the black poem

throat cleansing /*[the wooden bucket
filled with goop.
a black panther.
eventide (even= evening, tide=me time) troop.

great green (like the roof of my grandparent's house) overalls.
half wit pike spill trident {obvs. neptune reference}.
]the coal lump[, coated.
to keep the black out. {this is a reference to an incident in the Australian Parliament where some member brought in a lump of coal to demonstrate its harmlessness however it was first coated with a clear protective resin to ensure that it didn't leave black marks on the hands or suits of members}

fast forward.
a gigantic spleen {nod to Baudelaire}
brief frenzied gope (invented?)
a big baked bean,]

({})a black nugget
small dark and soft (a mouse)
resting in the hand
plucked from the earth (an emerald)

a form like folded cloth
resinous, with a snake's skin
tight and light (beryl)
absorbent

lines (lineations) folded on one another
a complex knot of meaning
raw, drawn straight out of the ground
still with a crust of gangue

a blinking eye
gazing up from the deep well
or a reflecting star
or my own reflection [ just imagery to try and capture it --

(for how can we know
if time came to pass
the size of her cope [there is a band reference here i forget exactly..{oh yes camp cope!important band!(brilliant early dayz gtr videos on the bed)}i made one the other day but less sweet]
the pleasure of grass{yes that grass})(i am a gardener, and so of *course* i gardened)
]
still wanted you
didn't cope well
[i made a decision it was {wise [saturated fat palm oil
we're all being scammed] (that was a conversation nugget i overheard while trying to pose and so it got into the poem but is completely unrelated (rose was reading some article about palm oil is oil))}]

the big century {the soft pulse of meaning, quietly drawn into itself, like a creature}
opening wide {i am still thinking about her, most days, i doubt she knows}
take in the plaster {she is younger, so has the whole of her life in front of her}
fake it abide {don't ruin everything, (fool)}

open penelope {not her real name}
open for me {[her () heart]imagination}
don't walk away {she never did, it was I(or rather, nor did I{just a sentience(a sense)})}
keep it all free {free as her voice in the air}

ghost poet writing
upon a dark ground
the winner has frozen
the loser is found

how happy it was
the old burra day
remember it baby? (addressed to wife)
it's all flown away (sadness)

now grinds in the future
a train to nowhere (certainty of death, soon too)
the driver is stupid (me)
i've not paid my fare (also me)

hold out your hand
we'll spin once again
i'm not even sorry (i am)
i don't have a plan (true)

the endless tide rising (this poem is a test. an experiment [the rational way-non-continental])
drink in the days (freezomint!)
the pathos the pathos (references another poem)
it's all washed away

the endless tide rising (cc)
drink in the swell
i feel like i've swallowed
a 40 foot whale [must be said in Edinburgh accent, like my gt grandma]

be brief don't unpick it
there is no true story
a feast for a forest
a possum of glory [possums are misunderstood here]

the autos the path
don't think but do write
the meaning is hidden [of course]
inside the dark night [this old trope is tiresome but what else can be said about it? perhaps i lack the agility of old days to make more of it than this. but drawing my brush out of the well the fact is that it is black and i just splash it over the page as simple as that, no more to say]

a grass snake (makes me think of lou reed [shiny, shiny])a fit
a pumpkin to ride
a spade is a spade
and i'm ready for five [rather than a hundred, say {eh eric?}]

be giggling a moment
i'll undo your dress
in haste and in youth
the taste is the best

a hole in the wall
i kicked it i'm sorry (when rowan was born i had frequent rages
and once kicked a hole in the wall.  I felt i was inhabited by demonic beings
but it was just me, just me and my demons. One time he was crying, i put him down on the floor, he was very little, i put him down he was screaming, and i just screamed back at him, roared, i was
kneeling over him, it was the deepest rage i've ever felt, i roared right into his face, and his screaming just intensified. I had at that moment the impression that a demon had jumped out of my soul and into his. I've felt a deep guilt about that moment ever since. For some reason i never had the same rages again, it was just those first few months of our first child, the most trying time for most people.)
be empty my true one
i'll tell you the story

forthwith forthwith
unkind and unfriendly
emptying my mind
of the posturing telly

i can't scribe so well
got caught in a rhythm
it's taken all over
like butter and clover

will empty into fast days of plagiarism
i must give my poem to the people
it is not good enough to know everything
the mundane poisons me, i need tragedy
but don't give me what i want

frightened people do dark things
Rousseau explained it well when he said
"this sublime reasoning
soars above the heads of the common people"
(so give them god)

inexplicable writing nonsense
is this my own mind now?
a nonsense machine?
i feel like Coleridge in the later years
which gives me more comfort than it should

Carthage was a mere trade town
Rome burned
Paris was like a beautiful flower
London is a warm hearth

i used to have a frission
but now after years at home
being a father and working in an office
i have nothing to say

except -- here at the centre
here at the very heart
it is cool

madness does overtake the world
there is likely going to be murder
the spin dryer is speeding up
but here at the heart
it is cool

in the garden of the heart
it is cool
at night i like half awake
and cross my legs in half lotus
lying on my back still
and visit arunagiri

^*/

2020 vision

conjunction of Pluto-Saturn-Jupiter around the 21st September
notwithstanding
there is something going down this year

the money now collected into the fewest hands
according to a system which has rewarded the biggest lie, ahem best marketing,
and the lie it spins and spins faster its tale
the liars tale, to create the great confusion
this is going down now like sewage into the throats of the commuters
the great smog of the lie
the great normality gas spinning "everything is fine"
while the world burns up
"everything is under control"
naked humans glued to their screens holding their pizza boxes
as the world spins and burns and the guilt of the lie
will burn bright purple like sulphur and smoke will fill the air
making every eye weep tears of ash

my oracular inner eye spies into the smoke--
sees the learned leaves of civilisation come fluttering down
nature folded into black ruins, the oceans turned to acid
choked with plastic debris, its feeling creatures dying slowly
while the rich eventually from boredom turn on each other
eating each other, crushing the proles underfoot as they fight
like toddlers with world-destroying bombs
unleashing the chemical means to an inevitable end

logging off twitter, i am sitting in the kitchen
the nice smells of a biryani rising from the pan
through the window, green leaves and a cool breeze
and the chatter of local children, making their plans for the holidays
all of time stretching before them, endless days of play
as if life is just a dream, and it is
we need to give over having and keeping the nice things
forever and ever, clutching our 'wealth'
our hands covered in blood, our memory creased into our brow
not knowing the very fact of air.

everything i now do in this life
is about delaying the collision of these three worlds
for as long as is possible.

does dog exist?

The right response to this is to enquire of what is meant by 'dog' ?

There is a coalition of dogs within the universal 'dog', a cadre of puppies.

Or if dog is merely the letter 'd' in close proximity to an 'o' and a 'g', then it resides on the page here and there.

Perhaps you had a particular dog in mind? or perhaps you were looking for the ideal dog? Do we include the ancestral dogs? the primitive doglike animals? do we include statues of dogs? Do the individual organs of a dog constitute "dog"? How many parts of a dog is sufficient to be a complete dog? can we take away one leg and a tail and and ear and still have a dog?

Likewise also, what is the point of 'exist' - exist like a physical being?

There are plenty who go about life as if dogs exist. they build dog houses, they buy dog food, they make pilgrimages to the dog park. We may have never seen their dog, but their actions are real, so the source of their action is a reality also.  Let's not quibble over who or what has actually seen or been 'seen'.

Here is the question of 'exist' for if this means 'i have seen with my two eyes' then lots of things don't exist, atoms don't exist, emotions don't, scents don't.

As you add senses why not add one more - the 'dog' sense, which allows the presence of dog to be felt.

What are we really getting at with 'dog'? What is the whole matter of dogness? Can we really get away from this? Would life be essentially the same without dogs? Do alien civilisations have dogs? Can dogs be gods?

a trick worth remembering

at the moment of our death
we review our life
and choose one moment
to live in eternally

but the trick is this:

don't look back at all
choose the moment of death
to live in and be free
from both life and death

ἡ βίβλος found in a vault on Φόβος

COD

whomsoever is the most
 beautiful of them all
to that one
 i do pranama

whomsoever is the most fully conscious
of all the consciousnesses
to them i do pranama

whomsoever is the calmest
of all those who are calm
to them i do pranama

whomsoever is the most loving
so also the most loved of all things
to them i do pranama

whomsoever understands the most
of all those who understand
to them i do pranama

whomsoever is the most genuine
of all those who are humble
to them i do pranama

whomsoever is most doubting
of all those who doubt
to them i do pranama

whomsoever is the most rational
of all those who reason
to them i do pranama

whomsoever has all of these qualities
to the greatest degree
to them i do pranama

whomsoever is the most immortal
of the mortals
to them i do pranama

aham etat praṇāmāmi

that which exists most completely
whatever that is
to that i do pranama

that which is the greatest truth
of all the truths that exist
to that i do pranama

that which measures the great and small
and sets the frame for all things
to that i do pranama

that unknown which eludes my understanding
and will always remain beyond knowledge
to that i do pranama

that which is most pleasing
which gives most pleasure
to that
i make pranama

whichever gives us freedom
whichever reveals us the truth
to that
i make my pranama

that which is most deserving
of pranama
whatever that is
to that i do pranama


that which prompts compassion in me
that which prompts reason in me
that which prompts love in me
that which prompts peace in me
that which gives me strenght
that, whatever it is
it does exist

right now
and to that i do pranama

The Fire

there is an eternal fire which cleanses even as it destroys
it is a light which shines into and penetrates all things
the wise
who wish not to be burned
tread carefully around it

that which seeks the fire
will indeed find and bathe in the fire

that which seeks to empower itself
by its own efforts
will bathe in the fire

that which enrobes its truths
in falsehoods
that when it is found out
will bathe in the fire

that which is blind
yet wilfully leads others
that one and those being led
will walk blindly
into the portal of fire

The Truth

they who seek the good, verily they will find the truth

the first child of truth is reality

the second child or reality is reason

through reason, mixd with human blood, order and justice can defeat chaos

the child of order and justice is society

when society turns its back on truth, it destroys itself

all societies shall venerate truth above all
as their basis for their own existence

truth is elusive, it is enigmatic,
it is difficult, it is great
and it certainly exists

right now

The Priesthood

the guardians of truth are the poet sages
the guardians of reason are the philosophers
the guardians of reality are the scientists

the scientists

their church is the universe
their scripture is a logical empiricism
their prayers are in mathematical formulae

the scientists can protect us from the dark forces of nature

all hail the scientists who stare into the night sky with wonder
all hail the scientists who have saved us from countless diseases
all hail the scientists who have unlocked the secrets of atoms

the philosophers

their church is the mind
their scripture is language itself
their prayers are arguments

the philosophers can guide and debate the decisions that humans must make

all hail the philosophers and their clear wisdom, sharper than the spear
all hail the philosophers and their questing for understanding without bounds
all hail the philosophers, who were the first scientists

The poet sages

their church is beyond the mind
their scripture is beyond language
their prayers are neither poems nor are they the silence of absent poems

all hail the poet sages who are always laughing
all hail the poet sages who seek the truth by other means
all hail the poet sages who were the first philosophers

The darkness

the multitude do not know
when it began
the multitude do not know
when it will end

but the location is known
in the darkness is the seed
and in the darkness is the grave
what is in between
is like a star floating in the void

the unknowing darkness
welcomes all
 like a blind mask

it is beyond death
 and beyond fear
its qualities are not truths
or falsities
but Null

its avatar in this world is chaos
(though there is no true chaos)
its dead hand is that of the asteroid impact
or the callous flow of endless time

other avatars are the colour that is almost black,
like the night sky on a very dark night
its presence is in the rich scent of rotting things
it is there at moment of death or birth
and in the deepest moment of sleep
but it is also certainly in none of these things

the darkness does not care
for our worship or recognition
yet it is not unworthy of worship

Consciousness

the consciousness is the manifestation of time in the mind
like shifting sands it is animate in all beings and all things
though it exists in many places and times it is only one
 as one we experience the consciousness
 as one we are a unity of countless minds and objects
 as one we join that which is experienced and that which is experiencing
 as one we create reality through our consciousness
 as one we are created as consciousness by reality

consciousness is not material yet it realises the material
consciousness is not mental yet it realises the mental
through consciousness both mental and material become existent
in the one eye of consciousness all the universes exist and cease to exist
the movement of time is the touch of consciousness
the memory of this movement is called matter

The laughter

the rising laughter is like the rising sun
it emerges from the well of the soul
and brightens the mind with pure light
through the seven portals it emerges effortlessly
there is no wall that can contain the laughter
like hydrogen it pervades the earth
with the ethereal memory of bliss

i am become

walking through the world like a dream
the path is clear
i am inside
the mind creatures play
circling like ravens
and extending my hands
i touch the stone
then sink beyond it

oh my love
i wish it could be just us
without complexities
my hand in your hand
my voice joined with your voice
your eyes meeting mine
this sadness
is like a slow undertow
meaning
i wish i was with you tonight

the path

each step on the path is a science
like every thought
the balance must be struck
intuitively but rationally
with feeling and with knowledge
calling on memory, calling on hope
this is the path to the end
we launch ourselves on it
not knowing where it leads
our feet softly feeling the way
until the knowledge comes
and the uncertainty drops away
this is called meditation
meditation on the crux

the heart has a voice
and the mind has a voice
tongues are tied
but the path knows the way
don't doubt
and don't fear
for the walker
makes no steps
because there is nowhere to go

I am following my truth
it eats into my body
until I am lighter than air
I don't eat
I don't drink
I breathe
and I exist

There is a following
it seeks freedom
but it is drawn to the false pretender
how do we recognise the false?
the false one seeks adoration
the false one makes promises
the false one sees who you are
and knows when you doubt

don't swallow the golden words
don't believe the big dream
it is never as simple as love or hate
beyond both is the plain adoration
of a thousand homes

we have come from far places
we have shown ourselves
trust us, don't speak
the language does not exist
that can share our understandings


the jewel

A mass movement is like a smoke
it obscures the true landscape of things
keep quiet, they are watching
keep the secrets to yourself
a hidden secret is like a jewel in the ground
it may lie undisturbed for a century
but when unearthed at last
it captures the sun as it always did

the howl

there was a hope
we lost it on the way
i kept it inside
now what will happen is this:
the darkness it will spread
the living will hide or be swallowed
they will play
the Sun will revolve over the Earth
the mice
will play
until the old Gods arise
Hope, Love, Peace, and War
they will take back the Earth
and the new age will begin.

z

wanting sleep
i go to the zoo
but all the animals there
are wide awake

the spider monkeys
are wanking
while watching
humans crowding

all their torque
grinding to a halt
like a tired
beached wave