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Rob Cohen Nov 2022
linguistic ******* as the emergence of furor poeticus
  :: out of phonetic oral *** comes lyrical transcendence


  /
acacia thorns pierce the skin
while shittim pierces the veil of the perceivable
as golden incense weaves across the sky
to a sanctuary where we unwind space & time

prophet's write of the vapor turning on lights
and horns shining in rays of synesthesia

magi mixed herbs under the desert moon
which mapped a path through golden the sand

bundle's of wild harmel wood burns
as sparks flicker & dance with stars
in a moon reaching bonfire

under autumn shadows
in the harmonic hum of the aboriginal didgeridoo
drifting on the streams of wattle-seed smoke
  gazing down as the earth unfolds and refolds
            in a cymatic origami cardtrick

out of the soil grows the ship
which flies above the starry skies
fruit of biblical implications
with seeds of knowledge
& keys to ghostly dimensions

    //
Thomas Aquinas
& Meister Eikhart shared the same eye
as you & I
peel wide the smokescreen
& spy through the looking-glass used by god
  which saw god
which was the eye through which the son of god saw
& wept at the stale state
  of the collective unconscious bots
lost in spirals of consumption & mirror reflection *******

this is not the godless wasteland
advertised by the screaming anchormen
    fear-mongers & alarmists
who sell panic by the gallon

with electrodes probing their temporal lobes
the prophets & shaman's
are in the asylums
labeled as ******'s for their visions of angels
& demons
& messages from the god's

an amnesiac species
chasing the neurochemical highs
shaped by evolutionary design
as a means to survive

barrel of monkey's biologically
swinging about nuclear powered technology
        alienated
that far removed from nature (forest. desert. ocean)
planning to leave the planet entirely


    Om Mani Padme Hung
    OM
    Om Mani Padme Hung
    OM
'Om Mani Padme Hung' is a Sanskrit mantra associated with compassion.
the use of the mantra 'Om Mani Padme Hung' is to express a model of phonology in linguistics (the sound quality) and the importance, to lengths of religious significance.
Filomena Aug 2022
Ontological definition
Driven crazy with inquisition
Pondering the implication
When what I need is simplification
Psych ward poetry.
Set 3, poem 47.
Alexis karpouzos Jun 2021
Crossing the far away sky of soul,
In the pilgrimage of light,
on the fine coast of extinction,
we will meet.
There, in whose space,
creation first became existence,
we will turn this monotonic world,
into  a celestial melody of sounds,
In the emptiness spinning
without aims or needs.
Leone Lamp Apr 2021
How incredibly wonderful and unlikely
That a universe so vast and mighty
Might bring about a sentient species
Capable of developing theses
Which attempt to explain space and time
Thus, the universe can observe itself
Within the consciousness of our minds.
I don't subscribe to any religion. I think beauty lies in believing nothing happens for a reason and yet it couldn't have happened any other way.
~2011
Tenant Jan 2021
Semi-permiable membranes all permiating
Quantum tunneling funneling loose leaves from my loose leaf tea
I just want to be

My brain is puntured
When lies are uttered
has becomes the has not
Not being how i am defined

Holes
Ocuppying more space than space and time
But i have an ace
The reciprcal of zero
My world becomes an infinite exponential
Yue Wang Yitkbel May 2020
The Metaphysical Dancer:
A Wintry Waltz of Being

By: Yitkbel Yue Xing ****
Original Chinese version written: Tuesday, January 28, 2020
Translated: Wednesday, January 30, 2020 12:41 a.m.

The way through eternity
The road of souls
From the invisible shapeless
Unto the invisible shapeless
As if an unseen dancer in winter
Slowly putting on layers of snow
Fleeting timely coats

A layer of consciousness
A layer of memories
A layer of stardust
A layer of flesh and blood
Gradually a form manifests
Gradually a self manifests
Till we see life
Till we see change
Till we see death

Everything, every gain and every loss
Everything, every birth and every demise
Awareness, being, time, and death
Will eventually fade, seep, melt away
Leaving only the invisible shapeless dancer
Invisible and shapeless as ever
Still dancing
Till eternity

If the beginning and end were
If the beginning and end are
If the beginning and end will always be
An enlightening everlasting dream
Why must we wake for a fleeting
Indivisible blink
Experiencing all the clashes and separation
Experiencing all the love and hatred
Seemingly meaninglessly brief good
Seemingly meaninglessly brief evil

I can't take away these words
I can't take away these memories
I can't take away any fragment of your being
With me
But I must have stolen a trace of your soul
A trace of your light
Hiding them within
Within me
Within my soul
Here and there we clash
Creating the sparks
That lit up heaven
That warmed up the sky

Is it thus
Is it thus
Is it thus
For us to long for home
We must wander to the afar
Life
Consciousness
Being
Time
Death
As our lost souls drift
As our lost souls drift
As our lost souls drift
We long for the eternal home beyond


The way through eternity
The road of souls
From the invisible shapeless
Unto the invisible shapeless
We will all eventually shed the snow
And continue our dance unseen
As the earthly melt away

Melt away the consciousness
Melt away the memories
Melt away the stardust
As the flesh and blood decay
Slowly the form fades
Slowly the soul manifests
Till we lose all the changes
Till we lose all the losses
Till we lose all the death

Everything, every gain and every loss
Everything, every birth and every demise
Awareness, being, time, and death
Will eventually fade, seep, melt away
Leaving only the invisible shapeless dancer
Invisible and shapeless as ever
Still dancing
Till eternity

If the beginning and end were
If the beginning and end are
If the beginning and end will always be
An obscured everlasting dream
Do we really gain nothing when we return to slumber?
Not even the warmth in our souls
Brought on by the melting of the snow?
Or the eternal folds and faults
Scars and bumps that altered the shape of our core
From all of our profound encounters and collisions
With each other?

I can't take away these words
I can't take away these memories
I can't take away any fragment of your being
With me
But I must have stolen a trace of your soul
A trace of your light
Hiding them within
Within me
Within my soul
Here and there we clash
Creating the sparks
That lit up heaven
That warmed up the sky

So it is thus
So it is thus
So it is thus
For us to shine even brighter
We must temporarily be
Life
Consciousness
Being
Time
Death
Let our parted souls combine
Let our parted souls combine
Let our parted souls combine
Embracing ever more brilliantly beyond

When the snow melts away
When I return to the eternal place
When I forget time, being and space
Blissfully, unknowingly dancing familiar moves of nameless grace
The twinges of lightning
From the marks of existing
Will remind me of our inseparable timely days

As it is thus
As it is thus
As it is thus
For us to truly cherish the hereafter
The place above decay and matter
We must experience
Life
Consciousness
Being
Time
Death
So our witless souls would remember
So our witless souls would remember
So our witless souls would remember
Only love that could palpitate in dreams
Transcend matter
Matters
And
Would never be forgotten
Nissim Apr 2020
I had unsuccessfully danced with the paradoxes of Reality,
Its feet were not in lockstep with mine.
And yet I sensed they were a lesser peak in the shadow of the mountain peak above all.
I went into the forest in a state of Chaotic confusion.
It was a cold day, my wispy breath wafted in front of me.
It was a sunny day, the sun's explosive light,
Through the trees bare and bright,
Exposed my body, my soul was nigh.
I walked into the forest as far as possible,
And then completed the journey on the half-way out.
I emerged at the precipice above a sea,
Its shoreline on the other side of a narrow and meandering road.
Across the waters were the North Shore mountains.
They were snowy and rugged and hoary.
The sea was a blue-green marble sparkling by the sun's strong light.
I sat at the precipice.
In front of me my feet dangled above a void,
And behind me the Autumn leaves were dying.
I reflected on Reality's paradoxes,
On what they are truly telling me.
I stripped them of all prejudices and banalities.
I pealed away their artifices and artifacts.
I aimed to see them with a Zen state of mind,
deconstructed and bare.
How to describe a state of Zen consciousness?
Imagine looking at a painting depicting a beautiful sunset.
This painting evokes powerful emotions in you.
Emotions of serenity and your soul's longing for communion with divinity.
You ARE Zen consciousness when,
upon pondering this evocative painting,
All you can see is a coat of paint.
Zen deconstructs reality and returns you to the white-eyed womb of Creation.
Imagine descending the branches of a tall and sprawling tree,
From child to parent branch,
And then repeated like nested mirrors,
Until you reach the trunk.
You are now communing with the Source.
When you descend the Tree of Existence it is for the void,
The nothingness, the ineffable truth at the core of Existence,
That you are yearning.
And when I fell into the Zen within me I saw a grand tree.
But the world of space and time,
The implicate order imprinted by the paradoxical,
Was only one branch and not its totality.
On each branch I saw a myriad of wrestling angels - the denizens of its dream.
They perceived only the completeness of their own branch,
But not of the totality.
And then a denizen of a branch's dream soared high above the tree,
And saw its entirety.
How naive he was to think its home branch was the whole tree.
How myopic to only aspire to wrestle its home branch,
Instead of yearning to dance with the entire tree.
To this wrestler it slowly dawned, freed from prejudices and tethers,
First a release of tension due to paradox resolution and then,
like a shadow illuminated by the light,
The paradox lost its fight.
And then I snapped out of my reverie.
I witnessed a sunset with a beauty transcending sight's domain,
And which can only be parsed as the soul dancing with divinity,
Reverberating within its innermost grasp - Creation's womb.
The sky splintered into crimson shards that pierced the wispy clouds,
And then the sun's turgid red ball hung low for an Eternity,
Above the sea's furthest edge,
And then sank into the void beyond horizon's ledge.
Nissim Apr 2020
I reminisced of a time long ago when I was only twenty years old.
I was studying English 101 at the University Of British Columbia in the summer of Eighty-Four.
It was at a summer session because I had failed English 101 two years before.
A failure due more to my citizenship in a different realm than to the failings of my intellect, aptitude or the magnanimity of my core.
“You have such a poignant and evocative writing style,” wrote my teacher on the short-story I had submitted the week before.
I had written about a lonely sojourn on a desolate beach in the pregnant moment,
When sunset injures day's abandon and grants night the freedom to roam.
I had written about the mighty North Shore mountains,
Hoary with age and reverberating with an energy ineffable to the mind,
But savored by the soul.
I remembered how exhausting of mind, but above all of the soul, writing that short-story had been.
I tried to reveal my spirit bare and exposed.
I tried to destroy the ramparts and blow open the heavy gates shielding my secretive core.
But through my exhausting efforts I had only succeeded in weakening the facade between me and the world,
Usually held at arm's length,
But through my story then, only slightly nearer yet still remote.
There is an essence within everyone hidden in a chamber far beneath the veneer that encrusts our core.
We seldom allow it expression beyond just its fractured shadows dancing on an external wall.
But if we all dig deep and reach into this secretive chamber,
We will, to our astonishment, discover we are all reaching into the same chamber,
Not a separate one for each within the all.
And then we will grasp each other's same-hand.
We all share the same soul.
I knew that in the novel of my compulsion I would have to expose this chamber,
Ramparts and heavy gates destroyed once and for all.
And my novel would then cry out from this collective chamber,
And speak for my left and for my right with one voice for all.
It would be the ineffable ground of being reaching out to humanity from the navel of Creation,
Proclaiming the dawn of a Third Age.
It would announce the sunset of the Second Age before this coming dawn.
A moment pregnant with change that will forever be remembered in the annals of the Civilization of Man.
It would herald a paradigm shift far greater than the Renaissance,
Not just an age of reason, but of reason and divinity intertwined as an inseparable whole.
I envision the Third Age to be promoting the two primordial dancers,
The abstract magical and the other its complementary whole.
To engage in the Dance and thence unshard into the Eternal Garden from whence we all came forth.
They are in Eternity entwined, but sharded into the realms of space and time.
They are shards of the divine.
Would composing such a novel be an arduous journey,
Exhausting my body and above all my core?
Would I be as a drowning man,
Gasping for breath,
Kicking and screaming while with futility grasping for shore?
But would every paragraph and page exhaust me,
Yet also leave me yearning for more?
It would I am sure.
This arduous compulsion will also uplift and invigorate me with waves of catharsis and frisson.
And I pray dearly for the same in my reader,
of soul-piercing joy.
If I fail to evoke the same in my audience then I would have failed to breach the ramparts and the gates shielding my innermost chamber,
Our collective soul.
Only within this innermost shared sanctum can I truly touch someone's soul.
And by touching one, I will be touching them all.
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