"dualistic" poems
(the tics will talk 'til twelve o'clock)
When we make time,
When we listen:
The theistic preach deistic talk;
The atheistic preach pragmatic talk;
The agnostic preach proleptic talk;
The heretic preach shismatic talk;
The mystic preach prophetic talk.
(the mesianic and satanic never stop)
When we have time;
Then we listen:
The optimistic teach hypnotic talk;
The pessimistic teach sarcastic talk;
The altruistic teach empathetic talk;
The idealistic teach synergistic talk;
The pacifistic teach semantic talk;
The body politic teach charismatic talk;
The technocratic teach robotic talk;
The romantic teach poetic talk;
The critic teach cathartic talk;
The moralistic teach dualistic talk;
The ascetic teach platonic talk.
(the artist would rather not talk)
When we find time,
Do we listen:
The lunatic speak quizzotic talk;
The neurotic speak pathetic talk;
The chauvanistic speak monistic talk;
The nihilistic speak ballistic talk;
The hedonist speak narcissistic talk;
The futuristic speak galactic talk.
(the minimalist hasn't the time to talk)
Just don't.
Look.
Some tic reset the clock.
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 12:15 AM UTC
I've always been in place,
in situ
Maybe (just maybe) ...
I'm sui generis?
When my lifeline intersected with spacetime on this continuum
I found myself moving toward a collision course with duality and non-duality
Moving towards a zero-point
What are we talking about?
Nothing (Rafelski & Muller, 1985)
As a geographer, the mimetic expression was dualistic
As one plane flowed through another;
as fiat lux flowed through Medicine Rock
I found wisdom
I further explored the duality @ this place
(also known as University of Lethbridge)
The U of L is an interesting duck
It walks like an Albertan university
It talks like an Albertan university
But one of these things is certainly not like the other
The U of L got its chops as a house of learning for the Liberal Arts
Follow those roots and you'll see conduits to another spacetime known as UCBerkley
U of L memetics share material memories from the birth of the Free Speech Movement (1964)
And as Arthur Erickson drafted up his plans for Canada's centennial gift to the Province of Alberta, I'm sure he would have been partaking in the pleasures of this particular spacetime
I'm sure at the very least that he was listening to Hendrix wax on about Castles
As Erickson designed this modernistic monolith called University Hall
There were influences such as Arthur C. Clarke and his novel 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)
He was certainly knowledgeable of the Blackfoot stories of the Old Man
And of course as an architect he would be versed in gravity and how built structures on a slope tend to creep toward base-level
Strange but true, Erickson's first degree was in foreign languages
So what I see is Canada's premier architect wrote a poem for us in 1968
In a foreign language
And that poem would be expressed over the next forty to fifty years
Some of those primary poetic elements were:
Berkley, California
Hippie Movement
Creep (or gravity)
Base level
Blackfoot creation stories of the Old Man
Jimi Hendrix poetry and his savage musical genius
"and so castle's made of sand melt into the sea, eventually."
So let's reinterpret that line to be more U of L centric
(through my glossy apertures)
"and so monolith's made by man melt back into god eventually."
........ ....... ...... ..... ..... .... ... .. . zero~point . .. ... .... ..... ...... ....... ........
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 10:33 AM UTC
"Who am I, mother?
Who am I and what do I do?"
–Norman to his mother Norma, "Bates Motel"
And so it goes, a split self - the protagonist defending the darkness as
Bizarre murders satisfy obsessions of a mothers love, taking a
Chefs knife, stabbing victims to death.
Dualistic wars within, a helpless man whose mother taught him of the
"Evils of women," instilling her own moralities of their wickedness.
Fostering the antagonistic personality of his mother
Giving to his incomplete soul a sense of wholeness.
Hidden behind the boy next door innocence, a terrified man
Incarcerated; locked & bolted
Juddering with fear - promising to adhere - set free said to be "cured."
Kleptomania returns; unearthing bodies from their graves, stealing skulls; a comforting souvenir, as
Loving anyone meant destroying them also.
Multiple personalities dominate him
Norman Bates becomes Norma; his mothers persona, crawling into her skin
Originating from their very kiss, kick starting a timeless love affair
Paraphernalia of skins tanned, butchered conquests -keepsakes turned to art & now protecting an un
Quiet mind
Reasons pertaining to mental insanity
Sectioned to institutions
Taxidermy as a young boy fascinated his mind
Urges to **** & fill, feeding euphoric highs, & even
Vertigo.
Women thrilled him; their smell lingered on each garment he kept.
Xenos to himself; who, am I mother?
Youth denied, cried away
Zenith ended; his final resting place behind the bars of Mendona Mental Health Institution, 1984.
© Sia Jane
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 8:21 AM UTC
My hands move and the trees move
If you take a moment to reflect the trees existence in your own,
you receive a reflection of your existence from the tree.
So it goes, this is Nascor
Latin for to be born
And isn't this all we have done?
All the narratives fall under Nature,
the future participle of Nascor.
The key is to play in time.
You are being asked to sing, dance, breathe, eat, and drink.
These are ways to stay in homeostasis with the environment
in rhythm to the music
But guess what?
We can know what it's like to be others.
We do it to people we know
We can do it to collectives
and worlds of thoughts
but also
to animals and plants
and whatever we look at
we can try to put ourselves in its shoes.
You simply gesture in the manner corresponding to its behavior
to receive another gift.
The dualistic forms dance under the grace
of everything and nothing in their shadows.
It's a spiritual practice
to speak to anything.
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 3:09 AM UTC
***I'm so glad you finally got it
you bring your own best friend
if not you'd be your own worst enemy***
*Hahaha true
I know you too
You meant to say*
'I have a friend in you'
*How many friends
Have you in there
who are they true
Oh yes, hahaha
some dyslexic me's
haha ***
funny right
cute tho too
You just imagine
being wrapped up
So often not knowing
who's who or where
One begins or
if another ends
so part the issue*
***I'm not sure Sa Sun
its hard to tell who's***
*Friend who's enemy
they all wear a smile*
Okay so well...
***Architect be
midwife see
Wooing enabling
one best outcome of
both mother and child...
Simply that to the finest
health and loving environment
of...
hearts, hands and arms
of the three***
*So who and or what is this child
therefore too the mother or bride
back to jesus and vedic speak
are we not with child already...*
***Is that kingdom
at our hands...
Is expected or not***
*Bridegroom considered
male spiritual energy of God in all creation
kind of dualistic temporarily and artificial
our own making for this while only
so the Bride is Manifest Creation
or here we consider first of as
primary too our existence
this earth first or mostly
thus mother is female*
***Afu and Ra with Ka
Ra as Bridegroom
male spiritual too
Ka powering Is..
Is forgiving all
that brings
us back
into
S C
I L R T
N U A I Y
G***
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 4:24 PM UTC
I know you have a dark side
Although you hide it well
Life as tectonic plates
You choose your show and tell
I know you have a dark side
I know your heart means well
Concepts and beliefs
Removed experience
All things
are functions
of consciousness
I know you have a dark side
The way out is through
Integrate dualistic self
Taste the answers you seek
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 10:47 AM UTC
**Path #1
Forgiveness is the sinking
head into heart..
The head dwelling in separation
concedes logic's demands
but confronting questions
time after time:
Why? and What?
Surrendering at last
to the sinking..
dissolving..
becoming..
the Heart...
Path #2
Forgiveness is downloading
of new software..
Our old software
employs the ego rampant
rendering forgiveness
a difficult dream
searching in forlorn places
finding only traces..
New software finds it all
Here and Now...!
Path #3
Real forgiveness is Now
not in time..
Events in the past
seeming in need of
forgiveness
are only known
Now..
and what of the Now..?
it's other name
our true identity:
Forgiveness...
Path #4
Chaos
is an iteration
of Forgiveness..
a shading and
concealment of
formulated light..
Our awaking brings
the repentance
the return
the feedback
to never absent
Forgiveness...
Path #5
A shock it is
to learn that
Forgiveness is not personal..
It is a realization
of a substance common
to all concerned
transparent and eternal
the real Self..
With that realization
duality of conflict
dissolves in the
Light...
Path #6
Quantum forgiveness
is the only
forgiveness..
A leap into
infinite non-locality..
The suddenness arrives
within painful progress
or perhaps
strangely enough
out of the blue...!
Path #7
Forgiveness
an experience of sealing
our separate brokenness..
It is mandatory..
Yet the sealing
can be accomplished
only by those who see
there is no need
for the sealing...
Path # 8
Immersed
in a separated
dualistic reality
seeking forgiveness
in thought and time
is not satisfying..
The lingering pain
from a fruitless search
for forgiveness in
all the wrong places...
Path #9
Forgiveness
is a restoration of
peace and happiness
with new clarity:
The Awareness of
peace and happiness
was never in need of
restoration...
Path #10
We need to see clearly
that all relationships
take place in
infinite Awareness..
But wait..
not in .. but as..
All those hurts
are constrictions
of Awareness
crying out their
illusory separation...**
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 12:04 AM UTC
They danced on the steps
Of the first methodist church,
Not caring who watched or
How their young feet hurt.
When the clouds rolled over
The sun and the wind ceased
To be breathing. They
Stopped their tom foolery and
Accepted that life sometimes is still.
They walked to the water.
There they saw the ships bounding
Across eclipsed waves like horses
Through golden tinted field.
The two feared for the sailor's,
Yet the sailor's knew not
They were thinking of them at all.
After the water, leaving the sailor's
On their waves, they wandered to
The fishermen's docks, where
Crooked poles and wavering hulls
Stood ***** and set pointed to the sun.
These were the men of patience
And respect, feeling death and life
Around them in dualistic harmony.
Because they held no lure or pole,
They watched the masters work, as
Masters usually do. The sun trickled
Through thin white cloud as the
Wind pushed the two's hair over brow.
The masters were discontent
In their catch and their day. Their frowns
Showed failure and they wished
That the cold winter weather would go away.
Even masters can fail.
The two thinking of two different things,
Then conversed on where they should
Go to next. One said the tower, where she
Had never been before, and the other said
The park, where he had been many times.
Their differences were their love and
Their love was what kept them true.
A master pulled up hard on his bamboo rod.
"A catch," the man screamed in his tongue,
"I've got a catch here! Won't you see! Won't you see!"
The two shot over to where the master
Stood, their eyes peeled to the end of his line.
As the man reeled and reeled and reeled, he
Soon did reveal a battered tin can and a weathered old boot.
The master plopped the two on the wooden dock,
Cursing to the God of his choice.
The two picked up the boot, the can, cheered and said,
"Thank you", running up the concrete strand.
As they reached their bus stop, they realized
What they'd done and started to laugh at all
Of their fun. The two giggled and cackled,
Screamed and roared, until the two could no longer
Take anymore. After a minute or two, the sky
Straightened out, turning full blue, so the birds
In the sky who soared and cooed, showed they
Had no rules they were forced to uphold.
The two agreed on home. When their
Bus appeared, they felt the same, seeing that
Living together was a much better game.
Tomorrow would be new start, just like
Today was another part of a puzzle never
To be finished, only taken to heart.
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 1:34 AM UTC
*those parts of speech
learned very early
taken for granted
now might serve
to trigger an entry
to Happiness
to Beauty
to Awareness..
subject and object
are the benchmarks
of the dualistic world
and with dissolution
we become Aware..
the object's existence
is our senses
a simple stimulation
and nothing more..
with externals dissolved
we then find
the subject has
no object and so
makes an exit
leaving only That
which we are...*
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 10:39 PM UTC
Merry Christmas, it's 1954
Mom and Pop will pass out in about an hour
Hope you enjoy the **** in the box
Too bad its not what you asked for
I wiped up my knuckle children with your list
Sometimes Santa forgets
Mostly because he drinks incessantly
To battle his dualistic nature of sexless monogamy
Mar 12, 2010
Mar 12, 2010 at 8:43 PM UTC
ever find it funny how how how how it all just goes on
no matter what
people say this, people say that
doomsday around the corner
at the drop of a hat
but the next day always comes
bright n early and on time
when will the day come?
''''''
words breaking
bodies shaking
beautiful thunder
ringing, reverberating throughout vessels
ethereal, physical, inanimate
cars rocking steady
beds creaking
echoes of soundwaves vibrating
Precipitation
always been waiting
for such a moment
touch of flesh potent
been waiting for this moment
is it everything wanted?
''''''
fading
swaying
breaking
subtly
noticed
when walking boldest
incomprehensible to consciousness
but deep within ancestral blood
subconscious behavior
''''
eyelids paint black
out like a match
burnt from decay
feelings never want to stay
stand still, yet sway
falling off on a decay
dry whippin with no delay
but with a fade, deep down, once locked in cage
where answers lay
within;without
look around
peepin corners
under curtains
eyes looking
something cooking
brooth for thought
keys to mind identified
moving on with presence of now
move like crow bringing woe to everyone around
feel positivity under negative dualistic attributes
working towards retribution
ever so steadily, but with swift foot guile
familiarity with these tiles shifting and forming, morphing into something new, always and forever nothing I pretend, but something ego cant depend.
~~~~~~
Pilot
lighting away
lightning distant, not far away
close like word on street
but stuck in suburbia
trapped in isolation
land molested by white devil hands
rooted deep in the finest grains of sand
in ancient lands
Looking outside of the glass,
reflections of past, a future smudged, but faintly visible
Outside of the glass is the infinite moment of now,
somehow,
untouched by human hands,
something only observed outside of observance
energy in abundance pouring out of fountains in mountains o brooth
no one believes, but its a truth
partial to the bigger picture
is a caption really necessary?
''''''
on and on and on and on and on
it goes ever so
built oppression
neglected expression
stuck on false thoughts and feelings
redirecting sails into new lands
a new perspective
new flesh
~~~~~
Evil consciousness
Suzerian possession takes sway,
stage the show
(haiku)
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 3:06 AM UTC
America the Beautiful is broken
into variations, reassembled
at fifteen, while your friends played ball, tumbled
after grounders. Met her, vows were spoken,
children came, a job to feed and shelter.
Insurance, managed risk made up your days
while music filled your nights and underlaid
a counterpoint of art and home. She felt your
dualistic muse; the age-old tale
of starving artist held no taste for you.
Forty years of working every breath
until the night your muse's heart would fail.
You lived for years with your worst fear come true,
for you had starved your artist to his death.
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 10:19 PM UTC
i never understood why people decided to couple such symbols into images esp. in fictional narratives rather than see the sound in lipstick smooched for symphony; how hard you try, the a to z will not provide you with a mental cinema image of a giraffe; more like a gaff, and what's a gaff in photo? leopard on giraffe or a giraffe on a leopard, because it's all very fine telling the narrative of traffic coordination evolution coming back from africa with the zebra to suit pitchfork stoppages in hay on the redneck lazed walk. the sole reason why it's understood: fiction is the use of lettering for the creation of images, poetry is the use of lettering a bit like a waterfall for a bored emperor apprehensive of the sound of thinking; and philosophy is the reverse of all that, strike two flints together, and enter the realm of ideas with the onomatopoeia of the image - given that onomatopoeias act like surgical scalpels, or a miscarriage of ideas bundled up for something else by kandinsky; actually, saying that, onomatopoeias are images in motion, prior to the movies, when all you had was a painting embraced by a fancy rim - still life of decay of the royal flotilla on the thames with a mouth moving: chatty chatty boor of a bloke who talked.
i see the dead sea when i cry,
and i wager
a salmon with other sea fish cropping up flying
into a butterfly net:
before the assemblage of bacon
into the mouth watering eye.
i see the dead sea when i cry,
and i wager
to have seen a thousand flamingos
strut invoking tide -
on a boneless march into marsh of
a bubbled gill of fish popped for whatever name alive,
or dead in the disco crescendo for a nixon:
tears of a robot had always the glory of man laughing akin;
since annexed was the dualistic ambiguity
of the theatrically mistaken two masked.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 8:27 PM UTC
has started following me.
He has noughtified me
into non dualistic existence.
OK!.
I own up to seeing your guilt.
It was smellable.
OK!.
I witnessed all your attempts
at total permanent amnesia.
OK!.
I was unmoved by your failures
and there lies true compassion.
OK!I wasn't writing poetry--merely words.
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 2:55 PM UTC
The sky is where
prayer purges--
returned to sender,
in a wink.
Given to an
inner space full with what
needs eradication.
To the astonishment
of the sender,
prayer returned as a
greater space for
realization.
Prayer was never
sent, nor returned.
Prayer being... beginingless,
and endless.
There is only One
momentous prayer,
relegated to moments.
Where question and
answer grow out of
one another,
in dualistic interchange.
Till question, questions--
answer, answers...
to indistinction.
As question is questionable,
and answer is answerable...
to nothing but everything.
Prayer as doing--
to prayer as being.
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 5:46 PM UTC
we think
in categories
colors and feelings
boxes of thoughts
and feelings
immersed in dualistic thinking
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 3:04 PM UTC
**No problem can be solved from the same
level of consciousness that created it.
~~Albert Einstein**
*Perhaps this ranks with his
revolutionary relativity..
Pointing to the futility
of dualistic searching
in all times
especially ours
as confrontation
and violence
paint our lives..
Transcending to the
level he mentions
is to discover
new being
with separation
slinking away from
a lighted fire...*
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 10:30 PM UTC
we think
in categories
colors and feelings
boxes of thoughts
and feelings
immersed in dualistic thinking
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 3:04 PM UTC
Let me bloom into the Source
Let every microcosmic aspect of my whole me fold into itself
Let me be free of form
But fold into good company
May I love myself through all darkness
May I hate myself, but ask for
Forgiveness every time when I remember, and reclaim who I am
I am love, lust, and luxury
I am a powerful woman
Infinity; blissed into a dualistic formality
It evaporates, and segregates no longer
We are one
We get along with each other
Sister, brother
Father, mother
Beyond our blood we teach other
Intertwined in a love connection
Through sound alone we break an illusion
When we know ourselves
We know our wealth
When we breathe in our bodies
We indefinitely raise hell
Wake the dead
Feb 10, 2018
Feb 10, 2018 at 8:08 AM UTC
So,
You want to know:
Why good things happen for those who don’t deserve,
And the worst **** happens
To the rest of us -
To the best of us on Earth?
It isn’t just
Some dualistic
View of how things work
It’s more that it’s
The heavy fist
Of a God all gone berserk.
While the Devil sits,
His voice a-twist
With laughter at the fall,
The bad get new beginnings.
The good?
Nothing at all.
Apr 8, 2020
Apr 8, 2020 at 5:12 PM UTC
***Short walk:
The pull way
from present experience
from this task
from this enjoyment
at close hand..
We introduce suffering
a dualistic search
with expectation of
real happiness ahead..
Suffering arrives as
becoming becoming
becomes prime..
A new way station
up ahead and
the place of
new suffering
unless...***
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 10:42 PM UTC