"immanence" poems
Journeys rendered dateless,
Unending,
Wayward and extending out,
Round the compass points --
Dizzying aspiration to cease this race,
To slow my sprinting soul,
This pace splintering, in exhaustion.
Expiring breath of hope or of home
Evaporated in a distance
Vanishing and
Disconnected.
Drifting
On trackless tides, across
Labyrinthine depths,
Within the vast heart
Of the world
I cannot run from.
Yet, I moved to and between
The center or its peripherals, in
Singular or collectives,
Seeking pattern and
Drawing connectives –-
Brushing by and
Bustling among
People
Entranced In their own
Objectives.
I watched their movements
And their exchanges,
I heard their rituals and
Invocations.
In all these transitions,
They have no inkling
That their seemingly trite
Lives merely manifest
The epic motifs of the heavens!
Our imaginations mirror
The vitality of the gods!
We are as immortal as they!
Our simple, sensual stories
Are also enduring legends
Unfolding,
As our pages turn,
Our flags are unfurling!
Just as our fellow
Olympians of old
Engaged in a marathon of
Endeavor to heights
Unimagined!
From those mystic days
Since Orpheus’ ardent lyre
Sang notes
Of Nature’s divinity, Her
Eternal sweetness.
We need only sense that
It is in Nature’s essence
We are sharing.
With her, we are joined in
An undying marriage,
A unified pairing –
Our human heritage,
Our dignified bearing.
We share in that song,
We share in that sweetness,
We share in that race,
We share in Her immanence.
This journey is our own.
It goes on, unending!
Jul 30, 2017
Jul 30, 2017 at 1:11 PM UTC
Let us invoke a healthy heart-breaking
Towards the horrible world:
Let us say 0 poor people
How can they help being so absurd,
Misguided, abused, misled?
With unsifted saving graces jostling about
On a mucky medley of needs,
Like love-lit ****
Year after cyclic year
The unidentifiable flying god is missed.
Emotions sit in their heads disguised as judges,
Or are twisted to look like mathematical formulae,
And only a scarce god-given scientist notices
His trembling lip melting the heart of the rat.
Whoever gave us the idea somebody loved us?
Far in our wounded depths faint memories cry,
A vision flickers below subliminally
But immanence looms unbearably: TURN IT OFF! they hiss.
2.9k
sweltering heat
feet on the pavement
yesterday's lovers
are gone with the raiments
of dresses and gowns
demented clowns
forage in the forest for surface tensions
instant regression
legacies of salvation and solvents somatically
dissolving
i am collapsing time and space
a moment, a face
of distress
and immanence
a destiny of cooperation
a corporeal corporation
the heliosphere is spinning
winning, remaining steady
its harmony saves our lives
Dec 16, 2016
Dec 16, 2016 at 10:44 AM UTC
SILENCE IS SUPREME
(Bijoylakshmi Das, 9th February 2020)
Silence in the air
Silence all around,
I long to merge deep
In the depth of Silence ' play ground. Silence is Harmony
Silence is Suoreme' s breath,
To regain our felicity fugitive
In our mortal breast -
We dive into Silence' depth.
The One Exprrssion of the unique Sublime -
Amazingly awe-inspiring
Utterly captivating!!!
Silence is the Art
Which makes others live
A joyful living united with the Infinite:
Selfless and all-forgiving!
Silence is the silent throb of the heart
Of the One Highest Breath,
The Consciousness sublime.
Silence is smile
On the face of the One Adorable Being.
Silence is the lone traveller
On the vast expanse of Time,
Silence is the reveller of Joy
Of the never-ending rhyme -
All-pervading!
Silence is vast
Silence is Beauty -
Of the all - transcending Act!
Silence is Immanence
Of Creation's inherent Harmony.
Silence is the Mystic touch
Of the Absolute all-surpassing!
The celestial dwelling
For every loving heart,
Love's resplendent splendour
In life's journey vast!
Silence is perfection
That is never-ending;
The footprints from above
Solace descending!
The rare reminiscences
Of the One Eternal Inhabitant,
The all-shaping Flame
Of the Mystic Fire
Ever vibrant
All-commanding!
Silence is Light
That lies deep within -
Each living and non-living
In their inertial sleeping!
Silence is awakening
From the most senseless stupor,
Silence is the patron -
For earthly life
Solemnly condescending!
Silence is Humility of the highest order,
Silence is Dignity always to remember,
The Beauty and Mirth that in life we seek for
To rise above the mundane self and its self- made disaster.
Silence is Blessedness' Grace
For every grieving soul;
Silence is Symphony
Of the ageless yore.
Silence is the sole companion
Of Spirit's magnificent melancholy,
Silence is Union with the Beloved in ecstasy.
Silence is Poetry
Of our rhythmic thoughts,
Silence is manifestation
Of our formless forms.
Silence sits alone in its Kingdom vast,
Why not make it your Soulmate
Oh Man! In your endless journey of the mortal birth?
(Bijoylakshmi Das)
Feb 9, 2020
Feb 9, 2020 at 10:07 AM UTC
As I rise, cumuli are my clouds
Purple rippling through hot pinks and gray
Waving to me in tattered shrouds
Above horizon of shadowed trees, come day
Commit to memory ether and solar play
For never could a photograph
Or great master’s paintings depict or imply
Phenomena of heaven’s autograph
Inferiority, obscurity shadowed in my sky
What wondering adrift, now present to eyes
Sensational this morning’s vividness
Ballyhoo applauds first light of dawning
Awestruck I am within this immanence
Call forth flash of conception spawning
Clearest notion of earthbound belonging
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 4:58 AM UTC
on and on and on
stupid machines
speak past one another
an automated stupor
brain ****** bourgeoisie
incapable of escaping
their own idiot refrain
demented on chop
and immanence
a closed horizon
Nov 21, 2018
Nov 21, 2018 at 11:02 AM UTC
The old tree on Maple Lane stood unwavering on the cold December night
that the young girl ended her plight
it creaked sorrowfully
as the child that once swung from its ancient limb
was buried on that evening so grim.
The old tree on Maple Lane danced to the rhythm of the wind
that glided all about, completely undisciplined
it flowered wonderfully
as the joyous winter that brought it innocence
was replaced with a warm immanence
The old tree on Maple Lane
had seen so much beauty
and so much pain
The old tree on Maple Lane
was completely beautiful and wise
Until it was slain.
Dec 6, 2018
Dec 6, 2018 at 11:03 PM UTC
Righteous' presence
and innocents' innocence
Pleasant fragrance
the Essence’s essence
Sparrows nest
in cherub's presence
Leaping loyal dogs
wagging effervescence
But cats sleep,
without care, blatant nonchalance
Beauty’s transcendence
and inviolable permanence
Musical cadence
in timeless immanence
Elephants' endless patience
and endurance
Hummingbirds whizzing
winged iridescence
Orchids blooming
riotous inflorescence
And monarchs live and die
in glorious ignorance.
Nov 10, 2019
Nov 10, 2019 at 12:47 AM UTC
I am sitting everywhere like a stone
struck by lightning
my nerves spinning their electricity
in new revolves
this vibration is transformation
of of of of
something into anything else
syntax into the golden ratio
fingerprints into enlightened wax
lungs into vertical love
craving into silence
desire into root
immanence into
transcendence and
the other way round
projection into
introspection
nihilism into redeeemed
despair
music into a theorem
of sunrise
hatred into pain
pain into
violet mourning
bread into singing
oxes' thirst into the art
of the earth
secrets into tangible
translucent pictures
rivers into the dreams
of the sky
I into the other I
in you and him
and them
in the mycellium
of syntaxes, synapses
enchanted
ephiteliums
into a choir of selves
in love's eyes
Dec 29, 2022
Dec 29, 2022 at 5:50 AM UTC
Hold on my lover
To the strings that bind me in your heart
I am bleeding raw without cover
Blank eyes
They won't see us wander.
Starving crystalline structures
Hunger for open minds to see them dancing
Tryptamine, entheogenic wonders
Reveal the frailness of being here
What has passed,
Well it's not gone
Just transferred
Where the stars never fall apart
Rounded rhombuses relieve my worry
Help me feel his spirit sustains the death of his body
Hope of Heaven can blind us from the present
Here he is to still be experienced
Overcome by his lost son's loneliness
But in the light of his death
He'll find the love he couldn't clasp in human hands.
So let go now, my father
To your measured idea of the souls embark
It's infinite in its immanence
Guided by what is always seen but never noticed
Rest in peace, my brother.
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 11:05 PM UTC
So many words.
Which to choose.
Amplify.
Execute.
Which to use.
Validate.
Embolize.
Constitute.
Simple smooth ambivalence
Relative.
Dissonant.
Hellenistic rhetoric.
Romulas.
Immanence.
Sep 14, 2019
Sep 14, 2019 at 4:39 PM UTC
“Transcendence is dead”,
He remarked,
with hollowed eyes enlarged
“There’s no exteriority to this existence,
no object not rooted to this mind,
no experience to reach to alleviate me from this pain”
Words uttered in vain sentiment,
like riches given by a desolate
“- and there’s no interiority
to this existence either,
no refuge untouched by extrinsic hands,
no truth untainted and grazed
by worldly sands,
etching indelible marks,
serrations upon the purity of what I envision, oppressive symmetry bounding my condition”
Echoes unbridled to the night made by folded wings
of the hungriest crows,
a reality smirking upon this man
encased in noxious snow
“-only immersion,
only implicit truth,
only sensation,
that’s all that’s left when flesh is torn,
arteries spilt,
and bones broken,
when my fantasies are the whispering
of the death of lives yet born ”
How unfortunate,
“I once remarked that
„abstract are the lines of my conscience„
how false I was,
there is no conscience,
there is no line, there is no territory,
no irreducible components of self,
no elements,
no world,
mere immersion, mere immersion, mere immersion, mere imm-“
How unfortunate,
“-ersion, my plane of immanence,
thought is not real,
only the image of thought,
people aren’t real,
only their representations,
this is not real,
only my description of it,
I’m sustained by this illusion and I am content,
for content is not real, only stationarity,
to suggest my autonomy
suggests a piece in a game,
an agent in a relation,
a designated power,
but power is not real,
only my laughter and spite,
only the former iterations of myself I
walk over
so I may tell myself I am content where I am,
consciousness is not real,
only the playthings of my inner demons,
and my unconscious is not real,
only the results of my outer events,
I am not real,
only the set of eyes that overlooks me”
How unfortunate,
a child who instead of a soul,
an unhealing wound,
but don’t feel upset for this child,
he is not real, only the representation of him, only a disembodied set of eyes describing his flesh left behind
|
Now I must close my eyes, this child of hollowed sight is beginning to cry, then so will I
Sep 5, 2023
Sep 5, 2023 at 7:01 PM UTC
"Excuse me sir, do you have a moment to talk about our lord and savior Jesus Christ?"
For a moment, I almost tell him that I was born Jewish.
Or that I don't really believe in a God at all.
I almost tell him, "No."
But I look at his too-thin, pathetic face,
And at his cross necklace.
I notice his red shirt,
The blazing white shoes,
faded jeans without a belt.
I almost tell him, "No."
Then I remember that old trick I used to play.
knock knock knock. The door opens.
"Excuse me sir, do you have a moment to talk about our lord and savior Jesus Christ?"
The same look I'm giving him now, and the door closes again.
I rob the neighbor visiting his daughter in New Mexico instead.
I almost tell him, "No.
I don't have the time because I can't be redeemed, so **** off."
I almost tell him, "Your God is a lie that your parents made up to keep you a ******
I almost flip him off and say, "White America can eat my ***
I almost tell him, "No."
But I hesitate, because I marvel at his capacity to believe.
I almost tell him, "No."
But I hesitate. I look him in the eyes.
"No," I say, and I slam the door in his face.
Dec 6, 2018
Dec 6, 2018 at 1:48 PM UTC
In the midst of a dream
as I lay ensconced in
cloistered, quiet log cabin shadows
raindrops one by one pelting
the wooden roof
and musky wet earth
Hardness of my army cot
only increased the deep sense
of loneliness and seclusion
pervading my soul
I thought of beloved Sathya Sai
and grasped onto scraps of bliss
falling into the pool of consciousness
From depths of my anguished being
I whispered, "I Love You"
And! like an echo seeking its one true Love
I heard the voice of precious Baba respond
across electric ethers and swampy
forest dreamlands:
"I LOVE YOU!"
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 5:21 PM UTC
Whirling, airy, smoky-immanence.
A sad, sad song is tuned for me.
Grey char, blending orange shine, eminence.
Now that this Old World is ending
Nov 19, 2020
Nov 19, 2020 at 2:02 PM UTC
the room of tears was waiting for someone suited for grace,
for bridging the gap between our wounds
a dream of togetherness filled with white smoke
the joy winged and grounded
as the immanence of the divine
tears roll with a new hope to find generosity
in the human form
May 8, 2025
May 8, 2025 at 3:17 PM UTC
please hurt me in
the ways you'd hurt
yourself. i am no
friend to your ground,
no faction to your
brotherly causes. stay
a while, listen. soothe
me with the burn marks
you give me. i cannot bear
the idea that you love me. i
cannot fathom any real
feeling you would have for
me as being worth more than
a strand of your broken hair
falling, surmounting distance,
or electric brazen fences.
listen.
you, of all things,
tested my immanence. you
cannot think, after all
these lives, i'd live to
tell my own story?
Dec 8, 2019
Dec 8, 2019 at 1:13 PM UTC
today is a miraculous disaster, like the same before but repeated: something new and undialectical. now i hear footsteps in the corridor of the sanatorium skull sanctuary. thoughts of the proto-symbolic muse have crept in like winter mists over the empty fields as the sun sets again. turning over in bed. deferred, all around me, the dead ones, the days, the exiles. teach me to speak
a language to-come
for the waves of love have long been forbidden from this one. aftermath of machine makers: beautiful, too feeble a word. the notions of self and hatred have become too antiquated and too childish for self-hatred to be of effect. wastelands too have their day. the way is non-lineal, wrapped in complex points. seeking to saturate the atoms of a life: immanence. seeking to witness the vistas of a soul’s minimum of two multiplicities. it’s too easy to spend too long counting your obsessions. the sovereign says nothing again, it’s nothing new, it’s not nothing either; it’s not something to stay silent about. the day is gone; but stay a painting with me a while longer. the day is gone; how many of us are forgotten? i don’t remember
when i stopped counting.
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 9:40 PM UTC