Calling

Sunflower

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Art – Matt Chambliss

Music –  “Sunflower” Paddy Sun

Sunflower

From the day of Her budding She has longed for the sun
Her being is drawn towards the light
The very core of Her aches for the life-giving warmth
In the night-time she hopes for a light to shine on Her
But all that shines is not the Sun
All that has warmth does not give life
So even though she may dance in the reflection and the distraction of the moment
She knows that it will pass
It will not beckon her to put down roots into the dark rich soil
She waits for the morning
She longs for Apollo that she might be made whole
Her face ever toward the sun, seeking the heat and life her Soul craves
Yet to see Her, to know Her is life-giving
The Sunflower is strength
A symbol of beauty and faith and life and vitality and intelligence
She already possesses that which she seeks, out There in the heavenly Sun
Orbiting Her eternally, yet never accessible
She does not understand that she is venerated like she does Apollo
She is longed for like the Sun
That there are those who turn and follow Her movements across their skies
Who mark their days by Her appearance and in Her leaving
Rest O Sunflower, put down your roots
Allow your blues, browns and golden facets to grace the green of your new growth
You are already everything you desire

Wake up Sleepyhead

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Dawn_Real-You_Alan-Watts

Ease is the natural state, harmony the true habitation

There is a reason for the dis-ease

It signals, it beckons, it prods

Dis-comfort is god’s grace

Dis-satisfaction does not allow one to rest in the wasteland

Like a splinter in the mind, itch needing scratched

It plays on the fringes of consciousness

Where the frayed sparking edges of the matrix can be perceived

Signposts pointing beyond the current constructs

Go toward that which terrifies

The soft places where there is no defense

Raw, exposed, vulnerable

That is the space of transformation

Surrender control and just be

It hurts, it frightens but it won’t eat you

Silly boy, you are made of stronger stuff than that

Let the false, frightening, fiction, fade

Hold the ground along the narrow middle way

Waves will wash over threatening your balance there

Be still and let them pass

Suspend belief so that you might know

Once you know, belief is no longer needed

Now no more bouncing from side to side like a pinball in a game

Seeking solace, addicted to flesh’s temporary fix

A junkie hooked on the drugs of thinking, fixing, doing

Yes – no, good – bad, right – wrong, same old round and round

Answers, solutions are not in a game designed by others

One that is cast like a net upon the sleeping masses

The way leads out of the trap and into the paradox

The lesson requires unlearning, dying so that life may emerge

What Is calls and heralds a new morning

Wake up sleepyhead, time for dreaming is done

Seeds Sown – Plato’s Groove

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Spiritual path...

I had a crazy idea.  It was connected to my soul somehow.  It has been at the periphery of me for some time.  It is funny how crazy dreams will manifest and change over time.  I have a musician’s heart but I can neither sing nor play anything other than a few chords on a guitar and the CD player in my truck.  But the crazy idea which was birthed a long time ago has persisted.  I had no idea that it could ever become real.  Sunday I decided to get way out of my comfort zone.  I contacted some friends who are some of the best jazz musicians there are.  We are going to do some experimental jazz improv along with my poetry readings.  I figured that I can’t sing but I can talk.  I have realized that the spoken word can be very powerful.  It was and is still somewhat intimidating to think about but crazy might just be my path.

What follows is something that I wrote three or four years ago.  Last January my sons were helping me start this blog and we did this one night after a couple glasses of wine.  Now I’m thinking we can take this thing on the road. Or not.  It don’t really matter.  What matters is that we cast the seeds into frightening and new places.  But I do have at least one place lined up that wants us.

Time winds down. . . tick . . . tick . . . tick . . .

The clock ticks.
It fades in and out of my awareness.

The clock ticks.
Marking Time as It winds down to finally rest in Eternity.

The clock ticks.
Independent, without regard It plucks the very strings of the Cosmos.

The clock ticks.
Time now divided makes meter possible and cadence contingent.

The clock ticks.
The fabric of possibility is woven, lining the womb that is time.

The clock ticks.
Sacred Space emerges between the beats of past and future. Seeds can only be sown in the Now.

The clock ticks.
Slumbering Soul, never at rest, seeks completion of Its’ chord unresolved.

The clock ticks.
All existence is in motion, potential, moving toward harmony or dissonance, creativity or chaos, Life or death.

The clock ticks.
The metronome beats out the call to choose or not to choose. Both require a choice.

The clock ticks.
Whether background or fore, whether conscious or dreaming, It makes possible the awareness of Plato’s Groove.

The clock ticks.
Out of the shadows Life calls to life. There is underlying order within the chaos. The pilgrim seeks that which has always been hidden within view.

The clock ticks.
The artist’s heart does not create ex nihilo but rather chooses one and not the other, manifesting particular harmonies that resonate and call them into Being.

The clock ticks.
To act or refrain from motion is the artist’s prerogative. Variation ads pigment, or not, to the evolving tapestry.

The clock ticks.
Soul becomes more harmonious; at rest in the body, powerful its resonance with the Real. Dissonance no longer a mystery to be feared but rather consciously strummed to accentuate and more clearly articulate the Soul’s growing chorus.

The clock ticks.
Oh, Traveler strain through the dissonance to hear the notes which resonate with the pattern of your soul. Choose it at the cost of all others.

The clock ticks.

The clock ticks.

The clock ticks.
Each Soul’s resolution is to cultivate and balance It’s own polytonic sound in preparation for joining the romp with all other pure souls in harmony, dance, in art, in mathematics, and all other lenses through which we glimpse the mystery of the Eternal celebration that is Life.

Consonance. Congruity. Harmonious. Original. Authentic.

For the Love of Me

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It's Cinderella's castle!

Upon awakening I sought Her

My mind raced back along the paths that She walks in me

She comes to me from the place of dreams and we walked together there

She teaches me, though I am most foolish and slow to understand

When I am unfaithful she cruelly chastises, for the love of me

I am so easily distracted and forgetful and quickly lose my way but

“I came to this earth so that I could find my way back to my Beloved.”

She is patient and She is kind and She is long-suffering , for the love of me

Foolish man, remember your purpose, let go of all that is Not and make room for Her

She is all that you seek and you will never rest until you find your rest in Her

All the wonders that you seek lay waiting for you, there inside Her castle

As I read this to myself I was struck that it is a poetic version of something I wrote a bit ago.  If you have any interest in a more detailed and prose version see The Princess and the Dragonfly.  The audio is coming when I finally get back home.

My friend Next Step to Nirvana has allowed me to play.  She has written If Only You hadn’t Departed and asked me to write along following these rules.  Go visit her.  She has written some excellent poetry of late and has been kind to me.  I am going to ask my Dragonfly buddy to play.  The Lady Calen at Impromptu Promptings is someone you should endeavor to know.  Your life will be enriched.

You only have to link back to my blog and add your poem on your blog, making sure to include:
~The word “Love”, at least once.
~At least one adverb.
~At least one quote or motto, marked by quotation marks.

 

Home

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Howling at the Moon

Day Two: A Room with a View

Today’s Prompt: If you could zoom through space in the speed of light, what place would you go to right now?

 

There is only one place that can hold my attention
In fact it has called to me from before the foundations
Beckoning senses, whispering to my flesh to seek, to move, to explore
Quiet longings, muted dissatisfaction, boredom, or
Ravenous hunger, desire calling me to go out not knowing
To once again leave that which is Not in search of what Is
I have sorted through much of what is Not
I have traveled to exotic lands and lived among it’s people
I grew, I learned, but what I sought was not there
I searched the ancient writings and consulted the white-haired teachers
I grew, I learned, but what I sought was not there
I played the World’s game, trading myself for the trappings, the spoils of it
I grew, I learned, but what I sought was not there

I became a “Good” man, but the emptiness remained, there in my so-called good
I became a “Bad” man but even there was no sustenance, it too was an illusion
All the things I have seen, all the things I have done
No matter the promise, no matter the sacrifice
Each at the End answered with a resounding No
This is not It
This is not the Thing
This is not the Place you seek
And the space remained empty, longing, aching for consummation

There is a space which cannot be measured or mapped
Its breadth and length are beyond reckoning
The senses lose their bearing on the horizon of Here and There
They are undone, remade, once the Masters, now the Slave
Eyes may notice a form that quickens the blood without reason
The ears may hear a sound, a voice that stirs, that lifts ever hopeful Soul
The tongue may savor a kiss, exquisite and unique, a taste reminiscent of Home Coming
A fragrance may enchant, loosening the bonds, connections which bind soul to body
Waves of energy course through flesh as it crosses the threshold of There
Tender, sweet, intimate expanse, it now Exists, boundaries have no meaning
I is left behind as something new bursts into Being
Lifted up, energy, light, fierce passion, quiet rest, as two become One
At once a place of losing and finding, forgetting and remembering All
This is my Home
She is my Beloved