🐜
While
reading
a
certain
poem,
Suddenly
an
itchy
feeling
occurred
there
upon
my
head
(I could feel the irritating itchiness as i continued to read)
(Or maybe it was that i read to continue)
(There was intensified itchiness that persisted)
And
Suddenly
one
realized
the
power
of
suggestion
and(anyway it wasn’t “my head” like someone or something inside it owned it or anything)
People are told (for example, by gurus of the East) about how to meditate. Often they are given what is considered a “special” word or mantra to repeat and concentrate upon. However, doing that is merely a limited form of self-hypnosis. There is no “how” to meditate. Any “how” involves a method that takes time. One cannot reach the timeless via a time process.
Beauty exists when the intelligent mind does not merely operate from sequences (of thoughts) to further sequences (of thoughts) exclusively. Thoughts are (limited) symbolic, sequential patterns that depend upon time; indeed, they are time. Most people are habitually existing as them. It is often beneficial to exist as thoughts when necessary but it may also be prudent to psychologically die to them (when they are unnecessary). Such psychological dying does not take time. Psychological dying is fine; physical Death, on the other hand (as i’ve said before) is not my cup of tea. Additionally, one might mention that merely being a corrupt person on this sweet planet, while endlessly robotically moving from fragmentary thought to fragmentary thought (sequentially), may be a form of Death.
And here’s a little poem by E.E. Cummings:
dying is fine)but Death
?o
baby
i
wouldn’t like
Death if Death
were
good:for
when(instead of stopping to think)you
begin to feel of it,dying
‘s miraculous
why?be
cause dying is
perfectly natural;perfectly
putting
it mildly lively(but
Death
is strictly
scientific
& artificial &
evil & legal)
we thank thee
god
almighty for dying
(forgive us,o life!the sin of Death
There is here
We are them
“I” is not
When is where
Past is future
Future is past
We are water
Up is down
Uncurled is curled
Tears are joy
Hate is mindless
Poem is reading
Awake not dreaming
See not knowing
Pour was spill
Clean was dirty
Little is big
Born was dead
Left to right
Wings are resting
Desert was thirsty
Jungle was noise
War is sorrow
Flowers are calling
She is he
Silence is golden
Once is always
Time is ticking
Entering this magnificent world
Some stay blind remain blind
Looking from a dead sea of words as labels
They look with cadaverous symbols
While a few fly free beyond the insanity
Free from boundaries of learned limitation
Maybe humans could learn a thing or two from some simple, natural creatures. What humans are doing to the earth is unnatural and cruel. We need to change.
(Please consider going green more, and please consider donating often to such places as the Environmental Defense Fund and The Sierra Club. I donate to these monthly.)
Safe in the crimson spread of things
the foliage is my home and my guardian
I will eat it little by little
but will not eat too much of its purply protection
It will guard me, protect me, and feed me
It will become me
It is my world, my universe, my abode
It is not what i will merely destroy and abuse
Reaction is fragmentation in (and “as”) time. The entire thinking process is essentially one set of reactions after another. These mental reactions are largely symbolic, virtual, secondary, and are parts within a sequential cause-effect continuum. Most people exist in (and “as”) these reactions, one following another. One’s consciousness largely consists of these reactions. Even when one thinks one is merely “looking at things,” those things are recognized (i.e., re-cognized) by the brain, which is essentially a continuation or extension of the sequential reactions involving the thinking process.
Many associate “not thinking” with stupidity, with not being intellectually capable. However, there is, we say, a “going beyond thinking” that is of marked intelligence, insight, and wisdom. This intelligence goes beyond the limitations of thought/thinking, beyond the fragmentation of limited symbols, beyond conflict, and beyond mere patterns of reaction; this intelligence is of a pristine wholeness that is of vast order and compassion. (True compassion naturally exists beyond the conflict, the illusions, the needless fragmentation.)
There was a man
and everything he looked at was a fragment in time.
As time went by, he continued to merely exist as fragment after fragment;
He saw others as part of the fragments and he helped them a little but not a lot.
There was a woman
and she would often perceive beyond the fragments, beyond mere sequential time.
As time went by, she was not merely what was always clutched by time's partitive claws,
and she often helped life's inhabitants (whom she did not perceive from a dead, learned distance).
Holistic silence cannot be induced. It is not merely the result of some cause, either physically or mentally. One cannot make oneself be holistically silent. All effort, by the brain, involves motive… and motives are a result of desires and goals; with such effort, there is always a thing to be achieved, a reward to acquire.
A dynamic mind, that does not merely robotically bounce from one desire or one goal after another, may perhaps come upon (or manifest as) holistic silence. Holistic silence is not the result of any calculated direction, nor is it what merely radiates in limited and calculated directions. It cannot — as so many mundane things are — merely be recognized and pinpointed; this is one reason why one cannot “know” that one’s mind is of a holistic silence. It, being rather timeless, is beyond mere possession and acquiring. But perhaps it may occur when the mind perceives the conflict and limitations of thoughts, noisy mental images, and concocted mental patterns.
Holistic silence, perhaps a bit like the sun — we are using a crude analogy here — though it does not radiate in one, limited direction, can emanate with beautiful, miraculous effects. If we merely darkly, robotically, and habitually cling to one reacting thought after another — which most all of us do — then there will be little possibility (and space) for such dynamic, natural, bright silence to manifest. Thoughts are generally old, second-hand, residual, limited, of the past, and merely symbolic. If the mind — as most minds — is merely content to exist as one series of sequential thoughts after another, then (like what the previous sentence suggests) it is darkly moving from one sequence of old, limited, symbolic images to another. The new does not take place where the old merely is what is constantly repeating endlessly.
Understanding the mind, understanding thoughts and going beyond the habit of foolishly always merely being them — without technique — may perhaps open a door. Whether the magic of holistic silence flows through or not… well that is another matter…
****************************************************************************
Once there were three little birds effortlessly sitting in a tall tree
They watched a man down below
with his legs firmly crossed while trying to meditate
The birds were very curious as to why the man did not move
They flew away, enjoyed life, and a good while later returned to the tree
One of the birds defecated on the man's head
The man did not notice
He was too busy craving for something to descend upon him
He later went home (weighing a bit more than before)
Integrity is very significant in life. A mind that is merely a sponge, just robotically spewing out what it absorbed, is likely not of integrity. A mind without integrity and order is limited and fragmentary. Integrity means wholeness, soundness. Integrity is of an unadulterated innocence. A mind full of limitations is of conflict and is bound to do divisive and chaotic things. Wholeness exists beyond the limitations. Many of us, when we were younger, accepted behavioral patterns — which society spoon-fed to us — based on competition and conflict. Most of us have accepted such behavioral patterns — largely based on fragmentation and conflict — and have gone on in existence, adhering to these patterns of limitation and conflict. True bliss, however, is not of limitation and fragmentation; true bliss exists with (and “as”) wholeness, integrity. But so many of us have merely accepted what was poured into us when we were young… and we have gone on in the old ways; we have gone on in the antiquated traditions.
Limitation, being based on conflict and tending to produce conflict, inevitably contributes to the divisive and chaotic attributes of society. Limitations — based on conflict — are restrictions, and they snag the mind and keep the mind within (and “as”) constrained and blocked realms. Blocked mental realms often manifest as disorder and conflict. Disorder and conflict do not generally reflect wholeness and integrity.
Interestingly, our very concepts of time are based on fragmentations and limitations. We accepted these time-oriented fragmentations and limitations from society; we fully accepted them as being totally legitimate. However, it may be that we have largely accepted what is fundamentally erroneous and distorted. Our limited conceptualizations of spacetime may be largely fragmentary and perverted; we see what we were programmed to see. Our time conceptualizations may be somewhat relevant physically — in getting actual physical things done — but in the psychological realm, they may be rather absurd, limited, and illusory. One says, “I will try to be less envious of others tomorrow,” but then (at that moment) one creates a space between what one considers to be “oneself” and “others”; one additionally fabricates a “tomorrow” that is separated from “now” by psychological time (which also is of a concocted space). This concocted space is of conflict, which was a distorting factor (initially) in the situation. To live in limitation, conflict, and distortion may not be order, may not be bliss. Deep joy and order may come when distortion ends, when limitation is not just overwhelming.
his looking, day after day
year after year,
Was through the mental screens and motifs
that They provided
Hence, it wasn’t his “looking” whatsoever;
it was Their “looking”
And it wasn’t “seeing” whatsoever;
it was the death-like absence of really seeing
[NOTE: This poem and this posting is just designed for some innocent, scary, Halloween fun. It is not meant to reinforce anyone’s hatred of spiders. When i see a spider in the house, i gently grab it in a soft Kleenex and subsequently release it (gently) out-of-doors. Spiders are generally harmless, are great pest removers, and can be admired for their own intrinsic beauty; humans probably look ugly to a lot of perceptive animals!]
**************************************************************
The enchanted, having ranted, spidery witch of
darkest, dreary goblin
sobbin’
in that convulsive, soggy, wriggly kind of way
within a musty, murky midnight
that stealthily sneaks into your house perceiving
your body’s warm, sleeping unconsciousness
unaware of the overhanging, hungry, evolved fangs of natural
selection (of which you are soon to be a part)
Dark, dark world where vibrations are a dead giveaway
and tossings and turnings in bed (for comfort) are incantations
luring the eight-legged spinstress whose
shadow unfolds into one’s somnolence
She skirts across further up the wall to the
dreamceiling where, suspended, she
swings above you
pitch dark pendant-like
eloquently poised
descending
descending
your breathing calls her
descending
descending
she lowers
descending
descending
to become one with you forever
NOTE: I am having knee surgery next week, so i will not be blogging for a while (around that time).
*******************************************************************************************
I want my bed to be made
said
what thought it was
separate
from the tucking in of sheets
I want to shoot a duck
said
what thought it was
separate
from the perceptions of a duck
I want to turn on the television
said
what thought it was
separate
from the television turning her on
I want to see more photographs
said
what thought it was
separate
from the photograph being seen
I want to finish reading the poem
said
what thought it was
separate
from the perception of the words being read
Each wish came upon an intangible dream.
All dreams are intangible, being the virtual aspirations or speculations that they are. In a world past dreamers, he or she who sees things as they are (beyond distortion), ironically, does not merely see things… because things are of thought’s plurality that is largely illusory and superficial (though important to respond to accordingly at times).
Life, despite what most people think, isn’t a series of things. Life is beyond the plurality of appearances that are tricks upon the mind. Life is not wholeness either, for such wholeness, for most, is just another thing, just another abstraction to dream about.
While in the garden, the handsome blue Hostas and the attractive, purple Columbine flowers were not separate from the mind; then they were beyond mere labeling and definition; spontaneously, they transformed into what cannot be described or dreamed about. Then beauty was the “observing” and was beyond mere “observing.”
In that garden,
there was careful “observing”
and there was “beyond observing.”
The two danced
in harmony
beyond fabricated plurality and
wholeness.
Curious, the ants, as to what moved
past them in a vastness.
here is what was then is now
pictures wish from image seen
thoughts could shovel laughs of dream
here is now what then was would
fish will fly and birds can swim
windows swallow rocks of round
finding always lost was found
death can end and time can die
stomach growling dogs malign
sweet love flowers grow entwined
mediocrity thinks itself refined
ladders lean past fear must fall
warring noise to peaceful hug
key to lock then moss to cloud
quiet tranquil not too loud
rectify what woke up wrong
waters boil tempers rise
placid insight formless cool
wolf in disguise needs some wool
wisdom not just empty schemes
kindness
one coherent star shines
and
upon waking
a pillow goes far beyond dreams
wisely asking:
Am(eye separate)from everyone eye
see?
Am eye them in different forms?
eye had thought that(eye was separate)
but that separation came from
a flawed teaching(that
thought of itself as
greatly separate)
while not perceiving that it was
of a larger whole
Separation can cheat a kind man and
will mock the handicapped
Separation can have achieved good grades
and can have
learned the
crude lessons well
Unless one merely remains with the crudity
lessons are for transcending and joyfully discarding
thus flying love
beyond the isolated cadaverous walls of
self
that enclose
(in dark)
while grounded
My beloved wife Marla passed away on 10/07/20 due to complex complications from Wilson’s Disease. Her Hepatologist at the University of Chicago Medical Center said that it was amazing that she lived as long as she did. This makes me feel that i succeeded rather well at helping her with her illnesses. Marla was very brave and went through a lot of suffering. She was born with Wilson’s Disease, an autosomal recessive genetic disorder rendering the body to be unable to eliminate excess copper naturally. She had an auto-allergic reaction due to the penicillamine medication that she was on for Wilson’s in the past; penicillamine has a lot of very bad side-effects. At that time, she almost died from ARDS and ended up with only half-lung capacity. She suffered from dystonia — a strong tightening of the muscles involuntarily — and had to have Botox injections deep in her neck every two to three months. Due to the chronic dystonia of her neck, she had to have 8 cervical vertebrae replaced with titanium implants. She then lost the ability to swallow and had to (permanently) eat via enteral feeding (i.e., by a tube going into her stomach area). Before i retired, i was a teacher for the multiply handicapped, and — for decades — helped with enteral feeding (i.e., stomach feeding tubes) with some of my students; so i was very experienced with helping Marla with hers. Marla then had to have shoulder surgery… and then reconstructive shoulder surgery. She had Elastosis perforans Syndrome, a skin disorder (on her thighs) caused by having been on the penicillamine for years before getting on the better (less intrusive) new zinc therapy. She often told me that she had a low threshold for bearing pain but she was way more brave and stalwart than i could have ever been. Despite her pain and struggles, we had a whole lot of great, joyful times together.
I fell in love with Marla largely because of her warm and compassionate heart. She always put others first and was always thinking of others. She often made things for others, like quilts, fancy embroidery things, and homemade lotions. She was a nurse and often would take her elderly mother to the doctors. Everyone who met Marla loved her radiant, caring personality. I am so honored to be her husband.
Please consider donating to the Wilson Disease Association at http://www.wilsonsdisease.org
The following is one of the E. E. Cummings poems that i read at her beautiful outdoor memorial service along the Kankakee River:
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
______________________________________________________________________________
The first photo is from our Wedding Day. The second photo is Marla, many years later, with one of our puppy-dogs. Marla always loved dogs.
[Note: The following poem was written days ago and was prescheduled. This note was written on 10/1/2020. Marla, my wife was taken to the emergency room today regarding sudden serious problems with her liver. She has Wilson’s Disease. I will be absent from blogging and will not be able to respond to comments. Take care and stay safe. ]
________________________________________________________________
staring at the soft moon one night
the next hard morning was driving home
past lawyers past schoolgirls
past praying bugs and all alone
like wind-up toys they judge and vote
and next some raking leaves work fast
then eating sleeping peeing dressing
wondering how long life will last
to wake up dead or alive or between
an eternal fleeting poem continues on
scanning eyes from word to word
your story starts with Once upon
to kiss or hate or just sit still
to get to want to follow
while compassion sings the best of all
Beyond self-deception hard to swal
low
____________________________________________________________
Note: This is a Praying Mantis. She is a female, laden with eggs. Because of the rotten, declining environment, there are fewer Praying Mantises in our area every year. Years ago, we used to see Mantises frequently; now we rarely see any. I found this one in a hospital garden, along a river, that used to have a lot of them. This was the only one that i saw. Fortunately, female Mantises do not need males in order to reproduce; they can produce fertile eggs and young that are exact clones of themselves. (It sure seems like my childhood premonitions about man ruining the environment are, many decades later, turning out to be true.)
One would like to reiterate that language oftentimes plays a tremendous role in regard to how we view the world. Language, whether we care to admit it or not, predisposes us to see the world… usually in rather primitive, erroneous, crass ways. After all, language evolved millennia ago (in its basic forms) and we, for the most part, continue on with — and accepting — the same crude, old thing. Our conditioning goes much further in its entrapment by language, further and much deeper than we realize.
As i’ve mentioned before, Professor David Bohm, Einstein’s protege, whom one has talked to a lot many years ago, developed new ideas for a more evolved style of language (via the Rheomode) wherein verbs play a much more predominant role, rather than nouns (as the rather isolated, static objects that nouns generally are). These days, we continue to use language rather primitively and wrongly. The extent of this goes far deeper than many of us suppose. Language loads us with presuppositions and inaccuracies that have trickled down from the primitive past.
When someone says, for example, “I had an insight,” it presupposes that the observer is separate from the observed; it presupposes that some supposed “static” center was at some psychological distance from what the process of insight was and “had it”. In reality, deep insight exists as a movement that no central, isolated “I” actually “has” or can legitimately take credit for. A supposed central agency (that is not really central whatsoever), being static, conceptual, essentially virtual, and essentially fragmentary, cannot justifiably take credit for having what is a movement of substantiality, a holistic movement. An empty sealed jar cannot hold the wind.
When we look, we see — via language, as we were taught — a world of separate things. We see fragmentarily, in a (set, prearranged) sequence developed by language. “This” as separate from “that,” “this” following “that.” Language consists of sequence and fragmentary movements through (and “as”) time.
Do not be a slave to language. This movement asks you to please look deeply beyond it.
______________________________________________________________________________
A poem from E.E. Cummings:
n
ot eth
eold almos
tladyf eebly
hurl ing
cr u
mb
son ebyo
neatt wothre
efourfi ve&six
engli shsp
arr ow
s
[Note: I despise politics, but these are critical, precarious times when one must get somewhat “political.” The current diabolical U.S. administration is endorsing coal and fossil fuels and is deregulating and dismantling environmental mandates/regulations, not to mention destroying democracy and free-voting. Each year there are fewer butterflies, fewer bees, fewer lightning bugs, fewer of myriad types of wildlife creatures… not to mention fewer healthy people.
The cover of a recent Sierra Club environmental magazine stated: “Vote like the Planet depends on it (because it does).”]
_____________________________________________________________________________
Clear-eyed lightning thundering into people
as a person whose booming tinkering
blew separative self-seekers into roaring trepidation
Powerful winds upsetting murky, muddy minds of seem
groundlessly thinking they were of clear, illuminated skies
but falsely emancipated in dead houses of opaque beliefs
Earth’s life creatures were dying, not from the tempest
but from the stale, stagnant home-dwellers indifferent,
enclosed abodes of security hiding from the perfume of life
The tumultuous clapping was earth desperately tenacious
among the sullied world of gadgets, plastic, and fossil fuels
(Their adherence to self-gratification… not worth the price)
With this coronavirus thing going around, stay safe and intelligent, use social distancing, wash your hands often, refrain from touching your face, take vitamin D3 and natural vitamin supplements, and (like i’ve been suggesting for eons) stay local (in your own home and yard). Even after this crisis is over, refrain from long-distance traveling, long-distance vacations and excursions in heavily polluting jet planes (all of which are non-green and contribute to a sick planet).
I am not going to give you some “mindfulness techniques” to (supposedly) get you through this crisis with less fear. I myself am afraid (for my wife, myself, and for so-called others). Marla and I are both high-risk. (My recent cardio-stress-echo test, by the way, showed that my heart is in great shape… which was a relief to find out after having had that heart attack in October.)
Being fearful — at this time (with our inept, corrupt, science-denying government and rotten system) — is intelligent. The so-called U.S. government leader(s) — with $-signs in their eyes — are talking about businesses opening again soon, defying Public Health Experts. Bill Gates says we can’t restart the economy soon and simply “ignore that pile of bodies over in the corner.”
______________________________________________________________________________
A Poem i wrote the other day…
with-
out
a there
there isn’t
a here
and
with-
out
a here
there isn’t
a there
and
with-
out
a future
there isn’t
a past
and
with-
out
a past
there isn’t
a future
and with-
out
a with
there isn’t without
and we won’t just
be those things
that they
taught us
because they
are immersed
in illusion
and
are
it
______________________________________________________________________________
Two pertinent songs by Rush. Neil Peart, their excellent, top-notch drummer and lyric-writer, recently passed away.
Build a shape of love to him
and truth will come stay with you
Build a way to follow him
and wind will surely find you
Find in cycle
Wind in air
Cast in our lures
Stand with truth
Love adventure
Follow air
And our lives are to feel
the love
Red Tailed Ichneumon … Photo by Thomas Peace c. 2019
Once there was a twice
and then three times
Twice there was a once
and then three times
Once there was great green earth
and no crazy endless raging fires
Once there was clear ocean
with everything freshly alive
with everything freshly alive…
Once fossil-fuel cars and trucks
and redgreenyellow stop lights
Now there’s empty rust and black smog
while nothing much is alive
while nothing much is alive
Once we made dead plastic
we mindlessly tossed it all around
Now it’s a veryonceuponatimeplace
where life used to be
Once there was heaven
fresh air butterflies soaring sweetly in sun
Now a lot of toxic dead ocean smell
and large bipedal mammals there are none
there are none
Once there was a twice
and then three times
Twice there was a once
and then three times
If one knows that one is meditating,
meditation isn’t there.
If one knows that one is whole,
wholeness isn’t there.
If one knows that one is humble,
humility isn’t there.
If one knows that one is quiet,
quietness isn’t there.
If one knows that one is spiritual,
spirituality isn’t there.
If one cultivates simplicity,
simpleness isn’t there.
If one cultivates perception,
insight isn’t there.
Take one step at a time, they said.
But the steps,
if one steps enough,
are not separate from time.
And one step at a time
is too slow and mechanical
and ordinary.
So, we flew beyond what they
said to do.
We flew beyond their stale,
traditional ways.
We didn’t do it one step
at a time,
according to the patterns
and points that they
all so narrowmindedly accepted.
When the vegetarian cameraman
took aim at the vegetarian mosquito
no one there was
(really)
out for blood
When Barney, the bulky, bullheaded Bullfrog
decided to take up residence under my car tire,
i told him politely, “Barney, that is quite a perilous spot
at which you can — most definitely — easily expire.”
Barney just sat there without a trembling twitch
and said, “You sure are a very worrisome bloke;
i can assure you, most greenheartedly,
that we brave Bullfrogs are, indubitably, not afraid to croak.”
Then i realized that all of my careful cautions and
pale-lectures would not cause Barney to fearfully quiver,
so i grabbed his humongous, bullheaded, brown-old butt
and — despite his slimy objections — threw him into the river.
can couldn’t
and did didn’t
but nice knew
quaintness quickened
“be”s beckoned
while “wouldn’t”s were
“me”s mingled
“haven’t”s heard
steps stood
and said sermoned
cruel counted
must might
having had
tried thought
cricket chirped
but will won’t
_______________________________________________________________
[Note: Tree Crickets are very elusive; if they see (or hear) you coming, they hide on the opposite side of the bush or foliage that they are on. Please note the tympanal membrane on the front leg of this specimen; it is used as a hearing mechanism… an ear.]
With this third time of me bringing fresh meat to
the Colony,
i am sure to finally get the recognition that
i deserve.
Hopefully, i will be promoted up the ranks
and will be remembered as “The Great Provider” by
the Colony.
(All of this voluminous Beetle Meat is tough to
move, by the way!)
I will persevere and
will get this wonderful bounty to
the Colony.
Goodness! I keep hearing the huge, bipedal ape up above,
with his camera, singing the following song to me:
“Getting to know you
Getting to know all about you
Getting to like you
Getting to hope you like me…”
They scramble and they gamble
and they weep and they run
They wiggle and giggle
and they tan toast in sun
They piddle and paddle…
pull dandelions from fresh grass
and waddle and dawdle
and fish for striped bass
They fumble and they tumble
and they struggle in time
They chisel and they grizzle
and they wrote this short rhyme
She prayed,
and when she prayed,
the whole world prayed with her.
Her eyes, those large bulbous eyes,
saw everything worth praying for,
and everything needed preying.
She preyed on butterflies, bees, moths,
and on a number of other things. It was what she preyed
that mattered, and it was the way she preyed.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________
[Note: This is a very unusual (very rare) Praying Mantis for our north-central Illinois area. It is probably a Carolina Mantis. These are southern mantids but, due to global warming, are moving more north. This one has wonderful chameleonic abilities. Note how it amazingly blends in with the different color tones of the park bench. It is a female and seems to be loaded with fertile eggs. It may not have mated with a male at any time whatsoever. Female mantises can lay many completely fertile eggs without a male. When this happens, the offspring are perfect clones of the mother.]
To disturb others with words
on a Wordless Wednesday
is a grave mistake
in a dark cemetery of verbal spiders
Houses running to adjacent houses
bags opening smiles rustling
spooky sounds from darkness growling
Halloween Time
comes laughinglyscreaming down the giggling sidewalks
of candydropping thankyous
Don’t look behind you
Something’s there twistinglyclutching
Shadowysoon under your midnight bed
I am not overly interested in the words that the Buddha allegedly said,
since, over long stretches of time, words and translations get distorted.
I am not overly interested in the words that Jesus allegedly said,
since, over long stretches time, translations go askew, words get added and distorted.
Even the early Coptic versions of the Gospel of Thomas (which many top scholars say preceded the other four gospels), and which the power-hungry Roman-appointed hierarchical bishops rejected, was not as pristine as the even earlier papyrus Greek fragments found of that cornerstone gospel.
I am not overly interested in the words that Lao Tzu allegedly said,
since, over long stretches of time, words and translations get distorted. (And each of the many translations of the Tao Te Ching is different.)
I am interested in discovering spirituality on my own, and learning directly, without distortion, without merely depending on old words, organizations, translations, and ancient documents.
They tried to get Walt Whitman to alter his poetry; he wouldn’t.
They tried to get E.E.Cummings to alter his poetry; he wouldn’t.
They tried to get me to alter my poetry; i wouldn’t.
They like to stealthily insert their ideologies into the works of others,
to suit their own ends, to suit their own self-serving needs.
They often (over time) like to get their conniving, little hands into the works of others (and twist things around).
We see you clearly
and we have a wonderful treat coming for you
on Halloween
coming for you!
__________________________________________________________________________
And here is an excerpt from the Monster in the Mirror song sung by Grover… (not that i ever watch Sesame Street with my big bird friends).
one budding diminutive why
staring at the sky
in that beautiful youthful wonderment of innocence
beyond piggish power
and far from cultivated fear
so beyond the grip of authority
beyond stuffy temples
and stale priests and gurus
beyond tests
and drunken parties
sweet sky staring
further than thought’s weary boredom
and so far away from cold shoulds and musts
alive
whole
and unprogrammed
also looking down
of course
at tiny grasshoppers and katydids
Fourteen steps climbed to the top
from the bottom
An hour and fifteen minutes moved a short hand
and a long hand
One fishing line ignorantly reeled in
what it thought it wasn’t
Three opinions typed what
was surely right
Seven sayings scanned the screen
in a zigzag fashion
Thirty-seven pieces of candy
looked forward to Halloween
Twenty-five Black-Eyed Susans were arrested
for trespassing
It takes a lot of hard work to keep the colony healthy and thriving but i
realize that the colony and i are one. We are each other. What each of us does is done for all. (Unlike those ruthless, competitive, bipedal apes, we are 100% cooperative and act for all.)
So here i am,
hauling another large bounty of meat for the colony to feast upon.
Maybe now i will finally get the recognition that i deserve.
Maybe now i will be the great worker-ant that all of the
other ants will aspire to be like.
But first, i must get this great bounty to the anthill.
While they are feasting, they will be thinking of me.
Oh lucky me for finding this treasure of voluminous, wonderful meat!
P.S. — Don’t cringe! (I know that you bipedal apes are watching… and judging.) You bipedal apes eat hairy cattle and pigs and unquestioningly think and feel that it isn’t gross in the least.
So don’t judge!
There was a clock
with many hands
And the space between a certain hand
at a specific area of the face
(i.e., that limited space between the hand and the face)
constituted a certain consciousness
Now each of the hands had different lengths and colors
and different numerals and experiences upon the face
to go through
There were black hands with long lengths
there were white hands with short lengths
there were wide little yellow hands
there were thin long red hands
For one space of a hand to hate another space of a distant hand
was insanity
since each hand was a part of the same one clock
For one space of a hand
at four
to want to eventually be wiser at eight
was foolish
since the space at four
could never really be the space at eight
Unless the space at four
could fully realize that
it was the space of all of the other hands
There is the limited little dull space of the segregated self
and there is the not-so-limited timeless space of vast intelligence
vast compassion
Which would you rather be?
One takes no time whatsoever to get to
It was such tremendous luck finding this big green meal for the colony
It is very difficult to move all of this fine meat toward our anthill but
when I get it to the colony I will become a
great heroine
I will be known as the one who courageously
brought a lot of protein for the many larvae
all the while risking being stepped on by
those giant frightening bipedal apes
I will be revered and may even be promoted to
the job of attending to the Queen
Oh I am so very excited and happy
Are you a word, an image
that you cling to,
that is claimed to have “control of all the other words”?
Winged and ready
to softly swirl
a long way off from
man’s sad sordid fabrications and smoggy surgings
Bright eyes see
beyond miserable madness(musts and can’ts)
and will fly
beyond stale circumscriptions
Will we succumb to whirlwinds of hard
indifference?
Will they plant their deadness into
our innocent minds?
That is up to you
We
(too many of us)
have treated nature as
a thing to be used
to be exploited
and not as a living beautiful delicate
extension of ourselves
to be guarded cherished protected
respected
loved
and cared for
His inquietude made him what he was…
a repetitive jumble of endlessly clamoring
mental symbols that were not realities
(i.e., they were the typical unreal, fabricated images of the mind).
Her quietude was the immense beauty that she was…
a comprehensive wholeness of undivided reality,
actualities of timeless life movement beyond the known
(i.e., beyond mere superficial symbols of thought).
Neural Networks Personified … Photo by Thomas Peace c. 2019
The very wise ToadMaster perched near the toadstool,
and with his croaky voice, he summoned all of the little tadpoles to swim up to the riverbank
to hear another lesson.
He, in his sagely way, bellowed, “Unfortunately, many of the upright, large apes — that we have mentioned in the past — foolishly refuse to judiciously see that they too evolved from swimming fish, even as you here, as swimming tadpoles (through a long passage of time), will soon be leaving your aquatic existence to join our terrestrial lot. What is even more unfortunate is that the upright apes continue to mindlessly throw toxic debris into our water habitats and also
onto the beautiful terrestrial domain that you will all soon be graduating to.
The upright, large apes continue to make things that destroy things. The upright apes can be downright
destructive and dangerous, though some of them are very kind and considerate. Overall, the whole world’s
life forms are all rapidly disappearing due to what these, large bipedal creatures are mindlessly doing. Even as they claim that one of their kind is a God, they endlessly continue to pour cement and plastic over living things and spew out much toxic debris, killing our planet. They often do what is called “mowing their lawn,” which they think is very beautiful (though such activity callously cuts and kills many precious creatures, including us amphibians.) When you hop on land — which you all will be doing soon — do so with extreme caution, and avoid these large, bipedal creatures at all costs… and please
do your best to survive in the excessive heat (due to the climate rapidly changing).”
_____________________________________________________________________________________
If you have time, please watch the following 60 Minutes video on ocean plastic and pollution…
The Very Wise ToadMaster … Photo by Thomas Peace c. 2019
Marla, my wife, said that my poems occasionally need to be more uplifting, so the first poem (here) is meant to fulfill that end. The second poem is what was written before her comment.
Poem #1
Here in his hands
is a flowery treasure
with sweet petals and leaves
much joy beyond measure
He is of hopes and images where
as he ascends up in the elevator
flowing fields of smiling imaginary angels
open doors that were dreamt of later
Can we lift a luminous whole
and bring new minds out of below
rise to the top ever so mindfully
in a towering highrise deep in the heart of Chicago?
(Well, elevators are uplifting, aren’t they?)
Poem # 2
There was a pond
and every time a frog jumped into the pond
the pond became a little froggier
a little splashier
There was a grasshopper
and every time he landed upon a weed
the weed became a little leggier
a little jumpier
There was a propagandizing political news-channel
and every time a person watched it
the television became a little duller
and a lot more dim-witted
Leopard Frog, a species that will not survive long in a world filled with crass people who do not act diligently to prevent global warming and who think that “Windmills cause cancer.”. … Photo by Thomas Peace c. 2019
(Based on a true story…)
They called her Little Icky Vicky(and she
cried a lot in pain)today
because of her distorted facial features
many people stared then quickly looked away
I called her Victoria & amiably sat next to her in grade school(&
always with her was very very kind)
There’s a lot of cold(cruel kids who name-call
with dark dead hearts)and blind
[Side Note: We saw the movie The Peanut Butter Falcon over the weekend. It is highly recommended. It contains scenes involving both bullying and compassion.]
Not Mere Facial Beauty but Beauty Deep Within … Photo by Thomas Peace c. 2019
Resting on a leaf
this Wordful Wednesday
and
being wordless doesn’t matter one damn bit if
you don’t do very compassionate things
for people and for animals and plants
Damselfly Resting ..,. Photo by Thomas Peace c. 2019
Here is a place
where everything is not
so everything is never here
where delusive selfishness reigns in its spot
And timelessness an eternally sweet wholeness
where when doesn’t matter
while “getting to heaven” is foolish
like tissue paper in busy rainfall clatter
Diminutive Leafhopper Nymph (just 2 or 3mm long) … Photo by Thomas Peace c. 2019
Wishy and Washy were fun-loving gals
and many folks knew that both were loyal (trueblue) pals
Washy (without Wishy) went to the laundromat (with a basket that she had her clothes in);
later, the clothes were all swishy and went into full-spin
Wishy, however, was sitting in her comfortable, convenient chair
pining for great nature photos at which she could stare
So, instead of viewing blog photos of nature (which you often appreciate)
get over to the clothes-washer and put your laundry in (because it’s getting late)
Purple Wildflowers … Photo by Thomas Peace c. 2019
?what kind of heathen sacrilegiously writes
on a consecrated,wordless day,
asking us to transcend all of our mindless traditions
[Note: Today’s posting was inspired by a comment by a wonderful blogger that i follow who, last Wednesday, in a “Wordless Wednesday” that i posted, graciously commented that my words were missed. Thank you much, A Curious Introvert ! … and hugs to Cutie Fuzzy Doggy.]
Let’s follow Daddy-Long-Legs … Photo by Thomas Peace c. 2019
O
h $
that
top that
so many are
struggling to get to
Is it worth all of the time & competition?
Is surpassing and suppressing those below and impressing those above worth it?
When you finally get to the top, is there really genuine happiness there or is it an empty lie?!
Getting to the Top … Photo by Thomas Peace c. 2019
Tom's Nature-up-close Photography and Mindfulness Blog 