Ring Unbroken
The way open,
Beyond time and bone of space,
In front of nose, original face.
Soul
As my breath is the one, prana,
And the life's pulse, pala,
Reaching angelic source, sura,
So is this mind, manas, a
Flowering unfoldment,
Unendingly touching
The eye that would it see;
Unbeckoning unto thee.
As well, this Bodhi, a temple,
Of the four and fifth, nur,
So entered by atma, a ray of thy sun,
Thus being winged, and
As such with wind;
Flying only in dharma's dance,
Is returning to, Brahma, you.
For, there yet, by thy grace, go I.
Prema
Timeless, sublime, tonal,
Melodious sojourn into life, self.
River banks, as petal and thorn
Roll, filled by agua's flow;
Entwining on her bed,
Know, love is. Mauna,
Silence, echoes its song;
Which no words could trace.
Thus ananda, bliss, intimates
The eternal, and details
Living shantih, peace.
if
One lived as prayer,
Their light adding
To the well of light,
Their every step in grace,
They left no footprints;
That will echo always.
grace
Feeling with your spirits hands,
See with the eye of your heart,
Hear with the ear of your soul,
And know with the body
Of life's knowledge,
We can be prayer;
Being forever answered.
Thanx
While feeling sacred on
This All Hallow's Day,
I also feel pangs of the
Hungry, so wrought by
The profane; for the food
Wasted by us could feed
All the world's. Yet,
Betwixt, in the mundane
It's only hurled.
clarity
Sword that cuts all ways,
Without, for, there's no cutting;
And a pointless point.
So
You, a joyous lake.
Me, the mountain,
Which, You fill and
Holds you always.
Within and without us,
Is this love.
Heart
Like the wind moves,
Not love, nor hate,
Only everything and nothing
At all; at once.
Departed
The depth of one's sorrow
Is the well's fathom,
Of meanings and moments
Shared with them.
virtue
Were it a cause that
Opened those tiny arms,
Alighting brilliance, a smile,
As I hugged him back, then,
It could not be known.
For, this child towards
The divine leads goes.
Would it be that we say,
It is not the life;
Rather, we know?
why
As acid rain from your closed eye,
An acre of rainforest falls each
Second, and the earths tears bleed;
For, all you see is grey.
V.E. Day
Denatured, this first,
Still, inside life's waters rise
To Spring's tides. We feel,
Below emotions ebbs and flows,
"...Go On"'s vernal
Raison d'etre, to not know!
multumultum
As machinations of
Travailing winds,
Miraging, veil and mirror
Narcissistic nihlistic
False-ego, as self,
"We" evince to be!
clarity
Sword that cuts all ways,
Without, for, there's no cutting;
And a pointless point.
glory
Will of life's wind howls
There is no fear.
Being all the way live, 'til.
If
Tree's leaves found,
Though, they empty be,
May utter profound, and
Image immeasurably.
Manners
In which doings and not doings
Are done or aren't,
Brings life and light to them,
Or it doesn't.
gray
Those more attached to
Living or dying,
Are more closely death.
Another Mournful Day
Tuesday, 28th of May, 2002, they say
the last girder to survive 9-11-01, at the
base of the World Trade Center, was
being removed. Solemn ceremony in
honor of the many deceased, as well as
relief workers, and volunteers took place.
The faces of the fallen were present and
they were remembered. The New York
City worker's silence, as that steels,
echoing America's doubts, unanswered
questions, born of grief, hardship and loss,
reflect what's still missing in our nation's
psyche, answers, as to why.
Not just those directed to God, reality,
derived from existential angst, also, those
"we", as a people, silently ask our souls.
Did they not prevent them purposely?
Stanzas of Longfellow's "Psalm of Life":
"In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act, - act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead!"
While still girded by cries for justice,
will "we", at least, stand on the land
of our birth and demand truth from
power, seizing the hour of our countries
need? Or, stand aside and watch as
humanities' slide into the abyss of history
follows those 3000 lives lost, and the
Twin Towers. Will this ever again be, the
land of the free, home of the brave? Or
will Liberties' torch be scorched forever?
Thorned
They say, a
Rose by any other...,
Would still be...
Truly, yet, a
Direction symbolized
By a word, rose,
Fills the eye of mind,
Touches spirit,
Fathoms heart,
Aurally uplifts.
Life, taller in the
Saddle, richer in
Its roots, salutes.
Thee
Her quill beckoning,
We, blossoming, hear, feel, be
Worship, bliss, love of...
clarity
Sword that cuts all ways,
Without, for, there's no cutting;
And a pointless point.
One's Mental Cell
Built of walls of delusions,
Made with bricks of illusions,
Is one's hell.
EDEN?
Splitting of atom,
Cloning of adam, hubris;
Leads to extinction.
Cityscape
Hustled and bustled,
Still, hands only put to heart,
Beings, only art.
When
A sea of souls, one echoing all.
Clouds exclaim on the run,
Who is rolling by.
Watered thus and sunflowered,
Bringing forth abundance,
Earth's richness furthers.
Oyate
When every moment is
Struggling with every
Fiber to inspire, expire
Breath, feeling is a
Dream deferred;
Unrealizable, they say.
Yet, to feel builds emotions,
Power innate; the thread
Interweaving the fabric of life.
Though, proscience projects
Thought is power, sensing,
Just informing, to be processed
By our computer, brain, for
Exigent programming.
Yet, conscience intuits that
Thoughts are emoting, voiced.
...That fear is naught, but,
Shadows of past's unintegrated
Experiences, cast over our
Presence and future. While both,
Integral to realizing insight,
Growth, balance and movement,
Are necessary to humanity.
"La Machine", uses them to rote
Us into unbeing an efficacious part
And parcel of it, an automaton.
More, better mechanistic survival,
The reason for human being;
In societies' eye. Who dares to
Disagree, all in for a penny, in
For a pound; mostly, decay bound.
Sides, delusions, clouding their eyes.
Though, feelings hibernating
Emerge with strength, through
Discipline, which Castaneda relates
As, "the art of feeling awe", they
Can be concentrated. Focusing,
Realizing reality on wing,
Imbued co-creation in flight.
As well, what of our soma's foci of
Attention, solutioning all life,
Through myriad interrelations?
What of the breadth of our
Perceptions, the depth of every-
Ones earthen interconnections?
...Of the intimacy, hearts fathoms,
Touch's immediacy, aural artistry?
Mammon says, "what of it", being
Doesn't make money, take control,
Projections do. "We" say, they're
Le raison d'etre, potentia evolving,
Humane being; alival. I would be
Just for a day, as a mayfly, if I were
More me, rather, than as long as
An eagle flies, selling out, killing.
Artist
Their innerselves, stretched canvasses
On that frameless frame, the world.
They being painted by life itself,
With reality as the brush.
The painting ever evolving,
The frame continually changing,
Their beingness as gleaned meanings
For all to share; seen through,
If they were there.
Injustices
Addressing, not addressing them
Have costs, former is individual,
The latter is global, as well.
Bridge
An artist isn't one who creates art,
For, all living beings do.
Palate, as you'd have it, sparce or
Abundantly, an expression of self.
The mystery of the suns grace,
Perceived by us within our eye as
An ethereal rainbow in kaleidoscope,
Always unfolding, is dabbed from and
Given to form; with reality,
The brush, holding us.
Betwixt those two we, being life, art,
Fill, and are fuller, still.
Not grasp or let go, it's all we know,
Feeling's reeling in living art.
"Take Me There"
Not separated from the state, mammon directs mollock to ride ripshod over life,
Replacing business with warocide, humaneness with premeditated murder.
Packaged and marketed in everything and one, it's the extinction incarnate,
Alival undone. While the gov't's depts. of not knowing determine no one will,
Millenias of folk wisdom sociologically muted, will soon be genetically engineered out.
How, through la machines scientisms use of emotional de-constructivism, numbing all.
To undermine the evolution, all real feeling, relation, striving, fidelity, fraternity and love.
Arthur Miller knew, "when guns go boom arts die". What do Goya's 82, on war, do for
You? This while, "art is a lie that tells the truth", according to Picasso. Yet, scientism,
This secular societies religion of choice, is so popular that neither its lies, nor its
Unmentioned truth, are allowed to be known; "we", must just swallow it whole.
Though, while its an accepted medium of defraction, realities light refracted through it,
Still details what's so, without. The cost of our co-dependence on, denial of it?
They used to say, "war's good business, invest your son", now, the price is your species.
What won't societies whorism, vampirism, economic cannibalism destroy, only
The life, for, it's indivisible. Viva la evolution! How about the institutions
That are meant to protect? "Naught, but, rags on the back of our country", Mark Twain.
What can we do? Know all gov't scientists are political ones first. question supposed
Professionalism and one of its roots, Cartesian defined time; devolution in a package.
That gov't panacea for dehumanization is old. Do you remember Rousseau said,
"Where are the citizens, I only see businessmen". Question unnatural selection.
Know, as Howard Zinn, "media, artists are determining people get in line around the
Perimeter of gov't power, yet, it's their job to transcend that". Remember I.F. Stone's
Two words, "gov'ts lie". Think out of the ass. As artists, how else can we address the
Elements of war, by the struggling with supposed paradoxes as actuating artistic process,
Individuation, through creation of art. The artist transcends mundane and worldly
Society, by envisioning perspectives, subjects, mediums, styles, outside their framework,
Allows a looking glass in which the world, individual, and reality are
reflected.
The devolutionary mantra, "you've got to be professional", is the most repetitive of their
Codes. That's all it takes for people to justify, self censor, limit, not question, allowing all
Other, their piece of the rock too; everyone in for a penny, in for a pound, decay bound.
Yet, it's necessary for artists to inspire paradigms in which others can struggle with
Societies mechanistic mold of professional; worn like a mask, whatever, is done behind it.
Thereby, facilitating feeling, views, discernments and questioning of exigencies, et al.
Keep in mind Mark Twain's, "patriotism is loyalty to country, not its institutions",
Emma Goldman's, "... is love of country, not gov't", and Arthur Miller's, "... is
Indifferently bestowing custody of their country to state depts.". Dumbing down most.
One of wars elements is one of the corporation's convolution's roots, greed. It has always
Fueled their use of the gov't as a bat against the middle class and lower, indigenous, etc.
Whereas, "we", struggling to be, wouldn't even bat an eye in the direction of destruction.
As ever, souls simmering in humanities hearth, spirits arising, can mean enough for all.
The war machines oiling itself with non, white, Christian, U.S. blood escalates, Proving absolute power corrupts absolutely and what Joseph Heller said, "war
corrupts all
Who engage in it". Leonard Peltier reminds us that "the innocent pay the highest price for
Injustice", and "the corrupt hate them". What else can we all do, not be a link in the chain
Of murder, actuate potential, own responsibilities, including civic, and teach anyone.
If you don't exercise responsibility, its siamese twinsister, freedom, will wither, as well.
Berrigan wrote, "cause is the heart's beat, the children born, the risen bread".
Peltier, "we're all related, all one". As Bob Marley sung, "could you be..., then be...".
Shoulders Unbent
Humanities' call,
Being unburdening; a
Path less travailed.
Search And Rescue
Terrorism, thwarting passenger jets into missiles
Of war, while horrifying, testing sinew, trying
Soul, is a wake up call for all life.
Yet, not the destruction of thousands of lives
Taken, for, they'll live on in our hearts and minds.
Not, the destruction of the Twin Towers and
Pentagon, for, they'll be rebuilt, not, questioning
Of our humanity and freedom; rather, a challenge
To them that Americans will rise to meet.
As the sun will rise again!
"We", volunteers in cities, rising to each others
Sides, finding the fallen, hand to hand; some alive!
Rescuers, eyes haunted by devastation's effects,
Reply, " it's like apocalypse now". Words,
Embedded in their countrymen's spirits,
With the silent question, why.
No words to relate the concussive effects on the
Psyches of the living, who could've died.
Though, between their lines of, "luck, chance",
Uttered solemnly, shock's echoing silence now
Hears shouts of, "acts of war". Where will the
Imploring, or could they, lead?
This calculated mass destruction, its goals,
Loss of life, liberty, humanity, reason,
Its aim, implosion of societal symbols of power,
They think they realized, may be lightning in the
Worlds eyes, yet, soon will follow the thunder!
For, destruction and murder are delusion,
Not power!
Then, will we find the strength to remember,
The void realized by their delusional profits and
Pleasures, doesn't have to be filled by over
Reaction? Which would mirror their acts and
Reinforce cycles of war; a result their twisted
Wills wished for. Can we not be dehumanized,
As desired, adding fuel to their hysteria's fire?
Searching for our essence, can we rescue our
Innocence; eventually, waging peace to dispel
The cloud of sides? It filling eyes, lungs,
Thoughts and emotions, as those white flumes
Of ash, smoke, and fire; still rising.
Will we value life, again, as humanity?
Find the hand extended, that isn't yet, and
Lend ours to it?
A passenger's subdued, determined, cell call,
"We know, goodbye, we'll try and do what we
Have to." They brought the jet down in the
Woods, short of the populated, intended target;
Saving untold lives.
Will we do what we have to, now?
Daunt
When they tell you to, ...
When it is, they want you to say, ...
When anything catches your eye, ...
When you've a feeling and don't know why, ...
When the words ... fit, ...
When living and dying are one, ...
... seeing doesn't relay, ...
... being hasn't meaning, it does, ...
... what's filling your eye, isn't, ...
... you feel nothing, feel it, ...
... worrying gets in the way, ...
..., not breathing or thinking, ....
"...Of..., By..., For...?"
Pondering the nature of
Some peoples character
Has led me to conclude,
Their despicable actions,
Though masked by
Purported concern, therapeutic
Intervention, are what's so.
Stories about the one legged
Baseball player, or
The man without a face,
While inspiring
In and of themselves,
Are poor masks for
The premeditated malpractice
That takes place within these walls.
A woman raped in the very
Corridor she must walk
Up and down; day in day out!
A man-child grew up here
Stories to tell, they, supposedly,
Allow to curse, intimidate and
Dominate others. Giving him
All the rope he wants, then
Snapping the noose;
Strapping down, drugging,
Seclusion. Without boundaries
What client wouldn't become
Out of hand; where's the care?
Their fabrications told over and
Over, manufacturing psych.
Histories, means to ends,
Political, social, religious to
Discriminate for delusional profits
And pleasures; remove competition.
Their best, counter-transference,
The opposite of mental health!
A heart can be killed, yet,
Heart never murdered!
Did they ever know the
First tenet of all helping
Professions, "do no harm"?
YOU CAN
Talk the talk, walk the walk, and even
Be the be, but, if you don't vote the vote,
You won't ever be livin' in a democracy!
An Undream
In an unwalled
Room, walking on
Enumerable multi-colored
Pieces of glass, barefoot,
Without thought, one
Step and another,
Gazing awhile on
The colors rising up,
There's a thought,
Where's the blood?
Gleaning this glass
Was my heart, I,
Remembering the shatterings,
Felt for my feet;
No longer able to bleed.
Catching my subconscious'
Metaphor, it passes as quickly...
Lightened, continuing
An unaltered pace,
On and on, an
Awareness arising asked,
Where's everyone, and
Answered, this is my mind.
Letting go of it,
Looking ended and eyes
Opening, saw it for what
It was, societies' idea of
A cured heart. I,
Awakened, seeing art.
music
Life's song
Accompanying
The Abundance of
Joy's Spring!
You
You share yourself
With us, evoking
Words so true.
It does our hearts good/ To be with you/ Being you!
i remember fourteen some
Essene, essence of a way
Lived, there, in his day.
Spirit enlightened soul speak
Through silences; mind reach.
Of love, walking a path
Heart blazened, compassion seasoned
Studying teaches, inbetween reasons
Does sun shine, wind fly,
Water float, earth rise,
Fire spark the self
Before your birth?
Do you glimpse, within mirth,
You unearthed?
Finding loss, holding the cost,
Seeing so, and, still,
Knowing you don't know?
What if baby jesus was murdered
By the premeditated program
Of the day, would it be night?
We, must uncover it today,
Or, there'll be no light!
Between lines, betwixt words,
Under the voweling,
Below the consonance,
Before "In the beginning there
Was...", un or heard,
Leaves of a tree gathered,
Blotched with His blood,
Bound by God; found
Lost, found, again
In the living human!
Emanations
Worthily wrapped, a
Rain-bow unbroken, a gift
To the beholden.
Beauteous
Macroscopia allows a view,
Verdant brilliance, a star's birth.
Yet, our microscopicness ignores,
The atom should not be split.
400 years of supposed "science"
Has stolen the earth's richness,
Michaelangelos from the sky;
Is killing life as fast as
Before last ice age ensued.
Biophilia or necrophilia, choose!
Vie's evolving song is as silent as
A stone's ballad for being's loss.
Yet, manifest destiny rag drags on,
Turtle Island's shell won't cover,
Approaching abyss on the horizon.
Vitae's wail echoes crimson,
As acid rain from your closed
Eye falls, and earth's tears
Bleed; for, all you see is grey.
What
One hundred thousand miles
Of red rivers flow,
In nature's rythm, we follow.
That tattoo of the heart
Brings us throughout
Our inner ways, felt full.
The unbeat, rhyme,
Eternal pulse of life,
Leads us from without,
Perceived by our mind's eye,
On our paths of heart;
From within. For,
We are the blood of life, so
Artquake
Soul, freely bringing
Abundance, spirit seed
Sown, heart fruit borne!
multumultum
As machinations of
Travailing winds,
Miraging, veil and mirror
Narcissistic nihlistic
False-ego, as self,
We evince to be!
To The Setting
Still, unknown to all,
I'll let the feet fall forward;
Well meet by earth, first!
Felt
Eternally danced, I,
A whirl unending
Within, am!
Unrant
Still, they say, "We've all come to
look for America", maybe, in that day.
Stark, "we", see a child, Iraqi, mangled,
blood escaping her, to sand; by our hand.
Insides, out, life, soul, returning to....
A war on the insides, yours, mine, hers,
they no good where they are, pulsing life,
surging breath, uplifting spirit; not serving death.
When will we be as ancestors, needing to say,
"...to end all war"; what consumer of defacement
lurks in your soma, to rise before? The remocrats,
dempublicans, corporate agents one, all, don't
mind sleekly packaged, sci-fi winged, efficacious,
low body count war; just the next stepping stones
for ever increasingly centralized and cyclical
supposed garnering of delusional profits and
pleasures; realizing exponentially more real
deficits, deaths of eco-systems, species, babies
whose birthrights were ripped from them before
they were a twinkle in.... La machine's lust,
unquenchingly oiled by non-American, non-white,
non-Christian blood, bringer of flood, enthroned
mollock, war, as none will..., or have before.
Mesopotamia, birthed civilization, a depleted
uranium dirge forever unsounding, devouring
unseen flame, the life interred in sullen eyes,
seeing, not again, know, darkness looms every...;
the half-life being longer than theirs. A heart will
have no solace, until defilement of civilization
no longer bays.
Some musings, as well :) Not all those deluded by sides are squares; Grace can't be sought, it seeks you, if you...; Winning is losing without the benefits. There is also no how you're playing the gaming. If you're playing the gaming, the gaming is playing you; If you don't stand for something, you'll fall for anything; If you don't "turn on" politics, politics will turn on you (Nader); Music is life's song accompanying the abundance of joy's Spring. Viva la evolution, viva green party! Write on! "Painting is poetry which is seen and not heard, and poetry is a painting which is heard but not seen." ~ Leonardo da Vinci What do you think? As always, feel free to copy and share, as well. Enjoy a vernal eve' as you can. I look forward to hearing from you. Ciao, for now.
Matutinally Yours,
james m nordlund reality (aja) :)
For those interested "of or pertaining to the morning, day: relating to or happening in the morning or in the early part of the day (formal), (Mid-16th century, from late Latin matutinalis, from Matuta, goddess of the dawn.)" Disabled Greens News and discussion, Group home page: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/DisabledGreensNews/ ,
Abuse in Therapy, Group: http://health.groups.yahoo.com/group/AbuseinTherapy/
Diffabled, Mental Health, all related issues, advocacy, and professionals:
Invite link: http://passport.care2.net/invite.html?g=880
Homepage: http://www.care2.com/c2c/group/Diffabled_MentalHealth_Action
reality's blog :) http://360.yahoo.com/jamesmnordlund
