Our lives are full of darkness;
cosmic,
medical,
personally unique.
We construct brightness
as a wall against the gloom:
our focus is on shiny,
and our eyes are on the light.
Folk stories tell of Heaven,
or Jannah, or Elysium,
where Light eternal gleams.
We huddle around our campfires,
singing chants
against the dark,
finding comfort with our tribe:
the security of distraction.
If only we would let our eyes
grow accustomed to the murk,
we’d start to see
reality
that has been there all this time.
Drop our need for gloss,
for shine:
let us explore the shadows.
Let us understand
what is
here.
Only then,
when we embrace the dark,
and understand our fear,
can we march into a future
unblinded by the light.
From the top branch
of a dying spruce
two crows surveyed
their domain.
One faced northwest,
the other southeast,
the better to see
likely food.
The man saw the crows,
and wondered.
“One crow sorrow:
two crows joy!”
Or was it the other way around?
He was a little concerned
by the thought.
What could it mean?
Two crows: opposite directions.
Was it a message from god?
From the universe?
Perhaps some departed ancestor
had a grave message
of vital import.
The man was worried,
and breathed a little heavier.
His day darkened,
and the crows remained.
One crow cawed,
once, twice, thrice.
The man looked behind him,
expecting something strange,
something ominous,
to be approaching.
He picked up a rock,
and the crows,
anticipating,
flew away.
The man walked back home,
and spent the rest of his mundane day
fretting, worrying, wondering.
And so it goes:
we seek to bestow all
of life’s encounters
and occurences
with meaning,
arcane and esoteric.
Our egocentric lives
are overwhelmed
by that which we do not understand.
Dwarfed by the endless cosmos,
we build a fire,
fed by our ignorance
and superstition,
to shrink comprehension
to this circle
of fear-fed light,
and to keep our gaze
from eternal night.
Our tribes demand
we revere the past,
and tradition rules our lives.
Our gods are from another day,
another place,
another time.
“Ethnic origin”,
that hackneyed phrase,
still speaks of whom we were.
We tribalize with sports teams,
and holidays,
and so many linguistic passwords
that grant entrance to our groups:
we love to belong
in our little social circles!
If only we could set aside
our basic insecurities,
our fear of the unknown.
If only we would live right now,
and live now right.
Let’s drop all gods
and those persons
who speak for them.
Can we not disdain
our differences,
and focus on all that we share:
we’ve lost a lot of time
we must make up
before getting anywhere.
Abandon tribal security,
and shake a stranger’s hand.
Stop supporting political hacks,
who exploit us
for their gain.
Let us all step back,
and take a breath,
(this isn’t going to be easy)
then rebuild our world
to serve us all:
enjoy our Heaven now!
We all carry within us
the dark of personal pain,
and the weight of this burden
can engender mortal strain.
We populate our Stygian night
with sparkling points of hope,
providing a spiritual focus,
and giving us strength to cope.
Others will call our dreams insane,
and hasten to prove us wrong,
but once we have learned the tune
it is hard not to hum the song.
With raging chaos threatening,
and ignorance ruling the day,
we are in an intellectual fog,
and struggle to find our way.
Let us pause, and cry for might-have-been,
then think of happier things,
and rest, and anticipate the change
that revolution brings.
Hate and ignorance,
intolerance and tribalism
assail us every day.
Has our species lost direction:
is chaos our leitmotif?
We see, in the eyes of many,
a slavering, gibbering imp,
espousing harm and evil:
disdaining love and peace.
People who denigrate others,
and make personal attacks
on those who do not espouse
their dogma, their arrogance,
their stupidity.
To the barricades!
They are far too many
for our truth, our words,
to sway. We must instead
defend our gains,
on our path to a better world.
To the barricades!
Logic is overrun
by mindless, thoughtless babble.
We must dig in,
consolidate our ground,
and fight for a better way.
To the barricades!
Has it come to this,
where we split into camps
of diametrically different views?
Are dialogue and negotiation
yet another endangered species?
To the barricades!
This is not my world,
where plutocrats rule,
and a rabble runs wild and insane.
Let us circle the wagons:
we shall fight another day.
(Cannabis and Creative Cognition Series)
The profound stillness
infuses the senses
with deep tranquillity.
The crescent moon, cruising,
above the scudding snow-clouds,
smiles like the Cheshire cat,
and illuminates
this surreal winter rabbit-hole.
The jackpines are heavy
with their marshmallow burden,
and available light
transforms individual flakes
into the chandeliers
of a magical faerie ballroom,
full of movement
and dancing diamonds.
The silence has volume;
a rotund quietude
that is felt, not heard.
The crackling of ice in the cove
is a gentle and soothing counterpoint
in this minimalist symphony
of quiet and soft white fullness,
of snowfall and peace.
My children, I have failed you,
as I did not comprehend
the future that would greet you
at your childhood’s end.
I had tried to prepare you well
with visions that served me true;
but those dreams have been broken,
and they cannot work for you.
A paradigm shift fully unforeseen,
foils societal advance;
we are mired deep in a midden
of hate and ignorance.
Like Pandora I should like to release
some Hope upon our state,
but feel that much harm has been done,
and it may be too late.
My children, I have failed you,
for I did not clearly see
the effects that stupidity in others
would have on you and me.
Gird yourselves with personal strength,
and keep your loved ones near:
seek out kindred spirits.
Forge your vision bright and clear.
My children, I have failed you,
and if this all should cease,
it is because we embraced the hate,
and abandoned love, and peace.
A cornerstone of collective psyche
is the sense of “just passing through”;
and, folksy aphorisms notwithstanding,
we understand that this is true.
This weight of intuitive knowledge
comes with great emotional cost,
as we tend to lament “might-have-been”
and dwell on a past that is lost.
We traditionally build our gods
to offer salvation from life’s fray,
focussing on a heaven tomorrow
rather than building one here, today.
Our short lives are but a flicker,
a brief flash of intense light,
by which we must illuminate the Now
that precedes our cosmic night.
Welcome, and Namaste
Greetings fellow travellers,
For you American friends visiting, you will notice that this old Canadian uses Canadian English in this blog: kindly bear with me. As I blog primarily on subjects that are vitally interesting to me, I appreciate all feedback.
As I tend to be a bit of a language usage freak, I will, as required, edit obscenity and rude comments. That said, I welcome your opinions and discussion.
May your Dharma be clear
Peace
"If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended:
That you have but slumb'red here,
While these visions did appear."
Puck’s epilogue to A Midsummer Night’s Dream
