Tag Archives: being

Aperture

[This poem is #1 in a series dedicated to revisiting poems that were written by me as part of my participation in a collaborative and experimental poetry blog: IMUNURI.blogspot.com. Aperture was written and first published 31 December 2014.]

 

These that are things and not things both
They pepper the landscape
The landscape that is so and not so both
I walk amongst them
The I that is not an I after all, yet somehow is

It’s not that I wonder about this apparent conundrum
As in feeling troubled or some kind of loss
Rather it is there or with it that I belong
Nothing of this casts me aside
All things that I am and am not Rest here

Whose favor would I garner
To look upon this any differently
Seeing is a communion after all
That each and every one of us
Has within the very fabric of being

Ultimately there is no such thing as compromise
And yet how often is there a sensation
Of All of This somehow tangled
Around my ankles that I possess
The I that has no counterpart

As we see through this aperture
Closure is a function of clarity
Focus celebrating the visual spectrum
Saturating this field in the unseen
An exposé of brilliance and crystallization

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A Letter as Separate Self Dissolves

Things are just as they are

The many paper doll covers drop away

 

That which Plays does not leave, however

Only the kind of playing that was borne

 

Of striving, play acting, a wish to stand out

Somehow different, as if what we truly Are lacks.

 

No more pretending called for, although pretense

Arrives from time to time, leaving its calling card as

 

Residue, the way sour milk leaves its trace on the glass

The I can momentarily forget that it is Luminous, Empty,

 

That which Knows –and if it wears anything, it is stitched

Together entirely of Love and glows simply as Experiencing.

 

 

San Cristobal, NM

16 February 2015

 

If This is It

I scour my dreams and other unconscious strata
As if there in that matrix rests that piece of me
The one I would know if you/I stumbled across it
Something about it –perhaps a certain shape or
The way it upends everything upon gazing on it

I might call it a gem, a treasure, a hobgoblin or
Better yet leave it unnamed as that is part of
Its alchemy and how it works –filters through
This strata then the next and then the next
Like a gaseous light a din a fragrance a chill

I have a special apparatus that knows how to track
This this It this wonder this knot, untying itself
Unraveling more than the traces it’s known in travels
Uncharted beyond and outside of time penetrating
Dense matter insinuating itself in likeness, similarity

And yet the very complexion perplexing disparity
Of its presence is what serves as leveraging whisper
Intoxicating tissue bone all that can be agitated
From its stance and form liquefying spine upright
Collapsing again and again simulacra –what upholds

It has looked like this –a plea, subjugation, crying out
It grasps at its subject of affection/disaffection
Target aim narrowing down to focus coddle foster
And yet this is its guise to act as something other than
To stand alongside waiting mentoring flummoxing

And bewildered I am with eyes and heart opened
By this raw wind searing through all persistent cracks
The draftiness of my being is somehow a grace, in which
The delivery of that which is unborn has yet been bared
Comes to its fruition, a soaking in of radiance undeniable

San Cristobal, NM 7 January 2015

Circle Through

I sit in the shade
the shadow of nature
taking refuge

A kind of solace
offered everyday for this
one and all

Nothing asked
in return and nothing
offered to possess

Only mistaken
identities get burned off here
and the rest remains

Stepping in and out
of the light we call Humanity
something there

Casts no shadow
when seen As It Is
simply abiding

Not requiring even
an ounce of dignity or regret
as all is equal here

A here where
there is no there or here
nothing set apart

The dance of light
all circles like the sun
invite our fantasies

But invite yourself
to remain As You Are
in the truest sense

Not embellishing
resting in the purity of things
nothing more

Nothing less than
what we are is astounding
pause and see

A Stand In As Myself or Something Else

I have sometimes written a poem without having to be aware of the writing

You see, the poem aside from its writing or typing is an entity of its
own. It is seen, heard, felt, paused,

And squeezed out from behind the corner of the eye, the eye that is not
an eye

.

One where seeing comes in a whole other spectrum than

The usual one –not one you can manufacture here –one that exists already

It comes of its own accord like twilight or dawn, nothing can stop it or begin it

.

When you pause in the words, you’ll see a whole shift of light

It can easily be blocked, consciously or unconsciously; but if you let it be, everything takes on a different tone

For that time when things look as they do in between

.

The poem appears, it comes into its own, and recedes as if it has breath

[those reading and writing access it equally yet different]

It cannot be said even which comes first, the one who reads or what writes

.

And being is like that, too –am I myself or something else

What moves this now, not such that it is a hall of mirrors

But the something else continuously speaks itself as if I were the pen and paper

Crowning Glory

I step out barely
— into the sky as
the crowning glory
of all things myself
and not myself

For I find myself
within and between
and without these
wings, one of not
and one of all

Frighteningly so
at first but the lift
gathers and throws
me into the vastness
of this blue ocean

Learning to swim
in the sky of my Being
and not run or flee
but fly as I am
— crowning glory

My roots are freed
riding the currents
along with all that
once fettered me
when I looked down

Meeting these fresh
forces –alighting like
quantum treasures of
that which we Are
sharing now this Crack

Into that fabric of plane
existence shocking me
free of that pondering
wasteland –all that binds
and frets now scours forth

A Song of the unfolded
mystery of the most plain,
dry only of sorrows once
passed over and now
absorbed, dancing as Lift

Within and beneath
these transparent wings
blue as the sky clear as
diamonds polished by
the heart of hearts once
and only always free