Tag Archives: What Is

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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Fumble

I am my own all and nothing

Sensations of the body brain crowd in

What of these am I and not

A new mix of All That Is

Dawning like any other new dawn

But a measuring stick was left

By an unexpected guest

And unconsciously I pick it up

Fumble, aim to use it until I see

What it is, grasped in hand

 

Walking backwards sizing things up

I trip over the empty footsteps

That were never there

And that is when

Everything relaxes back

Into simply What Is

 

turning ʇno ǝpısuı

The perimeter is littered with things fallen by the wayside

They can rest there  to simply suggest activities of once was

Faerie circles of a different order perhaps, but truly they are

Have you ever heard of ‘Life is Sacred’ or transmutation?

Just look and look in the looking with the eyes of I Am

How many times do I say, ‘Astounding, astounding, astounding’?

Can we spread the arc of this perimeter and find a dancing ground

In common even as we stand at times nakedly in The Commons

Unaware of what seems lost but never was, never was, never was

I place my hand near, near to your heart but only in my mind’s eye

Somehow even this touch saturates the field, touch outside of resistance

And therefore deeper than even what seeing and believing can grant

We bring what was/is split into this unseen contact  covert mending

Of rifts that once cast asunder flesh from flesh  eroding of earth

Demanding only that we become the missing element  innate intelligence

It might shock what is seen, perceived, felt, known with Presence

And this gentle but penetrating wind lays bare all coverings, the battens

Perceiver and perceived intertwined in a choreography unwrought

Venerable heart of us all  we are held in this music  synarchic tune

However raw unfinished untempered  diamond in the rough still

A diamond  facets inherent within  aware or not  as beloved we see

And yet we wrestle  fighting not what we know  but what fears

In us that loom large  truly only in our imaginations  what grace

This wrestling too a dance and reconciliation of the highest order

Acknowledgment

birthing and dying simultaneous actions

twilight and break of day cannot be disjoined

music and silence virtually one and the same

so why do we carry such pretense as

playing as if there is only life creative

without life dismembering itself too

our bags are overfilling as we carry

the carcass of all that has already

departed  carrying on the pattern

of What Was tripping over What Is

forging some remnant nonexistent now

into something we pay homage over and over

memorializing as a preoccupation takes over

while the beautiful concerto of life / death

carries on all around us in every way and thing

listening now to the music and the silence

welcoming birthing and dying simultaneously

such moves in us breath in breath out

to RUH and the crystals of consciousness, too

Under What If

Oh, under it, under all the vestiges

of what if, what old boards and

dust and fragments, but these

 

That pepper the bed clothes with

less than perfect sleep, tossing

and turning under the weight of it

 

This reality, packed up in numerous

boxes ~ to-go for this, to-go for that

under packing it, as What Is is

 

So much more yet where does at-

tention, at tension, go ~ no resting.

Others instead bring beauty, grace.

 

But no, these old things beg to be

of Use. Or is it that ? Perhaps but

what if, what if, if what, if What Is

 

Were already of Use? Bizarre order.

This memory of tossing and turning

now folds into the voice of the light

 

Opening out over crystalline hoarfrost

warming and dazzling just as it is

this juxtaposition of dour and dulcet.

 

The rigid supposing, how does it serve?

As if what if were magic, elixir of

fortitude, grace, wonder, and not burden.

 

Leave it open, don’t pretend resolve.

Clustering what ifs wait in the cold

not sure of their fate. What if they knew?

Photo Shoot :: dance of innocents

If I could see with the eyes
I See with ~ the wonder and gravity
Of What Is would be deeply evident yet
Needing no evidence nor questioning

And yet the power of those eyes
Is that they don’t see in the plainest
Of ways, but as the ordinarily extraordinary
Depth of field without f-stops

Nothing captured for posterity, contrasting
All sense of judgment with the luminosity
Of vibrancy such that even the Camera
Obscura lays wait, no pin prick necessary

As bubbles burst upon forming, projections
Simply do not arise, people do not gather for or against
And even places do not serve as some kind of Dominion
Nor as shoving off, point of departure

How odd that our lives seem to balance
Between a collection of events and things
As we surround ourselves with tangible markers
Of the intangible. What a task

We ask of the humble traces of earth and sky
When their very nature is just to be
No claim on anything, but abiding and giving
Nonetheless. Purpose perhaps but no need.

for James Wheeler (in asking to take photos) and Peter Kater (for Dance of the Innocents)

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