I like people too much
But God, how lonely it is to do so
They fail you like how their goals
Supersede their interpersonal ethics
If I didn’t love others so much
I’d be much happier
And where I am now
The clouds are flowering
And I’m able to see the lifetime of
Each one of them, the face of their stars
And for me, poetry is not the evasion of life
But the processing of it, prose has such
Bad characters, they are flawed
But poetry speaks of the full subjective weight
Of ideas and emotions and people
Narrative and timeline is not something
I can afford, I’ve had enough of time and space
I’d much rather create in the ether
Where I can proudly create
Let me live, love and say it
Well in good sentences
That’s all I ask, is it too much?
Eun Ji, whatever our souls are made of
Would’t it be nice if hers and mine are the same
That we embody shared attributes
She’s more myself than I am
What if that which hugs the seas
Hugs us in our deepest heart
The sacred reason for our lives
Is blooming almost constantly
We just have to listen to its spark
Eun Ji, I bloom almost constantly for you
And you won’t see the flame
And you won’t feel the nectar
And everyone is invisible sometimes
To that which most matters to them
As stars to the sea, as green to the eyes
And sunlight to our human cheeks
The our of our everafter draws closer
And I’ve never craved friendship
The way love introduced me to
The wild rose-briars of elements of poetry
Poet who are too bright for this world.
I dream of you to wake the soul
A soul that dreams of remembering
The future while we are still young!
I lock my door upon myself
That I might write the most beautiful books
Better by far you should read
The eternal present’s experience
Than follow in my footsteps dear
The silence is more musical than any song
The goblin market of our mind is dreary
Say then, that your heart is like a singing bird
That forgets not to smile, and the world
Like hope trembling, will smile with you
Unsure of the hurt it caused you
But grateful for your attendance just the same
Do not take your injuries so personally
They are but the foam of the ship
Upon which we travel through the night
Of choosing love not in the shallows
But in the truest depths of the deep
Where my heart is breaking for a little love.
Eun Ji, do you remember me?
I was the one that heard thunder
When you most wanted storms
We’ve always been about burning stars
Our letters were unearthly and radiant
And we took all our cowardice
And wrote it down for all the women
Who never dared to speak their minds
We were, feminists before poets
And for the festival of the dead
We rot their sacrifice in our rituals
And if all is looted, betrayed, sold again
Our words will flash with the wings
Of black deaths, brief plagues
And all that was once glorious
Will be glorious again, aloof with
The smell of honey, I’ll be the one
Walking you to reincarnation
I know you know this, that when
The dust of freedom settles
We’ll be the gold smell of the
Mouth of sunlight, when the
Future ripens suddenly, in a terrible
Festival of dead leaves and brief realizations
We were made for this #TheStruggleIsReal
It’s the end, and we’re all set
To become stories, information
Some live the poetry they cannot write
While I write the poetry I cannot live
As a slave to the poverty
And the empathy that comes from
Knowing the downtrodden
Poetry is a fire that lives inside of you
Like an artistic expression of faith
Beginning in delight and ending in wisdom
Pleasure never has so much truth as this
I’ll open all the doors, I’ll review
All the possibilities, and there will still
Be more to write, that’s the universe
Swimming in our minds, that’s a jewel
Of the cosmos, stationed in our hearts
And you won’t find poetry anywhere
Outside yourself, unless you
Bring a bit of your soul
The secret inspiration of the stars.
Is the rain naked
When she washes the streets?
For spring and flowers
For returns of prosperity
Is the snow cold
To visit the earth?
The wet dark earth
That has nothing to give
But shelter and a place to land?
Is the rose afraid of being seen?
With her lips turned into petals
And the moist dew
Clinging to her wings?
Does the heart regret to love?
That caused a woman so much pain
Is there anything in this world sadder
Than the old man pursued by
Only bees, without belonging?
To a heart that is open
Everyone appears as a friend
To a mind that is still
The entire universe surrenders
It’s all in the way you smile
At the start of your day
And laugh at the end of the day
It’s all the peace one feels
When crossing the same river
Any river could have been home
I’ll keep butterflies as my companion
Not like I would want to
Trap any butterfly, they are much
More beautiful doing what they do
The same for flowers and
Forget the years, I’m going to
Leap duality on my way home
Home is where the heart is open
Home is where the mind is still
Home is the universe that waits for me
Home are the friends who live everywhere.
Don’t be surprised by events
Experience is your teacher
Don’t be attached to what you have
Life has given you
So much already
Time is what may come to pass
Because today you were ready
Give up defining yourself
Live in the freedom of the moment
Don’t let past labels cloud your judgement
But be a clean slate each and every day
Die to yourself that you might
Love the world more, it’s sometimes
Necessary, to become somebody new
Change to adapt to the challenges
Push yourself to surprise yourself
Experience is your loving teacher
Time is your tender mistress
Abundance and simplicity will play
With you, as children you once knew
Do not be surprised if they call you names
Do not be shocked if they depart
You are who you are for a reason
Awaken to that purpose so you can
Clearly celebrate the moment
And finally, be grateful for the
Emergence of new experiences
Your soul likes them before
You perceive they are even happening to you.
Ebola then turns the insides of its host into jelly: you begin to vomit black junk which is basically your dissolved liver and internal organs.”
― Andrew Cormier
Fear too is an epidemic, it stretches out like
An incubation period for a kind of doom
Population control, whispered a silent elite
Who engineer our wallets, our GMO food, our futures
Ebola was a convenient way, of making us fear
Who we once were again, black as a Nigerian
We died alone in deathbeds, isolated plastic containers
For who we once were, our organs giving out
Infection was a spider hand, MSM gave us
False positives, but could the main-stream-media
Be trusted any longer? Wasn’t this just a matter
Of time, an algorithm set loose upon the billions?
Fear is that place, where people go in adversity
It’s hypnotic like an audience at a concert
It’s contagious how the will for self-preservation can spread
Fight of flee, but where to run, out of the cities?
The new normal is a kind of paranoia
While we watch the situation very closely
Every hour there is underground news about
Another case in another country, Ebola isn’t
Your grandmother that only likes good climates
She’s an engineered hypothesis of how mobility
Causes any true pandemic to become a flamboyant outbreak
The comet that signals black plagues has been seen
Fear too is a weapon, when you can’t stop the world
Because it’s too costly to do so, and you can’t
Tell the world not to fly because we’re too free
We left Africa a long time ago, but who among us
Would stand 20 meters from their open graves?
1.Guinea
2.Liberia
3.Sierra Leone
4.Nigeria
5.Benin
6. (Even as I wrote this) Senegal and Ghana likely have cases too now.
August 10th:
People are being tested in the following places. [not confirmed cases]
1. Bucharest (Romania)
2. Hong Kong(Hong Kong)
3. Chennai (India)
4. Brampton (Canada) patient was Negative for Ebola.
5. Hamburg (Germany)
Gratitude bestows reverence, allowing us to encounter everyday epiphanies, those transcendent moments of awe that change forever how we experience life and the world.
~ John Milton
i’ve been growing old slower
with all this beauty around me
my peers lately, have been chatting
about the power of gratitude
every revolution evaporates
so why bother, bureaucracy
prevails, politicians are corrupt
i’ve been growing old slower
since i started not doing politics
not being political, learning
to be productive in the spheres
that aren’t touched by the marketplace
i’ve learned not to lie, by staying silent
i no longer read advertisements
i no longer occupy my time with wanting things
i’ve been growing old slower
with a quiet beginning of understanding
the first wish to die has risen in me
like a bud that will flower
a medication from my own substance
i have the true feeling of myself
only when i give up happiness and unhappiness
there, the world will present itself
to you with its unmasking
like a child that only wants to play
i’ve been growing old more slowly
in theory where I abandon the second world
the idea that suffering is necessary
that pain is a natural argument of time
i’d rather read a book
that serves as an ax for
the frozen sea within me
and associate myself with human beings
that not only lure me into a self-observation
but allow me to laugh at myself better
or realize how pathetically scant
my self-knowledge is compared to say
the awareness that I am growing older
and care less for my youthful failures
by consequence of a natural decline in memory
it’s there, that evil is whatever distracts
me from whatever I consider my calling
at the time, did I mention that
i’ve been growing old more slowly
since I’ve surrounded myself with kind women?
it’s true, women are precisely
my favorite religion, i could hide
in their dogma for any number of years
feeling totally young in their emotions
find many hiding places listening
smiling to their relationship-antagonists.
Happiness cannot be traveled to, owned, earned, worn or consumed. Happiness is the spiritual experience of living every minute with love, grace, and gratitude.
~ Denis Waitley
Let’s go dancing to the ceiling
with candles for our soul
let’s hide out amidst the fireworks
and wait for hypnotic words
so in awe of our time here
with an insistence on revolution
for the genuine rapport of living beings
Let’s go afrolick with the world
in countries and clans of sympathy
let’s appease the nomad within
strike a chord and bargain with elements
outside of our comfort zones
let’s go gawking beneath the stars
miracle-work on the front lines
unbridled like a spirit without melancholy
let’s become somebody else
change our name, our address, our friends
discover romance without shunning
deeper questions, write the screenplay
of the poetry of our human evolution
without fear, tonight is clear
i can’t afford a star anyway
but they say sunlight is free down here
a smirk for fate’s untapped paradise
a joke for these pioneering twitches
that do not end, but ascend, ripple and contend
that to describe a moment is impossible
joy has an essence of improvisation.
if you are feeling stuck
abandon what you do, be somebody else
embrace uncertainty for experience
pure experience without judgement
where Life again becomes
possible, freedom of will
self-determined, bitter-sweet
youthful, exuberant, spring-autumn
with the taste of rosebuds
dual, frankly crazy, appreciated
spin wildly into your next months
with both heart and exercise of choice
bravely, without regret or sentimental lingering
if you are feeling frightened
by who you have become, change
dare to enjoy the present like never before
retrace your steps, rediscover who you are
it’s never too late, you’ll find your
way again, where hopes lead you
challenge yourself to find bliss
don’t be afraid to experience, say “yes”
for experience is the heart of necessity
if you don’t rush after it
life will force you to meet her
life is not about possession
life is about tasting, doing, being, watching
moving, travelling, loving, thinking
dangerously even, for life passes you by
a place where happiness and sadness collide
forcefully, creatively, passionately
be the hero of your own story
find friendships that intrigue you
fall in love with hobbies that move you
read philosophers that challenge you
make music that haunts you
have sex like your mean it
listen to your being without judgement
that small voice who enjoys giving
live without condition, for destiny
always intended to work with you
not through you, fate completes you
your journey needs your enthusiasm.
[She was called one of the great “guerrillas of the imagination” by the poet Seamus Heaney]
Dear poet, who said:
‘There is no moral authority
Like that of Sacrifice’
It was you, people give
One another things that can’t be
Gift-wrapped, how many lovers know
The gifts that were given freely
And now departed, it’s a power
Of something which I am convinced
There is no innocence this side of the womb
These pretty games we play for
A few wide altered years
Our truth isn’t always beautiful
It’s our hunger for it that makes us come alive
Passion is the fact of our lives
Those who say ‘I cannot live with someone
Who cannot live without me’
Know the secret, sociology will extract it
Slowly, like art buried
The Writer loses Eden, writes it to be read
By an unanswerable audience
Dear scribe, rest with those words
I should smile, to realize what is your answer.
It’s little I care what path I take
Since the world-soul guides me
And where my departure leads
For heart-break’s arrival is my passage
To another kind of life, I must go
I must leave, and off somewhere
Who knows what’s in my escape?
It’s little I know what’s in my heart
To save or grieve, it’s innocent still
Carefully sensitive in this little flesh’s honesty
I wish I could walk a day and a night
To forget you and your bloody betrayal
What’s in my mind it’s little I know
To travel alone, don’t mind the fuss I make
My life is huddled to beauty in the ditch
To sacrifice in the forgotten spoon
I’ve departed so many times
Beneath lamps and at the appointed bell
These candles burn at both ends
I know how fleeting time can seem
It’s little I care what path I take
Love was never enough in this desolate place.
Jade dew withers in Autumn’s husks
The wounds of the groves of maple Trees are open
On Du Fu Mountain, in Li Bai gorge
Undertaking a mission, for leaves to fall
The river surges with waves to kiss the sky
The quiet morning light bleeds for hidden pillows
Reed flowers shine with eyebrows of memorials
The schoolmates of my early years
Do not remember me, I am my own new master
A lonely boat, a single line, my heart is full of home
With the dully and dreary chill of another year
The sun slants across evening, beating the shores
It matters not if my wishes are realized or not
Like shifting clouds, our destinies are varied
Pale Autumn still has an imperial aura
Now the little Lotus Park is filled with borrowed sorrows
Bathed in a sun of dragon scales, I hold court
With the palace open, the purple vapour of my soul
I have lived many lives in the Autumn air
Women always greet me with green feathers at Spring
And my poet’s head hangs low grown Emerald old.
Let the beauty of what you love
Be what you do, that is the important thing
To follow your bliss: this is love
To fly towards the secret sky of no tomorrow
Everyone has been made
To experience some particular joy
So let your joy be ravishing and complete
Do not let fate intervene with it
Do not let destiny lead you from it
For that sacred joy, is your birthright
Everything is made beautiful by that joy
Plant the anticipation of that joy
Like a love of the holy ones within your spirit
Don’t give your heart to anything
But the love of those whose hearts feed that joy
That which is false will negate it
But the truth of your joy will bring
You a thousand ways to kneel and kiss the ground
A thousand ways to go home again.
To unravel ‘great doubt’ requires a ‘great surrender’
This can take many decades
Decades of the body’s silence to desire
Years of the heart’s immersion in peace
Do not follow the ideas of others
But learn to listen to the voice within yourself
Your body and mind will not falter
They will become pure and clear
And you will realize the unity of all things
In your own time, in your own way
Learn the backward step
See through the eyes of a child
That turns the light inward at a glance
That penetrates the mask of others with empathy
Coming, going, bird-watching, watch the world
At midnight look out into the Sea
When there are no waves and only a flood of moonlight
Body and mind themselves, will drop away.
I have lived through a dynasty of blindfolds
With blue currents in my veins
The feeling of being ‘different’
What I to make of these contradictions?
I learn mandarin, I wear white cuffs
ii
I learn to bow low, my heart
Filled with disorganized unlocalized prayers
O Soul, and such disorganization!
My stars are flashing like
Terrible numerals of my intuition
iii
The choices I have made, unmade
The spirit of valedictory pangs
Must follow us all, like memory
Memory’s stiff formality of failed prophecies
Her bandages to self-image, her mockeries
And the terrible breathing of ill-health
Some things could not have been predicted
iv
I have lived through a dynasty of rareness, then?
Being myself, an ordinary creator in littleness
I feel as if I’ve trespassed stupidly
Across my fate, like an unwelcome guest
Or colonized a new form of ignorance
Settled in neurological patterns of
The most dire selfishness, until I am
Terrified of what I have become
vi
I learn to accept malignancy slower than others?
Swimming with angels in apprehension
I struggle at the limits of language
Ready to bleed light again into my
Self-sufficient darkness, her unidentifiable calls
vii
Here there is an immortality
In the self-talk that loves to suffer
I move away from dampening vibrations in a hurry
For such salt-sweetness of surrealism
Leads nowhere, but to some sport of doom.
You may write me down in history
With faint acclaims of martyrhood
But we were all heroes for living
We faced and trod in this world’s dirt
And still, like dust, we rise
ii
To the stars from which we came
You won’t see us any longer
But we’ll be back with new faces
Hungry minds, stronger hearts?
There is no stopping change
How many teardrops did we catch
On our shoulders? That day, those years?
iii
We were shot with words, and killed
By discrimination, prejudice and politics
We outlived history, with our soulful cry?
Because we believed in doing Good
Doing good anywhere is good everywhere
iv
We took the time to speak to the people
Without being victims or seeing enemies
You may write me down as anonymous
But I strove to be a good citizen
To laugh and cry in balanced measure
v
Never to be afraid of life’s energy
Don’t complain, if you can’t change it
It takes courage to display empathy
Day after day, don’t be a coward
Even if you have just one smile left
Give it to the people you love
And if you have nobody, smile to yourself.
Virtue is not erratic, it’s the
Intolerance of ignorance
But to change the world
You must never let them forget
How you made them Feel
My Mother said I must
Know myself as a creation of God
Obliged to remember that
Everyone else and everything else
Are also God’s creations
So what does it matter?
We tried to be rainbows
In the clouds, to Love
Without barriers, penetrating
All walls to arrive at our
Destination, full of hope & prayer
Nothing will work, unless you do:
Virtue is not achieving something
But being somebody who
Renders the future accessible to the present
Sharing the untold stories inside of you
You are the sum total of
Everything you’ve ever experienced
Everyone influences us and
Our ‘mother wit’ is the hope
To reflect something positive unto others
For hope is the courage to be
More generous, more merciful
and more honest.
The Body is my holy instrument
Therefore I shall not endure to live
At the expense of suffering creatures
I shall not ingest poisons or other animals
ii
I shall be skilful with service & flowers
This world is like foam, to be sure
Ready to be born and to die at every moment
I shall see death and life equally, as if
With the same eyes, loving all who follow
Their inherent natural purpose, these clear paths
Satiated so easily in worldly pleasures
iii
The sleeping Cities consuming & gathering
Wealth, children, time – I know it’s temporary
I care not for the faults of others that are necessary
Nor for those who would conquer the world
iv
Like Flowers we must give our own colors
As many kinds of garlands, our scents travel
Down to the River, with the good Wind
The Soul is my holy seat of memory
Therefore I shall serve beauty and suffering creatures
The blind machine of the crowd cares enough for itself.
I have loved Thee with two loves
a selfish love that was of ignorance
and a love that is worthy of thee –
as for the love which is selfish
I occupy myself with thee!
With my suffering, with my little aims
Therefore I include myself with thee
In the addition of all others
In some unity for which I do not understand
But in the love which is pure
I have renounced the world for giving
The giving that was selfish indeed
altruism, art, spiritual seeking; they were
all selfish too, though I always strive
To raise my love to some forgotten heights
where I might taste some fresh divinity
to praise thee in both this and that –
that love was my only measure of reaching
and learning how to be selfish & unselfish.
In
my soul
There is a temple, a shrine, a garden
where my religion is love
nature, freedom, peace
Where time
Does not have a body
And the future is not
A question of economy, survival, friendship
But where all dissolves
In divinity and connectedness
where ecstasy gets poured into itself
spreading across the galaxies
like a spiritual luminosity
In
my soul
There is a voice, a whisper, a melody
where all art retreats in deeper revelry
and hope
Does not require a family, nation, empire
But can include everything, everyone, all beings.
The blog is dedicated to the people which care about their goals, dreams , actions including the ones that have paused , slow down or even stopped moving forward.
Wuji Seshat 