On Being Conducted

In the sympathy of the Absolute
Mozart or Shakespeare didn’t know
How beautiful the categories
That makes a heart full with her genius
Or how a person can fly inside
In free-associating with our highest destiny

Sometimes we just follow whispers
And hit notes of mysterious Poetry
Or find a beautiful day to make music
And in the solitude of an ending meditate
I remember the feeling of internal seekers
That always wanted me to push on

And the petitions for more revelations
From the internal holy ghosts
I remember how certain emotions
Evoke a sense of wonder and how
The miracles drove me to visit the spot
Where God stood on his heels for me

And I felt the full gravity of time
And philosophy insisted to meet me as my guest
In the simplicity of what I believed was destiny.

To take us lands away

(Prayers of Jivatma)

The sky is the content
The trees are the content
The people, they’re just visitors

Who will go extinct like any species
Who may attempt to fly from
Star to planet to planet-star

As a dragonfly might fly from one
End of the summer backyard to the other
There is no special season

To be whisked away, no passage
Like a book, no counselor like a page
From the frugal reality we live

To the grand impression of the human soul
Encapsulated in a few novels
That transformed the way we perceive

Events and our cognition of how
The world works, and what is possible
That’s philosophy of memes

That we project what we invest in
A chariot at play forever learning
With a mind that can barley keep up

To the new speed of information
The stars are the content
The birds are the believers
We are just authors of a human story.

On The F r i n g e s of E n l i g h t e n m e n t

On The F r i n g e s of E n l i g h t e n m e n t

I am the beginning’s mind
In love with many possibilities
So I became a poet
Without accepting the fact

That everything changes
We are impotent
We cannot find perfect composure

Life is a koan ready to be experienced
Transience is that nature
And nurture of the game
Art is like the discipline

Of creating a reoccurring situation
Where the world is its own magic
And we are visitors, it’s that simple

So won’t you stay for a while?
Everything is perfect
And understanding yourself
Allows you to understand everything

And ultimately, we must exist
Right here and now
I am the beginner at love

For only recently
Did I recognize her everywhere.

More About the Meaning of Life

At First, I raged for Freedom

Let us go then, you and I,
Into the evening spread across skies
Multitudes of simultaneous cries

Consciousness reborn
How many billion souls?
Does it take to make up a galaxy?
Like a work of art

We’ll never know
Well come and go, live and die
Into the room where women give birth

Where lovers visit, to serve evolution
The questions never answered
Of a million indecisive moments…

In a lifetime, that passes
As quickly as the predictable
Trail of thoughts, analytics of choice

Let us go then, you and I,
To be the only person
We could have been

The toast and the tea
The smiles and the tears
Do I dare, to dare, to be?

Into the thongs, singular yet identical
Unique and totally related
Human and trapped
In probability, function, duty, environment
Conditioned to be a certain way.

Pictured, https://www.facebook.com/ChloeBennet, Chloe Bennet (“Skye”).

(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chloe_Bennet)

Title Embedded Below

We Worship perfect because we can’t have it

Language, it has allowed me to dream
I’ve never done anything but dream
All experience is a simulation
Of what our senses tell us

We perceive, all relationships
Are 80% make believe
And thus, I come to the point
Where my ultimate concern

Is naturally, for my inner life
Is the book of disquiet over?
Is the meaning found that escaped me?
Are the idols ready to be pushed aside?

And the myths, are they ready
To succumb to new myths, new standards?
To make way for the new
Language, it has allowed me to feel

I’ve never done anything but feel
All thoughts have a quality of feeling
Objectivity is the greatest lie
But subjectivity is an ironic dreamer

Full of queer promises and casual observations
That do not register fully until years later
That I take a certain pleasure in the fact
Of watching daydreams go down in defeat

Words like any truth, are part duality
And what once seemed like a clever remark
Can later feel like the ghost of an imaginary friend.

In order to understand

In order to understand

It’s quarter after three, in my life
That’s a lot of life gone
That’s, a lot of life left

I’ve learned to listen
To the notes in the margin
Before the pages are
Completely erased
Everything lingers with me

In my heart, the world works
In mysterious ways, we are all
Perfect strangers, and perfectly familiar

The poets are eccentric and figures
I’ve rarely conversed with, sure
I’ve read dead ones and the like
Literature is after all

The most agreeable way of ignoring life
And it’s not, that I’m consciously
Trying to ignore my life
Life is beautiful and mixed up

While my past is everything I failed to be
My future makes my soul impatient
Everything interests me
But nothing holds me

Dreaming all the while
Both my soul and I
Keep our distance
I wake up early in the morning

Only to find it takes me
A long time getting
Ready to exist, so here we go

We never love anyone, no
We love the idea we have of someone
Strangely, it’s our own concepts
Our own imaginary ideas

That we love, intrinsically
We are dumb like that
And in order to understand
Ourselves, we have to die to ourselves

It’s philosophy existentially
And the experience of the
Soul’s hidden orchestra
I know the instruments
All I can hear now is symphony.

The philosophy of loving

The philosophy of loving

I’ve loved the world
As much as I very could
And often purely in mood

Imagined if she thought of me
Our relationship consists
Of discussing if we existed

And I adored thinking this way
For I knew mortality was short
A pause in a breath
A light in the dark
A musing of the possible

During which time the potential
Faded, mutated, alternated
I love this world

And hope to find affinity
In her tragedies and embracing error
Find strength in failure

And joy somehow in sorrow
And unity on the frigid cheeks of loneliness.

The progress algorithm

The progress algorithm

After death and dealings
Taxes and bankruptcy
Smiling is madness in its

Divinest sense, descendant divinity
Evolution of plurals
Oneness of connected missions

Assent, ascent, into enchantment
Time is straightway dangerous
But everything to be tamed

After the fall, after morning
What will become of us?
There is no time to hate

Only time to learn a bit
The grave would thus hinder me
When I need lifetimes to

Assimilate the ampler designs
Of industry and a little toil of love
For gains larger than myself

No time to profit, no time to reap
Only the hunger all these years
To dine at noon with algorithms

And by Big data’s decree
Look through windows of prosperity
Where information turns to

Nature’s dining rooms
To transpose a rose, is a rose
Is a golden rose of outsides
That hunger was a way
Of finding technological dynasty.

Philosophy of maybe

I see that there is no nature
only that which we project onto her
that image perhaps evolved in us
due to an interaction with her

but we do not ascertain directly
we do not know anything concretely
everything is translated by sense

imperfectly, translated by science
temporarily, dictated by out-dated dogma
unsystematically, felt incompletely
identified with, with a mesh of duality

I see that there is no nature
that Nature does not exist
there are these myths of the good

myths of God, and shoulds
but our entire world imprisoned
memes, simulations, accepted truth
between us here, that may be false

to another kind of creature
the true and real are a disease
of their own ideas, there exists

a unity that we cannot fathom
that the hills, valleys, plains, oceans
forests, sunlight, flowers, grass
maybe nature without parts

is a whole for which we are
only a piece and therefore
cannot fully grasp beyond ourselves.

The Space where Light Initiates

I carry in my heart space

Not time, not memory, not love

Space as wide as the universe

Where life can flourish from

Star to sacred star, light to holy light

The cosmos is a public and interior

Space, the meadow where

Flower are stars, and gardens are planets

I carry light in my mind

Time is only the distance between

Point and point, species and species

Intelligence and evolution guiding

The cycles of energy, the gases and elements

I carry the universe in my eyes

Can you see it, does it reach you?

Until we learn to use space-time

And until the stars join in a necklace

Of golden flourishing, I will wait

Suspecting the billions of years

Have been an illusion, an initiative

Of unity, that witnesses the universe

As one living thriving organism.

In the Meaning of Words

In the sight sound touch taste smell of a poem
I can feel the power of history
The gap of lyrics in the years

A synaesthesia of what we should have known
All along, the cinnamon hope
Of the lost sonnet sequences

Of a Petrarchan burden of
The Shakespearean touch
But I’m not here for stanzas or sestinas
I’m a floating unread Haiku in time

I’m a limerick without humour
Catching fire, I’m a ballade
Of too much emotional to encompass

And the truth is, I’m an epitaph
Read out loud to myself for myself
And maybe, that’s all I ever was
An epigram of blank verse

A muse on an imaginary stage
A symbol, a pun, a simile ready
To be personified like an oxymoron

A denotation of myself, contrasting
The sufficient irony of allegory
That’s it, that’s all, goodbye.

Slogan while drunk

Stillness,
At the breath of first morning
White as swans on the river blown
Time adrift among the roses
Europe’s balconies spilled
Over into new moments
The tide of experience
Flooding, flowing, caressing
Consciousness and wiped clean
Stretching out into
The obscene and vague concept
Of tomorrow,
Nothing moves larger than dream
When hours are large and oval
It’s promiscuous to plan too much
And somewhat foolhardy
In the whirlwind of days
Nothing is sure
Not work, love, or existence.

Experience in perihelion

Violets, doves, girls, bees
And oh, hyacinths
Are inconstant objects
With an inconstant cause

So floods the springs
It must change, face
To face, epoch to epoch
Thought to thought

Year to year, swollen
With the mutability of life
Energy in a universe
Of light pushing the pace

The heroic part is not
Surviving it all, it’s
To learn to let go
The major abstraction

Is not to plan for a future
But to transcend the idea
Of being ready for a future
That is always just an

Illusion of what today is
The partners leave, the kids
They grow up, the money
Separates from your fingers

The memories grow exotic
Life bleeds a final elegance
In how quickly it leaves
The beating heart, the candles
That went out in the rain.

The Soul Achieves Herself without effort

Gradual is our relationship
with the grace behind nature
another spectral October Fall
how the wizard sun confines

and the flamingo sunsets wave goodbye
the fires ebb, the flowers cease
their sport, the stars wink
at snowflakes on their fall

to carpet a sparkling web
sapphire moments drift by
at dusk in the cities
there is a soft glimmer

in the streets, it is cold outside
as we bow one by one into
our brief solitude, with visions
to guide us for the labours of tomorrow

paralyzed by the savings of gold
or the lack of savings in our bank accounts
the wisdom of life is a brief release
the details we once scrutinized

no longer seem so important after all
to live a good life, means different things
at separate points in our story
and nothing in the end intoxicates

like the God neurochemical
call it what you will, the spirit
lives on after all these subplots
the search for a diviner brand

of metaphysics, philosophy, utopia
until there are no visitors to our soul
but a diviner truth, a more united feeling
gradual is our relationship
with what’s beyond the scope of years.

Photo Courtesy:

1. http://www.deviantart.com/art/Be-on-the-road-with-warmly-thoughts-482560577
2. http://www.deviantart.com/art/Deer-Collaboration-483167431

Daybreak at Postmodern

In the suburb of the absolute
I’m born a baby of silence
With the shrieks of the birds of creation

In my soul, I belong to burnt-out afternoons
Of love in being on a yellow star
In some green obscurity of history
I thought beyond portraits
Of will and admired the beauty

Of the known and unknown worlds
Nothing was alien, everyone
Was familiar, strangers like friends

In the bed of music I awoke
To time, and the immaculate extensions
Of how energy converses
Like sex or a transparency of union
With experience, identification became

A sort of mantra of immortal speech
I imagined how it was to be
Everything I saw, people, objects

Celestial events, I became more
Than a cell, greater than a self
I wanted to know what it was like
To live in a living temple
Of the bundle of all worlds

The ultimate expression of collective
Consciousness, wrapped in some cosmic radiance
I knew I would outlive cities, alphabets

And wander in forests, and visit stars
I would cease living in shadow
And remember lineage, descendant divinity
The instantaneous future that is
Everything, the identification
With all that has or will ever evolve.

Featured Artist:
AGNES CECILE
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Descendant Divinity

Time with no help from us
Has placed you exactly where
You need to be, for no two moments

Are ever alike, or have the same quality
Of yesterday or tomorrow, today is
The silence on the snow
A visitor in your mind
Of alien truths that are not so foreign

ii

Space is a sleeping woman
Full of luxuries and stars
Love is the wandering pollen

That is invented day after day
We are all like nomads half sleeping
That haven’t quite accepted
Their place in the design
The story that is like a shared myth

iii

A narrative until the world ends
But worlds are born and die every day
Invisible to our eyes, but our hearts

Are spread thin like the darkness of history
The history that is the future
And the love that is simultaneously
All our ancestors, and all our descendants.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Mermaid-480032374

Dreams of Flower Corpses

Yesterday is but today’s memory, and tomorrow is today’s dream.
~ Khalil Gibran

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/O-472291540

We were all dreamers it would seem
we made our myths and spent
nights in the middle of them
until dawn broke our even
darkening-shapes, because

it took an entire life to decline
or go insane, or might I awaken?
the night dragged our covers
off of us, out of the light
we felt the sleep of our routine

enfolding us like eerie fingers
from some window, or control-panel
might we have been enslaved long ago?
by whom or the government
we still flicked with our ghostly beams

seeking more intelligence, faith, energy
to be who we required destiny
to shape us, our souls knew
the secrets of our mortality
we were dreamers and I swear

we created melodies out of our own fears
musicians of fate, jennies in training.

Having a Kafka Moment

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.

TRANSPARENCY MYSTICISM

I am nothing and are owned by nothing
I am Sufi pure of everything but the Beloved
I am Taoist, empty of myself I exist in non-resistance
I entrust my soul to the Universe, for whatever that wishes
I seize spiritual reality by surrender
I cherish not the individual, but community
Helping others is my prize, the prime condition
Of my well-being, I kneel as such at the door
Of the Beloved, who can say that I live with philosophy?
I am nothing and follow nothing
But the truth of my own core-being
I am not this or that, I am that which moves
In evolution, aware of the mystical realm
I do not change the world, but enact neutrality
I watch and love and by my inner nature I am guided
I feel poor when I own wealth and am humble with power
For the prosperity I seek is of a divine order
And the power I seek is the union with a God-Feeling.

Psalm 3

Lord, how I covet purity and faith!
Many have been the obstacles thou held against me.
Many there be which say of my soul,
There is no help for him on Earth or in God. Selah.
But thou, O Lord, art the fuel of my inner world
My glory, and lifter up of mine diviner eyes
I cried unto the Lord with such my secret voice,
And he heard me out of his timeless mind. Selah.
I was a chosen person woken from sleep
I awaked; for the Lord somehow sustained
My spirit in harder times, since that I cannot be afraid
That I myself was born from such a fate
Arise, O Lord, to save me from my worst self
For thou has smitten all my illusions, one by one
Until all that is left is my salvation & belonging
Thy blessing is upon me now, and I share it freely
For in giving I come upon thy chosen face
To find a love which no failure can prevent Selah.

I WAS LEFT THE LEGACY OF READING

i

All we can read is life
Death is part of her script
Suffering and candles belong
To the living, all around us
And you will end somewhere else
Waiting to die, awkwardly loving
The world that did you some harm

ii

All we can read is beauty
The small anonymous memories
That overpowered others, the questions
Never answered, that don’t belong
To the living or the wise, but
To the great beyond, the quilt of names
That we met, the few faces smiles
By the living, for the living

iii

All we can read is life, flung by hands
That forged children from grassy wombs
Wombs that forgot their mother somehow
In the love that once felt so individual.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/I-give-life-458146106

FOLLOWING KANT (The end of Philosophy)

i

For years I struggled with you
Left-brain, your categories and dissections
Your theories, your need to know
For years, I listened patiently
To your arguments, until I was
Carried off in my head by you

ii

All this, with a Castle in the Air
For years I felt belittled by your logic
Your floating world dreaming of the future
Planning, assimilating, dividing my life
Into cost, benefit and formula

iii

For years I thought I wanted what you wanted
To profit, exploit, progress, become a success
I may love the Jewish mind, but I’m not
Jewish, I was not socialized
Under a purely patriarchal lens
I maybe wasn’t born to melt
Constellations with my mind.

Photography Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Teacup-philosophy-76801013

MY SOLE AND EXCLUSIVE STANDARD

i

You do not just hold my hand
You hold the affections of my Universe
Without one thing all would be useless
“Oneness”, unity, empathy, connection
Call it what you may, it’s here
After a life of being abandoned

ii

It’s by stealth and fire and trials
That we come to realize
We all belong and are carried eternally
Already you see I have escaped
From you, the drama, the mystery

iii

It’s all gone, I’ve come to an understanding
With the world, with existence
I’m determined to befriend everything
In a platonic ideal beyond appearances
That embraces all creeds, cultures, religions
So called separate divisions, all aliens

iv

You do not just hear my voice
You feel my spirit in my language
And that’s all I can ask for
Without this it would be useless
To attempt to communicate shared meaning.

photo Courtesy:

http://www.deviantart.com/art/The-moment-after-43427550

COMPASS HOME TO THE UTMOST

i

I’ve walked to sleep through
Velvet green, with only
An instinct to guide me home
I’ve been the better part
Of a biological simulation
An erotic country of desire
I’ve dreamed across youth
On the brief threshold of experience

ii

For a vacancy drenched in sunlight
And a heart spent wholly in solitude
I’ve hungered for a music
I never heard, and for ideals
That could not exist in this world

iii

I’ve tread water for pure transitions
To accompany my soul to her
Speed of light, to the ultimate
Expression of who I was:
A lack of satiety on the brisk Spring’s edge
A taster in the honeycomb of Summer

iv

I’ve held my own hand in destiny
All things are words of some strange tongue
And each symbol a fading picture
In my mind, all culture a gibberish
Of socialization, how obscure, bizarre
That I should know myself a diviner thing
And feel compassion for the history of the world.

The Latest Existential Being

Tired of the old description of the world
Freedom is not found in a doctrine
But experienced in a landscape

In a new attempt at Living
Having escaped from the Truth
Only then can we say we

Are a seeker, like a being
Without a doctrine, transparent
To the omens of the description to be

Tired of chasing old pleasures
Freedom is not found in a stimulus
But given light in the realms

Of pure thought, deliberate meditations
Becoming directly or from the sun
Freedom is a moment, not captured

It is a matter of how to be free
It is a feeling of how freedom comes
It was everything being more real, ourselves.

Whispers of The Rose

The temple bell dies away
An Empire scatters to the winds
But the scene of a flower
In the evening air

Is Immortal, like the Rose
Whose red-spirituality
Is still tolling the bell
Still Holding up the Empire

Of beauty, this haunts even the sun
A silence at the palace chambers
Of the mystic visionary heart
The dream of life from

All my other dreams, the last symbol
She spreads infinity scrawled
In her pink petals to the starry sea
Each time I encounter that

The sacred fire that is God’s temple lit
A unity of the universe in a leaf
I know the spirit wears its own plumes
Back to the source of our divinity.

Call to Poets CONTEST, enter your 3 best poems:

http://www.writerscafe.org/contests/Wuji-International-Poetry-Festival-V/49443/

To read about it:

https://seshatwuji.wordpress.com/wuji-international-poetry-festival/%5D

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/rose-152423323

Treatise on Immortality & Reincarnation

Between Nothingness and Eternity
I will meet you there
Past the rich pretensions

Of early life, my real name
You will know
By the frequency of my spirit

Wholly unto each other
As beings of Light
We will wrap our souls

With the rainbows of
Divine caliber, preparing
Our minds for future

Incarnations, I am the red thread
That attaches to your gold thread
We are the flame of spirit-stuff

Quantum and without angles
Between the Void and Infinity
I will meet you there

As particles of the Absolute
Our secret selves shall bathe
In the same bliss and rejoice

With unmeasured thoughts of the vast stars
Where Immortality shines in a billion
Evolving selves, with the speed of time.

Photography Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Spectrum-Over-South-Dakota-422603660

Treatise on Sri Chinmoy

Be universal in your love
For we all come from its being
You will see the universe

To be the picture of your own being
If we call ourselves children
Of God, what is the place

In exploiting each other?
Approach each as a Beloved
For complete and total acceptances

From when we have expertise in empathy
Love being the only wealth
That man absolutely needs

That can heal man absolutely
Love is the only wealth
That God precisely is, since
We all require mercy and poor mysticism!

In underestimating the place of simplicity
In the end of our suffering
Be universal in your love
For it is only in the highest altruism

You are capable, that you attain
Your intended perfection
Try to approach God

With your crying heart, try
To feel the crying heart in others
That you might all approach
The same spiritual consciousness.

Treatise on Kahlil Gibran

The teacher is who learns from pupils
They are everywhere, emerging out of suffering
Leading you to the threshold of mind
Where all ancestors worked for the same cause
And all descendants unite inevitably

The strongest souls are those who
hold the most love in their service
there are no scars in rebirths, only
karmic residue, personal tendencies
Your living is determined not so much

by what life brings to you as by the
attitude you bring to life, perception is
The quantum variable, in silence’s vein
We find new teachers in purity
New levels of humility, where wisdom

Ceases to worship itself, but melts into spirit
There sweetness of friendships remain
Rising as faith like a knowledge in the heart
Beyond every proof, boundless as unconditional love
Yesterday is but today’s false shadow-memory

And tomorrow is but a Beloved-dream
Faith is the living oasis of the present
The timeless in you is aware of life’s timelessness
You pray in your distress, but you have been here before
We are all a prophet, we’ve all forged bonds of love

Arisen from the same loaf of mind
Alone in the same music of our hours of separation
Give your hearts, risk all to give
For in the moving sea lies the greatest rewards
We wanderers, ever seek the lonelier way
That we might trap divinity in a sunset

On some height we thought we were the first to climb
When love of higher things beckoned us
We followed him, though his ways were hard and steep
Even while the earth sleeps we travel
And give praise to the scattered winds of our legacies.

Treatise on Socrates

Knowing nothing, I am wisdom
Beginning to wonder, by all means
Marrying my time on the Earth
contentment being the wealth of my nature
Since all men’s souls are immortal

What should I fear, tell me?
I’ve got a good wife, I’ve become happy
though if I took a lover, it would be
Philosophy, that dead pursuit
Of men who like to admit

That true wisdom is following our nature
Sincerely, God knows best what is
Good for us, and be as a child
For an honest man is always a child
Avoiding the bareness of a busy life

Let him that would move the world
First move himself, becoming one’s own teacher
Wonder is the beginning of wisdom
Be kind, for everyone is fighting a hard battle
The self is its own casing of ignorance

Strong minds discuss ideas, average minds discuss events
Weak minds discus people, therefore learn
To gossip of higher stuff, an education of living.