A refuge from the eternal cynic …….

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An Equation to Persuasion

Numbers are the universal language in the mind of humanity

They are the mathematical principle of our inherent tapestry

In nature designs and  heavenly equations

Rotate endlessly beyond our considerations

Why then do we conjecture about the logic of its proposition

That life is eternal with such antipodal opposition ?

In a universe of distinct and geometric symmetry

Where the laws of movement are governed by natural tyranny

The musical mastery in the octave of a tonal interval

Where two frequencies having a ratio of 2 to 1 are integral

Why then does the meandering minstrel of philosophical bent

Guide us through this hypothesis with an aim to circumvent?

Has a miscast chord aimed from above the celestial sphere

Forced us to reevaluate the reason  we are here

Is it some kind of mistune played on our minds

Focusing on the ancient  written designs

Whose words we ponder with urgent solicitude

Speculating the proof which nurtures disquietude?

All of life resonates the death of its image and likeness of its being

Is a ritual to the perfect harmony of its continual foreseeing

Like a harp from the heavens of an unknown destiny

Playing the tune of mystery mirrors the pain of history

With the force needed to make that leap in time

To take us into the higher octave into another paradigm.

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From the Other Side !

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Whenever I happen to perchance walking past or into a cemetery there is a timeless feeling of relief and tranquility washes over me like a cleansing agent for my emotional stresses. Walking past all of the rich and varied epitaphs on the grave sites offers a beautiful tapestry of singular moments caught in the memories of the deceased. I sometimes feel humbled at these precise moments of contemplation questioning, what is more important than celebrating communal life in all of its glory and transient wonder? I have never been obsessed with the thought of dying and I am not into living my life waiting for death but the absolute and final exit from this stage holds an unbelievable fascination for me. The idea that a close friend or relative or even a personal role model was with me in flesh and blood and we communicated once upon a time, undergoes a hard process to accept that this physical encounter will never happen again. I do not feel morbid or emotionally anxious about this inevitability that befalls everyone but at times I ponder the various platitudes surrounding the thought of death and also scan the mental images of this thought as perceived through the passageways of history. The conceptual reality that we walk into this room of life through the front door and then exit through the back door into a land unknown and from where no-one has returned leaves me stunned,  in a sense like being stung with a strong dose of medicinal reality.  I reflect on all of the trials and tribulations, all the hopes and the aspirations of so many; in fact all of humanity who have preceded me. In this realisation there is a comforting thought that emanates from a socialist perspective. All the riches, all the powers, imagined or real vanish once we pass that threshold. I empathise with my ancestors and imagine the sensual mysteries that life would have held for our progenitors; I witness the soothing theories of after-life and trace their natural demise with the ongoing rationale of contemporary science. And still as I meditate the discoveries of the modern world, the legacy leaves me with stunned silence and reverential respect for all that have passed by and for all who will enter into the beyond.

I use these ponderous thoughts to whip up a mock epitaph using an image to bounce off……

From Beyond

Welcome stranger to my final rest

I come to you from the other side

A faceless person emerging from this nest

With a passion to guide

In life as in death the sad truth

Is captured in this prism I hold

The  wonders of  eternal youth

Of celebrations foretold

Do not deny me the dignity

Of your reflective thought

Strike a light on my memory

Immortalise what I sought !

Proclamation of the Mending Spirit

“Life isn’t about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself.”

George Bernard Shaw

In moments of reflection I gather my thoughts and consider the nature of my life as it is….

The way I see it, is always changing and the beauty is in the ways I can define myself through the imagination….

The emotional journey that each day has in store for me triggers associations and memories that capture fleeting predilections….

Should I abandon these feelings all is not lost and the place of unguarded moments follows another sequence of imaginative thoughts and the journey begins once again ….

At times I am led into dismal caves of unpleasantness usually provoked by the symptoms of social stresses that unwittingly codify and compartmentalise my creative self and so I lock myself in to these cages of despair unknowingly…

I eventually escape, reinvigorate, reinvent my intentions and restore to empower my journey to continue into areas of depersonalised and neutralised zones of discovery

Oblivious to the sacrifice that buffers the sadness of my fellow comrades I must proclaim… 

 It is I who will die one day and it is I who should live my life in the way I create.

Are We All Gambling On Another Day?

I’m not sure if you know of Charles Bukowski but after reading his poem Gamblers All it got me thinking about things in life -especially my life. Here’s a copy of it below:

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Gamblers All – Poem by Charles Bukowski

sometimes you climb out of bed in the morning and you think,
I’m not going to make it, but you laugh inside
remembering all the times you’ve felt that way, and
you walk to the bathroom, do your toilet, see that face
in the mirror, oh my oh my oh my, but you comb your hair anyway,
get into your street clothes, feed the cats, fetch the
newspaper of horror, place it on the coffee table, kiss your
wife goodbye, and then you are backing the car out into life itself,
like millions of others you enter the arena once more.

you are on the freeway threading through traffic now,
moving both towards something and towards nothing at all as you punch
the radio on and get Mozart, which is something, and you will somehow
get through the slow days and the busy days and the dull
days and the hateful days and the rare days, all both so delightful
and so disappointing because
we are all so alike and so different.

you find the turn-off, drive through the most dangerous
part of town, feel momentarily wonderful as Mozart works
his way into your brain and slides down along your bones and
out through your shoes.

it’s been a tough fight worth fighting
as we all drive along
betting on another day.

Charles Bukowski
 This poem really struck a chord in me not only for its stark reality and pragmatic philosophy about modern contemporary suburban lifestyle but also because  it changed my attitude towards my approach in living and experiencing my days. I try and keep this alive in me.
In more ways than one we are all gambling on getting through another day and if we put this in perspective then all of our worries, concerns, anxieties evaporate into a meaningless corner of social priorities based on illusions of importance.
The idea that each day could be our last is a celebration of fortune. I mean this in both the obvious  sense of fortunate to be alive and the metaphoric sense of surviving the elements of nature.
No one escapes the trials and tribulations of day to day living but to see it expressed in such simplicity and with such fresh perspective lightens the load. The stress and the discomfort become a shared and collective experience which triggers a genuine drive to see life from the vantage point of a risk taker who is forced to sucuumb to the pressures but also realise that luck plays a huge role in the fact that we are alive and empowered to think, interact, experience, observe and participate.
The poem injects an appreciation and a celebration of the life I have and having said this I am reminded of one of Einstein’s famous quotes , ” God doesn’t play dice with the  Universe !” and my response to that is ” What’s God got to do with it?”
 How do you see this poem?
Any comments, suggestions, directions, ideas, criticisms, overhauls, rejections are more than welcome……..
We are all visitors to this place and travellers through space so bouncing off one another can only improve or disprove my emotional reactions…and I really want to know what it is that I am trying to visualise and communicate with help from my comrades in life…

A Call To Bacchus

 

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Oh to dream my desires and lose myself in these fires

To contrast my body with the selfless misery

Of so many souls trapped in a vortex of my imagery

I love the soothing, sensuality of it all

Makes me want to embrace myself to the core

Please don’t awaken me to this illusion

Allow me once more to fulfil my delusion

Too many times I have abandoned this need

To submerge myself under this creed

                                            Entangled, enhanced, enriched, embraced

Inside this cauldron of my maker’s face

A mask for pure lust on a week long trail

Give me your flesh and let me sail

Into the sunset of oblivion….

The Overtures of Time

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I look into the mirror of my memory and I see stardust. A vortex of imagery encircles my imagination and I begin to fall under the pressure of gravity. In the midst of the corner of my eye – I descend – and witness a sea of humanity. In an instant echoes of time explode into a myriad of colours. The tapestry of history is draped before me… Oh, how I long to suspend  self – righteousness, to disengage  logic and pierce the barriers shackling my existence. I need to disentangle the crusts of calcified social conditioning and open the door to reality and view a world  that is less inhibited, less influenced by the musings of wise but staid old men we are taught to esteem from ages past.

The science of conscience seeps through the cracks of reasoning and I am catapulted to a lonely summit overlooking a moral landscape struck and blinded by the thunderings of unconscionable nature. It is a cold, hard power of a frightening epiphany that ironically soothes me whilst waiting for the signatures of mortality. I live to participate in this thing we call life and I breathe to extricate this thing we call sanity….29af2-artclockeyeimage

Photons of endlessness float rhythmically in and out of the pores of flesh and a mind glimpses radiance in unison…My thoughts are incomplete – there is no other way- unable and incapable to articulate the systemic harmony experienced in this pulsating certainty we call time… a reflection and a direction mesmerised by the sun’s setting once again over and over….painting the kaleidoscope of humanity’s crimson horizon.