Immediate access code

I don’t know all the names
by which you are summoned.
Sensing the many-layered resonances
in the stillness between
this heart-beat and that nerve-pulse,
where the breath lies empty,
time is even weaker than gravity.

Wading through the torrential
outpouring of carefully cultivated
bits of data, coalescing into
a category we might call news,
I am becoming as one attuned –
the seer of mysteries and
the oracle of plutocratic expediency.

The keystone for every good joke
is misdirection, like that time
they drained the oceans and provided
desalination-in-a-box kits for arid lands,
quiescing the climate protectors
with seven generations of indenture
for the privilege of a drop of clean water.

The drunkard, drowning in a deluge
of his own illusions will do anything
to extract one last drink, ad nauseum,
spewing out slack-jawed solutions to
supply chain problems – fracks himself
some lubricant for the road to annihilation.
Mate, we’d better hide his bloody car keys
before he kills us all.

I don’t know all the names
by which you are summoned.
In this bottomless cycle of avarice,
the accretion of our histories is forged
in the bodies of children and tattooed
inside our eyelids. No matter how we’re
chained up, we have always been free.

Our immediate access code,
the soul-memory of our ancestors,
is written in the blood of love.

!

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On love, part 2

ScrollEndless it seems
Laughing at the notion
Of an empty vessel
It’s never barren!

Spilling love left and right
I pause to discuss the
Silliest front-page article.
It’s no secret around here
That my agenda is to maximise
The ratio of smiles-per-minute
While the coffee gets poured.

Next stop, corner shop
and that rude new guy…
I wonder if I should just leave him
To his one-man resistance campaign?
But I am overflowing again.
The subtle double-tap of a sincere
“Thank you so much” and “Have a good day”
Brings the siege to an end while
The surprise brightens his eyes.

Some days I’m not even sure
My feet are making contact
With the concrete.
Aimlessly drifting within a stream
of sorts, I am aware of
No predestination yet
It goes where it will
Liquefying rock-hard hearts
and iron fists.

My fellow humans!
Show me where it ends
Show me the place
Where love cannot enter.

*

Under heaven nothing is more soft and yielding than water.
Yet for attacking the solid and strong, nothing is better;
It has no equal.
Tao Te Ching. 78

On love, part 1

There’s only one side

One heart, one love

I’m on the side
Of the whole world

One soul, one truth

Hair can be straight,
Frazzled or curled

One life, one dream

Skin can be warmth,
Yet men are grouped

One earth, one peace

Eyes may not see
Minds can be duped

One voice, one hope

A human dies
As nations weep

One world, one joy

One is awake
Two are asleep.

*

An evening with Dr Cornel West

An intellectual evening with Dr Cornel West | The Saturday Paper.

For all kinds of reasons, I would have to say this was the best night of my life. The author of the linked article, Maxine Beneba Clarke, hasn’t mentioned anything here about her own magical, heart-opening performance. However, the article does a nice job of capturing the spirit of the experience.

While he was in town, Dr West was also a guest on the highest rating episode of ABC’s Q&A show ever – so he made a big impact during his visit to Australia.

My friends and I spent a few minutes afterwards discussing the immediate highlights such as the delightful experience of hearing the statement “there’s a white supremacist in me” said by a black man in a public forum. It’s one of those things that has an instant effect on everyone who actually lets the idea sink in. We also spent some time thinking of what questions we would ask Dr West if we had the chance. I was as enthusiastic and excitable as a teenager so I shot out of the blocks with, “Do you want to come and live at my house?” Everyone agreed that should be the first question we ask.

When it came down to actually meeting him though I asked Dr West about resistance to facts/information/other perspectives by the white population and what role negative rhetoric by the black community might play in this. He spoke with me about how people learn through catastrophe if they don’t learn any other way.

After sitting on this experience for a week, I can see how off-track my question was… oh well we live and learn. In hindsight, I should have just asked myself about my own resistance in response to all the negative rhetoric I hear and read. More importantly though, I can see how timid I’ve been. I’m not saying that with any judgment, we do what is essential to survival and anyway, it is what it is.

What I do know – is that I have been holding out to see whether the most valued aspects of my way of being could be positively reflected in a world dominated and shaped by those and their minions who have a lust for power and money and various other things of dubious virtue. Those who aren’t afraid to use violence to achieve their goals. Those who are patting themselves on the back for all that number-crunching, someone-else’s back-breaking success they’ve managed to snatch like candy from a baby. Those who think they have won.

Click! knowing and awe have become artists-in-residence;
a flowing arrangement of clear vision and virtuous men returning to simple truths.
line from a poem earlier this year – Smashing Beliefs

In short, Dr Cornel West appears to be the type of man I always expected and hoped to see in the world but hadn’t found. So many times I’ve been told, and by so many, that I have unrealistic expectations… yet here he is. This man not only exists – I got to meet him.

Robyn_DrWest

I am eternally grateful to the friend who took me to this event, Nasser, a fellow magician who is also burdened with the curse of unreasonable expectations and and the wherewithal to make them happen.

*

Peace, brothers and sisters. Over here the love is still flowing 😉

What are you looking at?

What are you looking at?

The truth of me is not beautiful at all
It’s the story of so much blood, tears and mud
Seeping into crevices, drying out and cracking
Under a relentless radiant gaze
Rendering my skin transparent to the sun.

Look! You won’t find anything inside
It’s all out here in front of me. All of it.
The debris of inspecting and judging
And downcast eyes while turning away.

I’m too modest and too proud
For the mechanics and toil of beauty
Too tired of endless repetition
Stripping down to perfection
Carving and threshing and tweaking
Until we’re all wearing the same face
And my eyes have turned opaque.

Once I saw a young boy dance his vision.
Another time, you and I sat for hours together
Contemplating unity and the nature of water.
In that moment your life took form
As the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

Against a decoupage landscape of highlights and spotlights
Permanent looks of mild surprise and unfathomable ideals
Candid poses and so much inhumanly-toned skin;
Those magazine-TV-advertising-marketing
Members of the Brotherhood-of-Lies
Have arrived at an entirely different truth than mine.

*

desert_sunrise

This is the second “Missive from the scrap heap”. It was written in response to a request a couple of days ago but it turned out to be inappropriate for that purpose. What is most interesting to me is how I experienced the idea of beauty 20 years ago compared to this surprising response to the idea of beauty now.

Eclipse in Scorpio

Today, I have two posts that are essentially “Missives from the scrap heap”. They are both on the topic of beauty and they have both been rejected by their original audience. I’m publishing them now because they do in fact pass the secret “What is my truth” test, so I’m happy to reconsider them as – yet to fulfil their purpose or find their true home.

“Eclipse” is not meant to be about sex. So far that’s what everyone seems to think it’s about. These days I can take it on the chin and find new meanings from such contrasts between what I was thinking when I wrote and what the reader hears. It’s potentially where the magic lives. So in the spirit of – take it however you will – I set this baby free!

4th November 1994
Eclipse in Scorpio

There’s a waking dream
Dormant ’til I felt true
And now my lighter is out of gas.
Don’t smoke this dream.
But I want this to float away
Up high on the air
Leave me down here with the ash.
Too real, too real –
Find matches quickly!
I think it’s gone now.

I open my chest
Golden light rainbow brilliant colour
Streams out and hits you in the face.
Then I open my chest
It’s grey and dead
I’ve taken out all the good bits.

Death and life
I want my skin off
So we can touch bones
My muscles to shrivel
And peel away
My organs inside this
Unbidden fortress.

I’m trying to think of
Beautiful words to say next
But “touch me
Is all that comes to mind.

I don’t want to be clever,
Say the right things,
Do the right things,
Be what you want.

No clothes
No desires
No trimmings
No trappings
No wishes
No mercy
No needs

I want to shine on you for an instant

And you’ll leave an echo
And you’ll journey with me
And you won’t remember.

I wish I could paint this
I want you to know me.

*

On love

I used to idolise people
From afar.
Fallible, flawed, futile
Fumbling in the dark one day,
Flying at rainbows the next.
Measuring the dimensions of my worth
By the extent of my forgiveness.

Catching a whiff of the words we choose
Through echo memories
I hear you –
Same same but different
Now I love with everything I have.

Still yet to fathom personal love.
Arms stretched wide
Around our entire existence,
Past the finish line,
Willing to survival,
Willing to peace,
Manifests as no time for you and me.

But I felt so alone
When everyone was framed in gold
And I was the frightful straw doll,
Bent and damp with despair,
Freedom and fairness
Frustratingly out of grasp.

I want to love you alone
But I’m scared you’ll be knocked flat.

*

My inspiration:
Here’s a truly excellent piece of writing — Why We Love — on a topic I’m not usually the least bit interested in. Still… it worked it’s magic.