They run like colts
in river beds of solid wines
flicking whatever berries
at each other
or something.
They both understand the language
wondering with each other.
Laughing
and knowing
when they hurt each other.
Suffering for each others pain
and crying
because they dance
within each others rain.
—————————————–
You have always been a movie to me
knowing I could never touch you.
Now you sit and stare at me
through the other side of this bottle
setting on the table here between us.
I feel as if a magic is missing
you are not the star I dreamed of.
Once you were the shining light
of my heavens dreaming
in a momentary wish.
Now I can see what I am left with
is not what I had hoped for.
I see what I am watching
is not what I had once enjoyed.
You have always been a movie to me
now my life plays in reverse.
I never could quite touch you
now I know
I’ve touched too much.
——————————————-
A thick blanket of fog covers the Earth
I look out to see the new day
a bright ray of sun breaks through the darkness
and only those who see the light
will dream.
‘There is Nothing in the Desert, And Every Man Needs Nothing’
The actual quote is from ‘Lawrence of Arabia’ and it reads, ‘There is nothing in the desert, and no man needs nothing’. It was recently used in the film ‘Prometheus’, from Ridley Scott. It’s a great line and very significant in the film. Where once again we witness the dangers of technology and the humans that create it. Mary Shelley warned of us how our passion for striving to be as powerful over others as God, could lead to our own self-destruction. But we don’t have to read ‘Frankenstein’. All we have to do is look around us every day. Man’s attempt to reach that divine plateau of knowledge, mimicking our own concept of ultimate power we have perceived as God, can be both a blessing and a curse. It is only by our own cautious manipulation of those great powers we have achieved, that we will control our own fate toward advancement or destruction.
Need I remind you of this as you stare at your computer screen? Or dabble with your phone? Or sit complacent for hours in front of your television? What I can remind you of . . . is how every technology is simply a tool. And like any tool, it can be used for good or for evil. A hammer or a wrench can build or fix the greatest of challenges, but they can also be used to strike the life of another living being. And a tool is not a human being. We can use tools to improve the lives of other beings. But tools do not have a heart. They do not feel and they do not love. We often use tools to win the love of others; a new car, a new phone, a new toy. But are we giving with the assumption that the work involved to acquire and gift that tool to win someone else’s love, is equivalent to the love we gift as fellow humans? Is the material gift we give, equivalent to the love of our smile, our compassion, or most important, of our time?
Most of us do not live in a desert. We live in a world where the illusion of abundance surrounds us. An abundant illusion so perfectly manipulated, that we feel no remorse when discarding those things we no longer deem valuable. Our abundant world immediately offers a replacement. We can always buy a newer car, a smarter phone, or another plastic container of water; all of them disposable and replaceable. Of course, only if we happen to be lucky enough or wealthy enough to afford them. But where has our disposable existence of material objects led us? It has led us to another illusion. An illusion where we do not have to face what becomes of our disposable resource once we discard them. We are allowed to wear our blinders and walk away from the refuse of our own existence. There was a time when man’s only disposable waste was his own excrements, or the bones left behind after a meal. We were equivalent with all of life around us, because we shared the same requirements, and we left behind the same by-products. We weren’t leaving our discarded by-products strategically buried for future generations. We were simply returning them to the Earth, where they would recycle into the basic elements of the Earth.
We have learned to accept the illusion of abundance, surrounded by all those material possessions that provide us with the comforts we require. And so I journeyed to the desert. And it is here I realized . . . every man needs nothing. Without a relative perspective in our existence, we have no bearing. And without bearing, we have no existence. All of the material possessions in the world cannot provide the necessary direction for existence. This is the lesson Buddha learned from self-depravation. This is how he achieved enlightenment. There are two examples I will provide (although many others exist). The first example is the child born to wealth. Unlike his parent, who may have started with nothing and achieved great wealth, the child has only known wealth. An entire life will be wasted in a pursuit of happiness through material possessions. And although this person may achieve limitless joys in hedonistic exultation, there will always be an inescapable empty hollow within their lives. Without ‘nothing’, ‘something’ is worthless.
The second example is the starving artist. A master of their Art, but impoverished. In their barren material world, they can create masterpieces of painting, music, and literature. They have the perspective of ‘nothingness’. So to them, every meager possession is a possession of wealth. Here again, their life’s fate can move in either of three different directions. They might continue broke and desolate, creating magnificent works of art. And likely die broke and desolate, but a great artist. Or they can achieve wealth, and their lives will take one of two paths. Either they will lose their creative spirits and immerse themselves in their newly found material wealth. Or, if they are wise, they will continue to create art, but maybe not as passionate or inspired as before.
There are countless examples, every day, all around us, of both the wealth born child and the starving artist. And then there are the rest of us, somewhere in-between. Without knowing ‘nothing’, we will find nothing. And without finding nothing and knowing what we have found, we will not ever find anything else. I have found nothing in the desert. And in the desert I have found everything. I can now see that although I have had everything in my life, without finding ‘nothing’ in the desert, I would not know what it was that I had. I would not know what others do not see. And I would not be able to give you ‘nothing’. Knowing that it is the only ‘something’ I could ever give you, that will keep you nurtured and without thirst, in any desert.
“I have always loved the desert. One sits down on a desert sand dune, sees nothing, hears nothing. Yet through the silence something throbs, and gleams…”
― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince
My sails have weathered and aged
through the years.
They are not as crisp as when they were new.
Yet they take good form to a hearty wind.
My strong treated hardwood masts
even now, stand tall and looming,
proudly visible from a distance.
My polished bow still gleams
in a splash of favorable sun.
And though my deck has keenly felt
the belting torment
of a thousand salty ocean storms
it remains immaculate and polished.
My rudder does not fail
to hold my bearing,
my journey and direction true.
All my instruments are accurate.
And all my lines and ropes, secured, not frayed.
My cabin is a hearth, both warm and soft
of carved and shiny patterned wood
with fathomed depth and heart without bottom.
I am still the captain and the first hand
and the sailor
and the laboring crew.
I still float brisk along bobbing waters
and long to feel the edging wind upon my back.
I still follow guiding stars in pitch black darkness.
And fear the trembling storm
seeking the promised light of a bright new day.
For I was born a great and mighty vessel
and I shall push forward
until my creator
to the great ocean
does call me home.
——————————————
A pagan killed a Jew
A pagan killed a Christian
A Jew killed a Christian
A Christian killed a Jew
A Muslim killed a Christian
A Jew killed a Muslim
A Muslim killed a Jew
A Christian killed a Muslim
They all bowed to pray
to the same ignorant God
with deaf ears
and a passion for killing.
Dear God forgive them.
————————————–
They are tearing up that old road again.
The road we built.
with sweat and blood
and paved in dreams of love.
Old man Grady died there.
Fell off the steepest of the ridge cliffs
into a mad white torrent of river
clutching his pick axe firmly.
For three dark days
we stopped work.
His wife still visits every year.
Throwing fresh colored flowers
grown in her lonely summer garden.
Back then we all worked the mules.
And at the end of every day
the men would all gather
with full whiskey bottles and rye.
Women would bring the cheese and bread.
We laughed and proudly praised the road.
God would smile upon us.
Before the labors
we never could cross
when the hard rains of spring came.
And when the heavy snows of winter fell
we became an isolated island.
No one would ever dare the mountain.
But every six months
when the summer sun cleared the pass
we would haul our goods to town.
Selling animal skins and crops
we kept the children happy.
I hear the roar of the bulldozers coming now.
Our love will soon be paved and covered over.
The women and children are crying.
They’ve hit a silver vein.
And the mining company
brought their bankers and lawyers.
Our love has been bought and sold.
They are tearing up the road again.
The road we paved
with our dreams of love.
——————————————
December 13, 2001
It’s an empty hole now
where the religious wise once preached hate
the mosque they teach peace in
survived.
It’s flowering back to heaven
from where it came
and rose again
this holy land that does not lose
it’s holy history.
Deep below the buried mounds
of bones and dunes and battles
where in the hallowed mosque
tales are told
of peace and love and sorrow.
Is it not the will of men
to teach the will of peace
to love tomorrow?
So the wisdom of the mosque
is not in men
but in the hollow.
_____________________________
(2003)
I heard your poem on the radio today.
Little children were crying and bleeding
bowing to your mighty power.
I pulled my glass eye out
and rolled it down a bubble-gum sidewalk.
Three flies were mystically immersed in conversation.
They were talking about you, of course.
How you fought off all the angry slaves
so we could all drink milk and hug when
the cheerios were no longer crunchy.
I stepped on a pile of you today.
But my new no-stick nuclear shoes
kept me balanced and poised
for your next question.
I had to answer honestly
as all the satellites were
joyously listening
and the quiet drone
of your newly found synthetic existence
filtered the last ounce of sincerity
in the world.
Now everything is happy blue
and darkness hides inside a solar flare.
My chain keeps rattling loudly
inside this cold locked chamber.
And all of our hammers and shovels
were worn down to splintered oak.
But I forgot what trees looked like.
And when I pulled your plastic vagina
from underneath the dusty glass dome
it wouldn’t talk to me anymore.
It dried out and shriveled away.
Now all I have left is a rusty nail
and two holes in my blood soaked hands.
—————————————————
With his brittle bones and his sun cracked face he rode near ‘bout every mile of the round-up trail. He licks the wind and stares out at nothing tobacco dripping lip, spits. Hell, I fought the sun, and I won fought a sneakin’ coyote once, he lost. Broke rattlesnakes in half between bare hands. Got caught in the drought of the Tulsa ride, too. Thought I’d die in that damn burning desert never have I thirst, so much for one wet drop. They found me about four miles from Breakers Pass. Eighteen-ninety-seven, that was my last long ride. Too many damn city boys tryin’ to run the drive. And now my grandson drives off in that noisy pick-up. He’ll never know the dry taste of sand and grainy dust between your teeth. Wind kicking in your face like a thousand angry hoofs punched in your mouth. And my friend, cold black night. Damn all this fancy fiddle. ___________________________
I have just experienced the most amazing collection of doors I have ever seen. If you love beautiful, unique and exotic doors as much as I do, you have to visit this blog site.
Which lead me to thinking about doors. So what is so special about a door? A door is a gateway. It is an opening where you leave a space, however confining or expansive, and enter another space . . . possibly confining, possibly liberating, or possibly just a passage from one reality to another. The first ‘door’ we ever pass through is the ‘door’ of our mothers womb. From then on our lives are spent passing from one door to another. Through gateways of opportunities and experience, hence ‘the door of opportunity knocks’. Jim Morrison highlighted the importance of doors by naming his band ‘The Doors’. His band title was based on Aldous Huxley’s ‘Doors of Perception’, a personal accounting of his experiences with the psychotropic drug mescaline.
‘Doors’ have long been used as an analogy for the passing of the mind from one plane of reality or thought to another. This from Neil Turnbull on his blog site:
The Doors of Philosophy
“Doors are the first threshold into life.
We are always between doors; either indoors or outdoors.
The Romans worshipped doors because they knew that, like life, they look both ways: to the past and to the future.
The philosopher is also in a sense a door: a door from the false to the true; from akrasia to sophia.
The door is the true symbol of philosophy.”
He reveals a clue of why doors are so significant in our lives. Doors are symbolic representations of our passage from ‘past to future’. We travel through doors to reach an objective or a goal. A place where we either want to go, or are forced to go. Doors can lead to euphoria, as in the discovery of a new and exciting location or space. Doors can lead to misery, as in the closing cell doors of the prison or jail. And doors can lead to immediate comfort, as in the welcome door to our homes. Doors can express an attitude, such as ‘an open door policy’. Or represent secrecy and deception, as in ‘behind closed doors’. Doors can also represent the process of decision making, ‘choose which door to open’.
But there is one more very important and symbolic representation of doors. Doors are so intricately woven into our psyche because they represent ‘mystery‘ and the ‘unknown‘. In the process of discovery we do not know exactly what lies beyond the door. The physical act of ‘opening a door’ means that we are an active participant in the ensuing discovery. To ‘open a door ‘means we are are open to something novel, a new experience, or a new adventure. There is an excitement to opening a new door. But the door can also be closed to represent an ending or an exclusion. To be ‘locked out’ or ‘close the door’ represents a finite termination. We open the door for new freedoms and we close the door for containment. This important duality of mental psychology is what makes doors akin to a switch that you can turn ‘on or ‘off’. But we can also leave the door halfway open or halfway closed. This represents a further level of mystery. Are we being enticed to enter? Or are we being warned not to enter?
Doors can also be symbolic in relationships. Do we leave our doors open for others to enter and experience our emotional depth and complexities? Or do we keep our doors shut tight and refuse others entry into our innermost fears, joys and emotions? Or are we one of those that keep the door halfway open/closed? Where the mistrust and the perception of a world that can be both cruel and kind has tainted us to be forever wary.
Imagine the excitement when Howard Carter first opened the door to King Tut’s tomb. Or when Neil Armstrong first opened the door of his capsule to step onto the moon. While some are excited at the thought of opening a new door, many fear the thought of having to open or walk through a door. After reviewing a long list of phobias and fears (I had no idea there was such a long list of phobias), I found no technical term for fear of walking through doors, opening doors, or closing doors. Yet I know for a fact many people suffer from an extreme fear of walking through or opening doors. They fear the thought of what they might find when they open a door. If we fear opening doors, we are unlikely to experience anything new in our lives. We are less likely to succeed and advance in life. And we are highly unlikely to find meaningful relationships in our lives.
Always remember there are sometimes two doors, the fornt door and the back door. ‘Back door’ has taken on a derogatory sexual connotation. But there are also ‘back door deals’. Do you enter proudly through the front door? Or are you consistently trying to sneak in through the back door?
******************* ******************
If the doors of perception were cleansed everything would appear to man as it is, infinite.
William Blake
“The man who comes back through the Door in the Wall will never be quite the same as the man who went out. He will be wiser but less sure, happier but less self-satisfied, humbler in acknowledging his ignorance yet better equipped to understand the relationship of words to things, of systematic reasoning to the unfathomable mystery which it tries, forever vainly, to comprehend”
– Aldous Huxley
“Be an opener of doors”
– Ralph Waldo Emerson
Every wall is a door.
– Ralph Waldo emerson
“A very little key will open a very heavy door.”
– Charles Dickens, Hunted Down
Men shut their doors against a setting sun.
– William Shakespeare
When one door closes, another one opens. But we often look so regretfully on the closed door that we don’t see the one that has opened for us.
– Helen Keller
We often get in quicker by the back door than by the front.
– Napoleon Bonaparte
There are things known and things unknown and in between are the doors.
– Jim Morrison
The courage of the poet is to keep ajar the door that leads to madness.
– Christopher Morley
Listen, real poetry doesn’t say anything; it just ticks off the possibilities. Opens all doors. You can walk through anyone that suits you.
– Jim Morrison
The story of my life is about back entrances, side doors, secret elevators and other ways of getting in and out of places so that people won’t bother me.
– Greta Garbo
I feel very adventurous. There are so many doors to be opened, and I’m not afraid to look behind them.
– Elizabeth Taylor
A small key opens big doors.
– Turkish Proverb
It is often the last key on the ring that opens the door.
– Proverb
The greatest step is out the door.
– German proverb
– a day on the playground –
It was a sunny day in the park
and all the world was roses.
The playground toys around the gym
were spread about with vision.
In the garden of the park, the poets
played with poesies. They danced and sang like
foolish ones and praised the words
that brought them.
The poesy poets on words with wings
within the sun, without the suns
all about were scattered.
Playground fun allowed to run
what else then should much matter.
-Dark Clouds In A Rainbow Sky-
Suddenly in the happy playground
all the birds were silent.
Everything began to change
even knights and mystery.
Round the bend was heard
the sins, of all of mans misgivings.
In the playground, smells of men
whom smelled as no man ought to.
Two torn t-shirts, big boy, thin
stank the park. Stopped all the barks
and all the poets scattered.
But poets pass where powers lost
and no one is the wiser.
– The Sinister Sisters of Words Un-gathered –
Then the menace unto the park
descend a death, feline faced fat.
From steroid soaks and moldy books
his toy sword poking
maybe nothing matters.
Into the spin, swatting thin
bull dog face fly swatter.
Came to beat the big boy thin
came to beat the batter.
But no one came to watch him swath
the same. That was the matter.
Panjo pirate, one eyed brit
between the feathers, tickled him the parrot.
What sweet scheme, if rhythm matters
save the world. One mad librarian
a perfect world I gather!
(2003)
I spent years grouping the little bits into place.
It first occurred to me
while I was vacationing on the French Riviera.
The central mechanism would connect
when it was only supposed to switch.
I took courses at MIT
and the Atlanta School of Solemn Mechanics.
But even that didn’t prepare me
for the microwave overload.
When you tinker with random thoughts,
you always seem to find a loose memory somewhere.
It often takes hours to unscrew
the tightness from the astringents and in-capacitors.
I prefer to twist the resistors,
till their transmitters overheat
and their diodes blow.
I’ve never had too many
loose tanning oils to contend with.
Sunstroke will sometimes cause cancer.
And my cooling fans are always running at full speed.
Just in case I have to tackle the big waves.
You do understand
that when blue water hits the beach
the silicone crystals in the sand
vibrate at the same frequency
as the unknowns in your head.
The processors always blink
millions of lights on and off
a message you can’t afford to miss
even when you’re wearing a speedo or bikini
or nothing at all
you do understand don’t you?
THE CIRCUS . . . . . . . . . AND THE ZOO 