You Are Not Who You Think You Are

Look to the heavens, see what is happening
You are not who you think you are.

Everything in and around you
The cosmic unfolding
Of countless events
Appearing, disappearing
Rising and falling
Right now, now again…
That is all you are,
Beyond comprehension all that is–
Keeping this in mind
While you continue a separate life
Is a mysterious trick,
The magic lies
In letting go
Being the Big Bang
To the present, that is who you are

“You cannot catch hold of it, nor can you get rid of it.
You are the eternal energy of the universe.”

Quote: Alan Watts

serveimage

Rayn Roberts

Quote: from Alan Watts

Reminiscence

Fishing at the river, some boys jump in
Swim across and back so quickly
It makes my head spin.
Were I as trim and lean as them
I’d join in–
I did when I was that age
Set down my rod
Shed my clothes
Took to any lake or stream
Swam my sweaty body clean
Lay on the bank and dreamed of love—
But I am old now, these days
I need prodding
Just to take a bath!
A boy needs no prod, only doing
Without hesitation or regret
Sagacious are the old men, but wisdom
Does not come
Unless the joys of youth are done
And as the mind goes under, we learn to swim again.

 

Eve

The promise of the Tree pounding in your breast
Tongue of the snake soft upon your cheek,
You reached for unseen death and gave the fruit to man.

So men have said–

In you all women are
Innocent as a girl in awe of the first dawn
Saying its color over roses
Again and again and softly to herself.
From you a strength bolder than Joan whom men damned
But gods praise, wisdom and power of Elizabeth
Who gave no man her crown, purity of Calcutta’s Mother
Too busy with the poor to stop for more than begging–

Jezebel, Salome, Antoinette

They also fell from you, but what deed compares
To this your greatest gift, the feeble and the weak
Asleep in your arms, you, our highest hope and dream
Bearing both of our sorrow and our joy, Mother of Man
There is nothing, no one so vile, contemptible you cannot love–

Ocean ever rising

O woman we rise in you, each of us a wave rising up,
Rolling in, returning to you.

tumblr_static_tumblr_static__640

In a Piedmont Eatery

While living a summer in South Carolina, I absorbed the local accent and diction of the people, especially the country folk and wanted to record it in some way, so I wrote this poem by listening first then writing it into a suitable form.  Listening, not just writing, is what Poetry is all about, you know.

 

In a Piedmont Eatery…

Nothin’ apple ’bout apple jam
Peaches ain’t no size this year
The major’s took to drink again
What’s the Reverend gonna do,
What’s he gonna do.

Two eggs up straight for Helen, Sam
Mo Jo’s back in town I hear
Been no rain since God knows when
Got ta cut the corn crop down
Got ta cut it down.

No tellin’ when the strike will end
Or if Union boys are gonna win
They shut down all the mills they say
Just ain’t no work ’round here no more
Ain’t no more work ’round here.

Got not idea how long it’s been
Since Mrs. Jeffery had them twins
I’m told she’s comin’ on ok
This last two makes that family nine
Makes them Jefferys nine.

It cost you for the third refill
Sixty cents a pound these days
They had a frost down in Brazil
Sure got us in a squeeze, you know
Sure got us in a bind.

 

1564_10_3.jpg

Esoteric

After all, as you lie in my arms knowing all
needing nothing but what is, the earth rolling away from the sun
Thunder rolling in the distance

Can you hear the thunder of death, my dear?
Yes, I hear it and more, I hear a sound
Not everyone can hear, I feel an energy not everyone can feel — a Sound

Birth                             a note, Love                                a song, Death

Spinning days into silk, connecting man to men, men to women
Woman to every child, weaving nights out of the past –
The Dead speak to me

They are not dead; they are here
And with the silk of souls our future is woven, all that is
that is humanly good, out of birth this note, out of love this song

Little worm               silken light             little word            OM

 

 

Terry Busch Photo

3549f14ba1bc4bf6b8099056ed0200f8

Japanese  Garden Photo by Terry Busch

Mystery

Sometime before the land turned away from light

The wind in the wild mustard slowed
The sun, being where is always is, the moon too
Twilight and moonrise were in me.

Something small and quick sprang and ran.
The long grass bent as I watched the urge to chase
Corner and kill rise and fall inside me.

A hawk tucked wings, stooped from a great height
Was high in the air again, a ground squirrel in its claws–
The life of a large snake touched me, I watched

From grass to rock, sand on the road to sage
I heard the dry hiss where a lizard whipped out.
The serpent, licking the air with a pronged tongue

Coiled under a cactus tree, sang a warning–
This was no tree of knowledge, the rattler
Untouched by good or evil, is pure, perfectly pure.

I closed my eyes, sound and light opened the third eye
I saw a human face, half gleaming reptilian green
Half clear compassionate blue– There were no words,

No thought, I moved forward and became that face.

09050605PD_rattlesnake