A Mythic Hunger

Poetry

Image: “Island of Life,” Freydoon Rassouli

Art is the delicious anarchy we should surrender ourselves to,

wherever

and whenever

and to whomever

it wants to take us.

We should do this without being

overly concerned

with ideas of

whether it will be

understood by a society,

infected with the disease of consumerism

or whether or not society will feed love back to you,

in return for what you want

to give them.

All judgments of your efforts are useless hindrances,

which block the aisle

down which our ever-awakening spirit

wants to run,

with great abandon,

and then

embrace our being.

We owe it to ourselves

to be sublimely deviant and to be creatively inventive

in ways never before seen before,

that even God herself will rouse from her divine slumber.

She will then ascend to a regal height,

and clap her hands in a thunderous roar

her giddy approval

echoing from the heavens.

How will your art will be perceived by the world?

Do you care, or

should you even care?

I think not, for the only way to be connected

with the powerful creative energies that give rise to

beautiful masterpieces of the imagination,

Is to let fall away

everything others can possibly think or care about you.

List every petty concern that you think might flit through the minds

of your brother and sister,

mother and father,

friend and foe…

Then add a hundred more,

a litany of every

possible horrible thing

anybody could ever say to you

take this list, and

burn it outside,

in the shadow of an ancient spruce tree in the woods

closest to your home.

The one that knows your secrets,

but will whisper them to no one.

and then feel a delirious

lightness as you free yourself of these worldly

concerns.

This, my friends, is the way to be utterly fearless,

in ways that even obliterate,

the fear that lies hidden in others.

Fear that exists now,

and fear yet to be birthed

fear that that lives in innumerable

unsanctified corners of time

Your unrelenting belief in yourself will leap out across

the chasm of separating the worlds,

and waves of your unimaginable power

will annihilate these phantoms

that haunt

your mind.

Anything that does not feed your longing

to become a voice for that within you that aches to be heard

must go,

for the creative impulse that beats

the heart of the universe

must remain primal in you.

Because these great works come from the soul,

they have a singular ability to

touch the soul,

Like it has never been touched before.

Art should, and must, be wanton in its desire.

it is the deep russet flame that consumes everything in its wake.

It burns away the dullness of

our complacency

and our

conformity and

our ordinaryness,

Clearing away the deadwood in our minds,

and leaving nuggets

of radiance behind.

For you see, is the divine spark loaned to us for a time,

by that force that some might call

God.

The fire that is a remnant of the first fiery dawn,

which contained all the whirling colors that will ever exist,

in a vast palette of loving desire.

We were given us the creative spark,

And now it dwells within us

An unquenchable hunger,

It is now an ever-growing flame that utterly devours us,

Leaving nothing left of us,

save that which is connected to deep channels of wisdom.

Creativity is an ache

deep within us

a hunger if you will

that knows no respite

It is an exquisite pain that awakens us to heady possibility,

The kind with a capital “P”.

But we cannot keep this heat within us forever,

for we are destined, as you may have heard,

to crumble into the welcoming dust.

Before that seemingly ignoble end, we have a duty

to hand the glowing embers of this gift over

to future generations, by using our artistic gifts to

inspire them.

Let them know, these future versions of ourselves

that creativity arose

in beauteous arcs above the grateful earth once before,

and that these voices not yet born,

to cry out into the void

can, and must, summon the same emotion,

forged from

the strange mutation of intellect

and heart.

Creativity, then, wants to take us on the wildest ride we could ever imagine.

Are you ready to go, at a moment’s notice, to wherever it wants to take you?

you can

you must

let it pull you

let it lead you

to uncover mysteries that are hidden plain as day.

Yet, can only be seen by those who have a fever,

born of imagination.

We harvest mythic treasures from the vast subterranean oceans

of our mind.

Gifts we then gladly trade to the world

in return, we receive the knowledge that our art

uplifts humanity in innumerable ways

both now, and until the end of time

Art will remain,

Triumphant.

Gratitude Unbound

Consciousness, Poetry, Spirituality, Writing
(Image: “Turning Contrast into Gratitude”, Amrita Grace.)
Gratitude brings us immense joy
when we see the delicate magic in its translucent wings
that flit quickly past in our field of attention
sprinkling our eyes with stardust, and allowing our vision to expand.
We then have the startling realization,
that we are swimming
in an endless sea of divine blessings.
Something wondrous is awakened
possibly for the first time in the painful brevity of our lives
wonder comes alive in our mind with sharpened senses, refined by grace
which gives us the power
to behold a multiplicity of kindnesses.
We become intrepid soul explorers
Intimately tracing the subtle, ever-changing geography of bliss
by expanding the limits of our vision.
We can still perceive ugly truths
when judgment displaces generosity of spirit
otherwise, the all is seen for what it truly is.
We see the cosmos as good and bounteous
every little experience is understood to nourish the soul
this, in spite of the well-meaning admonitions of others.
These bosom friends, who we hold in great esteem,
nonetheless
warn us away from soul lessons
because, friends though they may be
they lack a certain spiritual perceptiveness.
Namely, the ability to understand
that contained in even that which is judged to be horrific
is a certain divinity, able to only be discerned
by those with intuition enough
to glimpse into the mind of that who we might call God
even though we are not big enough to name this thing
that is too big to be named.
They do not yet understand the greatness of the cosmic map
These beloved companions
see only treacherous shoals, upon which,
our pitiful vessel buffeted on all sides,
by waves of unimaginable power,
will be utterly destroyed,
and our dreams with it.
We, on the other hand
see goodness everywhere
our bounteous joy expands, and our
eyes agog with a million and one exquisitely beautiful examples
that are a part of our lives every day.
Nothing but goodness
nothing but kindness
we train ourselves to perceive the hidden good
that is contained in the unfathomable depths of the ordinary.
We set out on a venture to encounter goodness
anywhere and everywhere we look.
The stones arrayed in simplicity at our feet
sing to us hymns particular to their singular place in the celestial hierarchy.
No good thing will escape our sight
we increase our joy beyond measure and see delight everywhere
when we sip the indescribably sweet wine of gratitude.
We rediscover the eternal part of ourselves,
and we wear the filigreed garments
of ecstatic awareness,
when we are grateful for every part of existence.
We array ourselves in this sort of splendor,
everyone and everything who enters our field of vision becomes a god of sorts,
but a god, nevertheless
worthy of our devotion.
And when we don these garments
we are only capable of seeing great joy, and an all-encompassing transcendent love
expressed in an infinitude of forms.

The Murmuration of Little Things

Nature, Spirituality, Uncategorized

Image: antiworld news (WordPress.com)

There is a natural phenomenon known as a murmuration of birds. This is when these magnificent flying creatures are closely grouped together and move in an invisible unison, as if being orchestrated silently behind the hidden veil of things, by one who knows all and loves all. Avian splendor like this fills me with love for all that exists. There are so many beautiful things in the world, that when I stop to think about even one of them, I will be tempted to cease all my worldly activities, and completely surrender to an indescribable bliss that just wells up from within me for no apparent reason.

This murmuration of birds sweetly whispered to us from divine places is merely one of the more dramatic examples of God’s ineffable beauty – a divine message saying to all of us that just because you see me in the skies in these grand displays, does not mean you should stop looking for me in the most ordinary of things and of moments. For, despite what you have been led to believe, that is where you will truly find me. Not in churches, architecturally perfect, yet missing that indefinable something that is spirituality in its essence. You will find that I exist everywhere you look, even in the tiniest thing.