scarred recollections

scarred recollections

momentcaught
i glance youward but

it is only
my version of you
yet again

you are once again long-gone

oh my mother, tho
i hardly knew you
i remember;

i do not mourn
but i remember

___________________________________________________________________________

As of this I will begin submitting again after 40 years–unless someone wants to tell me why I shouldn’t.  I have a bad habit of throwing manuscripts away.  Mind you, encouragement wouldn’t be unwelcome, but this is the internet.

 

 

December 24, 2018 at 4:41 pm Leave a comment

anagrams

 various anagrams

     1.

a rusted plow
half-buried in sand;
hexagrams.

     2.

i saw you
paused in your flight
before your fall,
Daedalus.

     3.

i have not yet forgotten
her touch, subtle
as desire.

     4.

clasp slipped, hand cold:
the touch of truth.

     5.

flight encircled, ended,
at return–
silence.
That word
cannot be said.

December 24, 2018 at 4:23 pm Leave a comment

On Meeting You

On Meeting You

these shards remain

of our prolonged meeting

distorted echoes and

reflections, and

each time i touch a

shard, a shattered

memory, you cannot guess (at all)

how bitterly i bleed

______________________________________________

Not real life, at least this has nothing to do with a specific person. I suppose someone who always knows the glass is half full (rather than half empty)–the optimist–could embrace losing relationships as well. Actually I know some do, and the common reasoning was that it was an opportunity for growth.

Were it current, I probably wouldn’t be able to post this.

December 23, 2018 at 2:48 pm Leave a comment

Old Note

0811 2018

It’s difficult for me to understand a lot of things having to do with humans, their values (and especially matters of faith, how they are named and how they are celebrated–both good and evil, yes).

The knowledge we’ve been taught is in fact a reflection of a societal interpretation of “reality”, which is actually far from what is actually experienced.  We forget things, especially when in the midst of trauma. There is also the modern world. From what I can see, over half–probably three quarters–of the information on the internet varies from unreliable to deliberately attempting to win other people over for their purposes. Nearly everyone alive in the U.S. lives in the city modernly.  (As I recall less than 5%, from the 1990 census.) That means that the only environment for which they’re prepared is the city.  The more rural types don’t rely as much on place names as do the city-dwellers; paths are not cut through the land.  Prime evil is couched in the terms of “threat to the state”, as I recall.

–another old note

December 23, 2018 at 11:50 am Leave a comment

A comment on my thoughts

This isn’t all original thinking.  A large part of it could merely be ascribed to all my association with zen Buddhists, after all.  I was in Japan as a child, and I met many things there; I even stood in the left eye of the Buddha in Kobe.  I often fantasized about asking to become a servant at a zen Buddhist monastery. I did laugh at myself, though. What in the world could a monastery want with a servant?  I learned when I finally began to speak that names and appearances were far more important than the thing itself.

December 23, 2018 at 11:43 am Leave a comment

Lingual and Non-Lingual Consciousness

https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/there-is-no-such-thing-as-conscious-thought/

 

You’re right.  We don’t and can’t think in words.  We think in terms of (apparently unique) representative, non-linear systems.

 

Language and consciousness are necessarily unrelated; this has no connection to whether humans make choices.  Add into that, civilization consists of repression.  It depends on the growth of rules and ever-closer government of behavior.  Because of that civilizations become unable to deal with the actual environment and die.

 

Please do at least scan the referenced article.

December 22, 2018 at 1:16 pm Leave a comment

SILENCE AND TRUTH

SILENCE AND TRUTH

is it odd that

as my words come ever closer to silence

my meanings seem clearer?
*Attribute the meaning of this to Dean Ing. Another way to say that is that his words were the precise inspiration for this poem, and nearly diametrically opposed to what he meant.

 

[“The Father of Lies merely taught us to speak.”]

December 22, 2018 at 1:07 pm Leave a comment

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