“Poets are the hierophants of an unapprehended inspiration” – Shelley. <\/p>\n
Staring at the rain, he sits.
\nWatching, waiting, surmising
\nThe pains and tribulations of life
\n(Of lives not his own)
\nThis man in thought, not alone. <\/p>\n
Glaring at the sky;
\nMind racing onward and thoughts
\nChasing each other out of the obscurity
\nOf such an animate mind. <\/p>\n
He looks at the sky
\nAnd at the rain;
\nHe sees through the sky
\nAnd weather;
\nThrough the mind
\nThat makes him the
\nThe hierophant. <\/p>\n
Through the rain and the
\nSkies he becomes clearer.
\nI see his face;
\nI feel his face.
\nI see through the face
\nThat sees through mine. <\/p>\n
In the expanse of his eyes
\nI drift through time:
\nThe sleeping woman
\nAnd the dying baby,
\nUnaware of any death;
\nThe crying infant
\nAnd the three century tree,
\nUnaware of any Life.
\nIn the expanse of his eyes
\nI reflect and conjure
\nThe passive activism –
\nThe passive worship.
\nHis mind sees not the object
\nBut the mind seeing the image. <\/p>\n
Again, the image of
\nA face appears:
\nThe face that once was
\nYoung, and at once is old.
\nBut youth shines through this age;
\nGiving hints of men
\nWho’ve fought, and men
\nWho’ve worshipped, and
\nMen who’ve taught,
\nAnd women tending babies. <\/p>\n
Active mind; a process
\nTakes the place
\nOf each thought
\nRacing, chasing, losing,
\nTeaching: traversing
\nThe realms of his mind. <\/p>\n
No small diversion,
\nAs images of
\nRain or sky
\nCan slow his mind. <\/p>\n
His mind is free.
\nHis thoughts are free.
\nFreed from constricting objects
\nLay people see day after day.
\nHis mind is free to see
\nFar beyond images
\nOf any objects,
\nAnd his mind sees far
\nMore than any object. <\/p>\n
Far more unseen, unfelt,
\nBut known. <\/p>\n
How to see knowledge
\nAs Knowledge?
\nFor the tangible
\nKnows no bounds,
\nBut is not boundless.
\nWhat the hand may touch,
\nThe mind should not.
\nWhat the mind may touch,
\nThe hand never will.
\nSo may he surmise. <\/p>\n
How can a hand touch Life
\nWhen a hand has no Life?
\nMerely animated by Life,
\nA hand cannot survive alone. <\/p>\n
How can the hand
\nTouch the flower
\nAnd feel the Life of
\nThe flower?
\nHow cannot the mind,
\nKnowing the Life in the
\nHand, and knowing Life
\nIn the flower,
\nFeel the Life they share? <\/p>\n
Still he sits;
\nStares at the sky,
\nAnd the clouds and the rain.
\nHe never moved, never
\nReached to touch any flower. <\/p>\n
Set apart by profundities
\nOf his own perception;
\nSet apart by limitless
\nVision perceiving all,
\nMuch more than sight alone;
\nSet apart by worlds apart;
\n(Though part of each other)
\nWorlds which only he may enter;
\nWorlds within. <\/p>\n
In turning inward there
\nCan be nought unfound;
\nNothing can be unknown
\nNothing unheard;
\nFor knowledge of nothing
\nIs everything.
\nA ubiquitous wisdom
\nHe may find and become,
\nAs the limitless and
\nBountiful source of the
\nKnowledge of All. <\/p>\n
A god within built within
\nAnd fashioned without
\nThe help of bible or
\nScripture. <\/p>\n
A god within of extrinsic
\nWisdom, of extraneous
\nCreation; the god of all
\nOutside; the god of rain
\nAnd sky. <\/p>\n
Nought can there be
\nWithout the process within.
\nNought can be from
\nAnywhere but thought.
\nHe thinks, creating his
\nChasing thoughts;
\nThinking, balancing thoughts. <\/p>\n
He who,
\nLike the hierophant,
\nTurns and returns deepest within
\nFinds the most outside.
\nTo him I will turn –
\nAnd return.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
“Poets are the hierophants of an unapprehended inspiration” – Shelley. <\/p>\n
Staring at the rain, he sits.
Watching, waiting, surmising
The pains and tribulations of life
(Of lives not his own)
This man in thought, not alone. <\/p>\n
Glaring at the sky;
Mind racing onward and thoughts
Chasing each other out of the obscurity
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