A Philosophical Look At Survival Through the Next Four Years
A Shining Brat of Glory
Following cascading spirals of paper
Leading to a nest of our forming psyches,
There sits God
like a Great Mother Bird
Waiting for us to hatch in the Nectar's Universe...
God's wings, fleeting like hummingbirds,
are blurs
Before a spiritual fasting
of our cardboard eyes,
Our paper trail eyes still waiting to See
God's thin elegant beak taps through Motherhood space,
To hot star hearts,
to super white novas' dimensions,
to piercing folding time,
To Time's bright violet blossoms,
Unfolding the very kernels of our Thought...
Even chewing our food,
God
will not,
can not
Digest experience on our behalf-
To eat what the Creator eats,
to see what the Creator sees,
Our eyes would implode,
and every realization
Would shatter into space like Sparks,
These Trails of understanding from what once Was.
That is for us alone, to eat of God
In whatever amounts our stomachs-
Or our little cardboard eyes - can Hold.
Will you sup with me?
As we embrace
little knives and spoons
little paper cups of God,
I am deliriously happy.
Yes.
What a good cook you Are
To invest in your Creator
To create this splendid Meal
Cast from the woof and warp of our Nest!
I myself am a most unusual Soul;
My eyes have almost pierced the veil-
It Isn't that my eyes
Are bigger than my stomach,
But that my heart is far bigger than my Eyes-
Praise God, I've taken
The tiniest of flights from the nest
of contentious humankind quarrels...
With each flight my heart to bless!
Sings fully. Bless. Sings Joyously-
Each Soul is a meal in exchange.
The calories of light-
Pure energy, yet motion sometimes frozen.
As clear as the egg-mind-matter of galaxies,
Some Souls are leaving the nest-
While others swim in paper trails of Cardboard,
Their minds Signing forms, cooing into translucent wallets...
Sing sadness, from separation from the Divine.
Can you find your path through the thorns
and the Bushes?
It's thickets
of cardboard here, and slick
are the walkways
Coated with thicker oiled souls,
A panhandle so slick with grime
That each oil-encrusted smile spouts the fallen wilderness
Made way for the butchery to sodomize the Alaskan tundra!
Drill deep! The odious rich oil, compressed of dinosaurs
and ancient monkeys
Rules the last vestiges of decency, and mocks
Your oil-splattered spoon which the doctors found
in your mouth when you were born.
I marvel at this simple lesson, learning
To share the soaring of my heart
With only those who respond.
A cry from the depths?
Could it be this easy, that I need only
To grow with those who answer in kind?
To cease approval from those unkind?
To seek the wondrous unfoldment
Only with the origami of like Hearts & Minds?
So many questions, such a shining Brat of glory
We who are the Children of God.
I ask you, is it the reflection of the light
Or the greed
Which shines in your eyes?
I shall fall to my knees.
I shall praise the Creator's cooking
To hatch you from His oven of thought
Perfectly cooked
Yet endlessly Transforming.
WHAT was He thinking.
Oh never mind.
Praise God.
A paradox, isn't it? If our food could talk,
It would say that it knew us Well.
And if our thoughts could be seen as the food
which has shaped our inner psyche,
Truly we would not be so easily deceived
As the world tumbles, blindly,
Around the trigger-happy missile defenses
And through the idiot mire of the bushes.
Such a racket through the thicket
Such a deafening noise of cardboard vouchers
Such a horrid little example of men and oil
And all the vacuous mediocrity that comes with evil.
Let us pray
That there is no end to the glory of new flight,
I sleep assured. I shall Awake
Into a thousand countenances.
I shall toss the million papers of all my lives
Into a spiraling pattern, dissolving into Nothingness.
I am no longer afraid of Eternity
I have the picnic of your Soul, and Mine
To look forward to.
I glance up.
Lightening bolts crease the elbows of the Sky.
Awareness is bending. Unbending. Folding. Unfolding.
Are these wrinkles, or am I being Born?
Is this age?
Could it be, as I gaze upon your face,
That a wing is like an embryo
And you-
Are you the Daughter and Son of understanding?
If Creation is this simple,
Let us praise our first tentative steps,
And say that they are like a dance for us all
Into the bright paradox of endless Morning...
If I grieve
It is only temporary.
If I laugh, I am aware
I am grieving only for Cardboard...
These are merely lifetimes
Which feather the Nest.
These securities
Which once covered me in Sleep,
These are securities which once sheltered me.
The Storms fall apart after the heavy light rains,
As Creation draws weary curtains to its Close.
I knew you When.
I cherish you Now.
I quarrel no longer
As I see the dawn
(Copyright 2001 by Darius Gottlieb - No reproduction without express permission from the author)