THIS PHILOSOPHER'S STONE

THE MYSTERIOUS DUTY OF SILENCE

Silence speaks its sad duty to the lonely;
Its’ soft voice heard hauntingly loud.
Often does it whisper to the leper,
Whose worth is deemed as merely the untouchable.
Slowly, sadly, mystically, cogently,
It speaks also to the poet and the philosopher -
Mostly the stained scarlet lettered ones -
Each themselves now made curious listeners
Of silence' torture upon their soul.
It speaks to them of hurt -
Healing’ attempt to heal itself.
It speaks to them of dreams’ loss and pain,
As tho’ nothing but temporal wisps of smokes’ past.
It speaks to them of indescribable beauty,
As tho’ once known seems now gone;
Yet can never be left.
It speaks to them in dialog,
Having found its’ origin in what seemed monologue -
Awaiting their response -
It speaks to them of receiving the knowledge of giving
Which is Love’s only state,
Rather than the prevailing giving of knowledge without receiving;
For can a man masterfully use that which he does not rightfully contain.
Yea Love received is the first Gift of Love Life.
It speaks to them of the experience of loving,
Which inherently and inseparately also requisites receiving,
Which is love’s only fate.
It speaks to them of Truth’ Presence
Bearing Witness of Itself.
It speaks to them of Creation out of nothing – creatio ex nihilo.
And the poet and the philosopher and the leper knows;
Out of nothing emerges Everything as One.
Beyond the touch is Everything Eternal;
Resolutely, the voice of silence calls;
Gently is its manner - Caelvm non animvn
For those who attempt to cross its changing sea
Change is only the awareness of the sky reflecting;
Not reference to their unchangeable Spirit force;
It can not change.
Mvtant qvi trans mare cvrrvnt ignoti nvlla cvpido.
No desire can exist for a thing unknown,
What is it that I desire to know?
Is desire increased through knowledge gained?
Does knowledge emerge from the depths of sorrow and despair?
Ecce homo ipso facto – Behold the man by the fact itself.
Noli me tangere – Touch me not
For left atwixt this bewitching stone of silence,
Does this fettered pen again bemoan the fate of the lonely –
Again new vision summons me -
The poet, the philosopher, and the leper.
- igman’042510

THE VISION OF THE MYSTIC' STARE

In the shadow world of yesterday's tomorrow, I glare into the nowhere of timeless infinity of a moment's notice, taken in a glance upon the passing composition of future's feature of me; constructed today.

Today is the only possibility to contrast and construct the future idea expression of me and give meaning to the expression.  But what is this shadow that comes with me?  I didn't express it.  Can you see the purpose or worth of the shadow and its' odd behavior which doesn't obey me; though it does appear, it doesn't exist?

No shadow can be real and what is not real cannot be true. Here is the observation of this untrue distorted reflection of the bodily expression of the idea of me, which passes along in time of its own volition; much like the shadow.  Why then am I given another opportunity for yet another attempt in this perpetuity of sorrow's madness, to peek, poke, yack, and thwack about upon the expression of the idea of me? 

What's that you say of me?  Why spend your time regarding the expression of me instead of the expression of you?  Does your dissatisfaction with you give cause to seek some effect upon me?  You're keeping it real and getting me told; what does that mean?  Is there a worth to that for you?  Does it help you feel better about yourself......that seems so odd, doesn't it? Oh whatever......let me get back to the shadow world.......if this is real, I need to get unreal.......bummer....

"Hello", I say once again, to the brief delight of meeting the gladness of strangers at the bar; they themselves exploring the intellective mentation of their own shadows...... hmmm.....very interesting thoughtform.....

igman


Lost Beyond The Shadow

I stare,
Yeah.
From the window of despair
A distortion of the true
Trapped
Alone.
No course to bear –
Just there
What image is this I see?
A man – longing free
Bound and bothered
To carry me
To places I can never know
Nowhere to go –
So
On I show
Wandering ..
Wondering…
Wishing to shout
No!
Not this way!
If I could only say –
Today.
But now…
My time again has come
To fear the setting sun
Unable to run…
Again.
Lost beyond the shadow.