spiritual language poetry & writings

mamaist confessions

 

 

how can one be proud of one’s need of recognition?
yet one must needs recognize this need
and be proud of it, that it may lead
eventually to a deeper recognition, to where recognition
is authorized, to where one might grow beyond the light, in luminous signs of the unrecognized

*
daily we mix and mingle, and nightly our dreams yield up
semblances, resemblances, reassembled as
the flow of what we truly would want…, or need…, or are?

*
the sneeze coming out of me, the nose running, the blessed
event, tells me with a shout I am released! so I run
off into the distance, and, from where I sit seeing my spirit come up short against the body, would, like a gust of wind, make
a true inroad of myself, a self on its knees to joy

*
sure our sentence is a long one–punctuated with sighs, sorrows, situated in a larger paragraph of time passing, surprising in periods, while always given, or seeking after, an even wider context of meaning, where meaningful attains to fullness; but
when facing up to death I get tongue-tied; when falling in love, my syntax gets strained–your place or mine?–either way, this currency’ll be restamped, superscribed as it is with the markings of a lovesick scribbler, by way of an ennobled cliche that has, yes, a mean and hungry look

*
fodder for hell is what Rumi calls those
who are heedless of beginnings & ends–
heeding the end, you achieve power & greatness, he says,
by dwelling on results.
heeding the beginning (more rare), you achieve ambiguity,
by dwelling on process.
while our paradise simply would be pretext
of a ‘shadowless shadow,’
in which is held accountable
the origin of the world

 

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