Thursday, June 30, 2011

Coal

Once upon a time I said

boom shuka-lucka

boom-shuka-lucka

boom-shuka-lucka-lucka



BOOM



BOOM



BOOM!



And everyone in the town

well they all



RAN



RAN



RAN!





Once upon a time I cried all night



And everyone in town

floated on down





Once upon a time

      I snuck up on some



Who didn’t see me

            swirling in the sea





Once upon a time

      I was the whale

Holding you in my jail



Once upon a time

      life wasn’t fun

when you were

      blistering from the sun

            swollen from the sea

                  bitten by the moon



Once upon a time

      you knew my force

And how it directed your course

      into a ditch

It wasn’t a glitch.

Sunday, June 26, 2011

Love Story



Divine forces will never be held

within the logic of linear times

and three-dimensional minds

But if a human story were told

it might just go a little like this:



Two forces abound

     2 forces are found

         Greater than all

              Nothing

             apart



Reflecting each other

     Coming together…



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



He loved her laugh

     She made him complete

         Gave him a reason

              Gave life a meaning



He made her the world

     so she would be his

But all she ever wanted

     she found in him.



Still, she loves his treasures

     All his assorted pleasures

         And sometimes he wondered

              if she loved them more?



Ironic it was, to say the least

     coz when she looked at the world

         she saw him again and again

              and fell in love over & over

                  with every last layer of him



But the love he felt

     was all too much

         for one heart to contain

And out of fear for all he felt

     he took her love and

         tried to hold it still.



She didn’t want to be in control

but to be herself she has to flow

free of all logical bonds that hold



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



But before we continue

first we must know

just who is she?

And who is he?



She represents a side of us

     that wants and wants

         gets bored and grunts

              “Let’s have some fun!

                  let’s make use of the sun

                       Before life’s done!”



And we give in

     again and again

Her lust is too alluring

     Her aroma too overwhelming

         Her mist much too mystifying

Her poison perfected with you in mind


When she comes our way

all we see is day

          But when she fades

it’s us who pay

                  Who are left out

              without the light

that makes life’s fight

     a small price to pay

For Her  V   A   S   T  sight



But just the same

     we must blame someone

         for all our pain



She lifted us up & made us complete

     so it must be her fault

that when she fades

              we’re just not the same.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



The world they created

took on a life of its own

A life filled with his might

A life full of her light



But her light

faded out at night

And sometimes his might

as mighty as it was just wasn’t enough

to keep the fires lit during the long



cold



bitter



nights.





Needing someone to blame

     for all the pain that came

         Confused & disorientated

     from the long distracting night



They plotted away

to find a way

to use his might

to control her light.  

They played with his head

     and made him believe

         she didn’t love him instead



“She just wants to rule you!”

     And all he created

         out of all his love for her



“She’s out of control!”

     they cried out in folds

         Blaming her for all their pain

              Judging her in all their vain.



It just killed the king

to know his kingdom was suffering

and think it was all his fault

     for being so selfish

         and loving her

              right from the start



So he tried to rein her in

     Control her powers

         and be her master



After this she was never the same

     Like I said from the start

         she must be free to flow

              if you want her to glow.



He broke her heart

     but not out of hate

He did it out of guilt

     He fell for the bait…



Driven by his devotion

     to the creation he shaped

         out of hearts set in motion.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


She is the beginning

                  And she’s the end

Without her he’d never mend



But he’s everything in between

     and without him

         she’d just go insane

              Alone in the dark

                  Alone by herself



No reason to live, no reason to die

     No reason to sing, no reason to cry.



She brings death and pain and sorrow

     Yes, it’s true, but there’s always tomorrow

A new day to come

when she’ll flow a new way

          lifting you so high

you’re thankful for the pain

You’re thankful just to be

a part of life’s game.



In the end she just couldn’t go on

     without his love to fill her empty glass



She broke inside under all their blame

     She blamed him for not loving her more

         But worst of all

                  she blamed herself

                       for being herself



And it was much worse

     than any pain



         you’ve EVER felt.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



When he saw the truth his anger
    
   E    X   P    L   O  D  E  D

     He gave up what he loved most

         for the gift he made her

              out of hearts set in motion



But it was too late

     She’d fallen under

         Heaven & Hell were created

              out of one big old cosmic rift.



She fell deep down

     she fell without a sound

She reached for his hand

     she begged for his help



But when she realized she was all alone

     All she could do

         was

              moan

                  and

                       groan



Or maybe she thought

     he’d save her any second

         I mean how could he not



His love was too great

     to allow such a loss

Her light was too bright

              to live without



But that’s not how the story goes

     If it did then we’d never know

         the strength of a love that grows

              A love that cures

And always endures.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Left all alone

without his queen

on her throne

     all he had left was the world

he made for her

     So he played with the world

like they played with his head



He broke their hearts

And left them all alone

Broke them down

and split them apart

as they had her



She saw him above

a boy playing with toys

          but she didn’t see

all the blackness behind the mask

and she thought he

didn’t need her anymore



Broken inside she fell deeper down

     into her abyss

of her very own

              Noth-ing-ness.



When she heard their cries

     the cries of the broken

         disheveled and

              deserted



She was comforted by their pain.



Not because she’s wicked or evil

     But because it was better than

         Nothing

             



At

                  



                            All.





She reveled in life’s pain

     Took in the fallen souls



The discarded & the damned

     The sinful & the shameful

          The rejected & the reviled



She made a kingdom of her own

     comprised of everything cast off

         when the universe was split

in half

         by a fight over

what’s good & whats bad.



All she found was what he lost

     when his creations perished

         from the pain of his broken heart



So you see

the devil was not born out of hate

          but out of love

for all that called her name

when life’s too much & they went insane.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She saw it as proof that the truth was

     they really needed her in the end

         to make them whole

              To make life sweet again



So then she didn’t feel so bad

     She thought she had to choose

         between what she wanted

              and what they wanted



But when she saw they were really the same

     she swore she’d stop at nothing

to prove it was the truth

     so she could finally go home to him.














So she blew a wish into the winds

     sending seven souls

with real live hands

to live in his lands

and enact her plans



But they lost themselves

just as he lost her
          
Them blamed themselves

and were their own judge

They suffered humanity’s pain

& found little relief in their gain



Just enough to keep the spell cast

     asleep in a land lost from the past

They shut their eyes to hide from the pain

     instead of opening their hearts

    and searching for the Promised Land.



It was all her fault – it was all her loss.

     It was all his fault – it was all his loss.

         It was all their fault

It was all their loss.



Yes God is great and God is good

     but something else makes God woo

         Something else we judge & blame

     Coz love brings pain

and loss brings gain…




to be cont.



















Thursday, June 23, 2011

Fate

by Ralph Waldo Emerson (1867)


Her planted eye to-day controls,
Is in the morrow most at home,
And sternly calls to being souls
That curse her when they come.



































Sunday, June 19, 2011

Blinded

(scroll down for posts from Parts 6 & 7)

So who is the blind assassin? What do the carpets symbolize? And what exactly has that mischievous hand in the grass been up to this whole time? These are just a few of the questions left lingering after a quick read through Margaret Atwood’s The Blind Assassin. The desire to reread the book as three separate books or in search of hidden symbolism is strong, but so are the feelings her masterpiece has already invoked. The bones have been discovered, remantled and encased in words of fire and ice. The bones of a people torn apart by war, by poverty, by losses stacked upon losses. For those of us just barely waking up the reality of reality isn’t quite comprehendible. For many of us wars are something that explode within the confines of our television, and starvation is something we do to ourselves in attempt to lose a few pounds. Heroes are remembered and losses are counted and engraved in stone. But the real loss isn’t really spoken of. The real loss isn’t really understood. And while the real loss may be incomprehensible to my generation, it continues to beat on us like a hammer on wood.



We are fragile creatures by nature. We love to display our courage and parade about our strength. I think it makes us feel more invincible, less fragile, less of what we really are which is a big heart just waiting to get broken. Again, and again, and again. But even our wildest imagination can’t protect us from the softness of our core. The only option for this kind of reality, the kind of reality many people face even today, the kind of reality most people faced not even a hundred years ago, the only option for most is to harden up or check out. The heroes we immortalize and emulate are able to steer through the stormiest weather, fight the fiercest dragons, save the neediest damsels and come out unscathed, never emotionally affected by the battles behind them. In movies these men continue to love life, love their wife, love their children, love the colors of the morning sun or the sound of the autumn rustle. In stories it’s always easy to move ahead once you’ve emerged from the whale, but in real life you’re left cold and sticky, and the urge to look back is overwhelming.



Not that we shouldn’t look back and remember our past. We should. But if you stay there too long and continue to live there in some metaphorical way then the hardening occurs and you are unable to move forward in your life. As a life lesson it’s all well and good, but as a task that actually has to be carried out after surviving hell it’s a bit burdensome. Finding the force needed to lift a steel anchor and throw it off your back is hard enough. The ability to unchain yourself is almost impossible. The spiritual repercussions of war continue long after the completion of the physical reconstruction. And wars are not limited to battles between nations ended by paper and ink.


As to the first three original questions, I have some ideas. Carpets in stories are no other than Aladdin’s magical flying carpet that has been promising to whisk me away since childhood; they always have been. That’s just the way it is. But Aladdin’s carpet isn’t real either. So what’s the real carpet that the children have been weaving so meticulously, that they have been slaving over in such dedication that they lose their ability to see their world and the breathtaking result of their hard work? What is this wonderful padded vehicle that’s gonna shoot us into another world and make all our dreams come true? Who are the children? Are they really slaves? Are they really children at all or are they symbolic for a part of us, or anyone? The soft part, the green part, the part that comes first, before sight, before words.


As for the blind assassins, they’re everywhere, but the only one you have to worry about is the one inside you. And the hand, well, the picture may have captured the hand, but it has many tentacles and continues to appear elsewhere. Despite it’s creepy appearance it can be of great assistance in times of need. It’s always a good idea to keep a third hand around.