Excursions Through The Continuous Lens of Consciousness

 

“Not all those who wander are lost.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien

“To get lost is to learn the way.”
― African Proverb

“If the path be beautiful, let us not ask where it leads.”
― Anatole France


The Journey

 

there is a long way

to go yet. but, there is a

long time ahead, too.


 

The Meaning of LIFE

 

“Life is…about finding our infinity.”
– Herbie Hancock

“Be clearly aware of the stars and infinity on high. Then life seems almost enchanted after all.”
– Vincent Van Gogh

 

Life:
in essence, new
directions on roads
for traveling souls–
No beginning nor end.
There is only liberation
For the voice within.

 

Life is beautiful
a dialectical discourse
flowing in progress.

Life is a dance (not a race)
…feel the music
before the song is over.

 

Life
(the
escape
from quiet
desperation)…
is
nothing
without sun-
shine & freedom
sliding down
rainbows.
I

would hope
that love could
infuse the world
(no
matter
how foreign
the language is).
in spite of the cost
it seems as though
the mission
never
ends.

 

One Shine (the compass of life)

The sun moves
When one walks it follows
Even into shadows.

When one turns around
It turns also. It hears
Everything we say.

It is alive. Otherwise
It wouldn’t follow
Us, & wouldn’t shine.

 

AfterLife

universe closed
(due to blackhole)
use the rainbow…

to cross the sky
to the other side.


 

Freedom Ain’t Never Been Free

 

With life’s last labors
Of love, true & from within–
We are the language
Of battles still to be fought
For the price of the ticket.


 

Ad Liberator of the Mind

 

Between the cradle
And the grave, eternity
Of thought is the fire
That ad liberates the mind
From the doldrums of darkness.


 

Juba Dance

 

deep in the soul, to
the rhythms of jazz, we dance
with our ancestors.


Prologue To Posterity [original take]

inclined to embrace
day embarks upon the night
speaking parables

of a moon in bloom
still soaring through twilight sounds
that seem the echoes

of infinity
at the dawn of tomorrow
as though these murmurs

were odes of prologue
to posterity only
the cosmos can see.


Prologue To Posterity [alternate take]

inclined to embrace, day embarks upon the night speaking parables
of a moon in bloom still soaring through twilight sounds that seem the echoes
of infinity at the dawn of tomorrow as though these murmurs
were odes of prologue to posterity, only the cosmos can see.


Judgment Day

 

In the place of my return
All the half-lights that glimmered
Even in shadows of death
Shall shine through my soul made whole
By sweet serendipity
Witness to the caravan
When the saints come marchin’ in.


Words on Fire (or: Destiny…in search of the light)

inspired by Mark Helprin’s Winter’s Tale

Are we ever to be old

As the destinies or dreams
Of our own decree we speak?

Connected by light
We are stars ageless as God
More ancient than Earth

In a clockwork of spirits
Born out of our words on fire

& loves unbroken by time.


Keepin’ the Faith

layin in the cut (so
deep in the cut)
i remember you
like a moment ago

cool struttin
back & forth
between the devil
& the deep blue sea, steppin

into tomorrow
beyond body and soul
like the gypsy with nothin
to lose but the love that just

walked in–
& nothin but
thoughts of hope
that keep on a blowin

through the labyrinth
life of my faith dressed
as the dreamkeeper shoutin
on a riff & a prayer, despite death’s

illusion of endings, book-
marked by exits of entrance
to somewhere & everywhere all
at once, in the geography of time.


Blue Haze

Inspired by “……a dim but wonderful memory of smoky haze and blue notes.”
–RC deWinter

wonder i wander
whether, if ever,
the improvisers
blew notes with intent
of being more than
just an impromptu
born to be blue. it
is said that they knew…

&
wonder i wander
like Alice peeking with her
smoke-filled looking-glasses
through Harlemesque hues of Hughes
as he gazed into the blue haze of the jazz age
enter Satchmo with his hard earned halo
& Gabriel’s horn in hand, riffing
through the avant garden of Congo Square
& Ellingtonian variegations
of jazzical improvisation, or perhaps
Yardbird in flight as my guide
(who Dizzy said, transplanted
the frenetic kinetics of a KC
big band blues scene, a la Count Basie,
into the heart of New York
when he landed), with every
solo i’ve committed to memory…

&
wonder i wander
let no blues, especially those
beautiful as these notes
i muse, put asunder
the wunderkind chorus
of aspirations to inspire
all of our permanently ad liberated minds
intertwined in the kaleidoscope of time
walking as miles talked, emulating
the aural elixir of monk’s moods
& trane’s meditations, feeling
the taut tightrope linguistics
composed off the tongue
of mingus & mimicked by his animate
fingers, as i imagine what’s
hidden there in the shadow of your smile
or the sweet swagger of your sway
For whatever it is, “better git it in your soul.”


In a Silent Way

 

the cosmos speaks

in a silent way of ecstatic serenity

without chaos

or cacophony, discord

or distortion, rejoicing

in letting the sunshine in.


 New A.R.K.

he said
that i was his
new ark back to heaven
as i picked him up at the gates
of hell.

 

at least
that is what he
called the place he just left.
he said, ” don’t be a prisoner
of time.”

 

he said
that after ‘while
moments become seconds
& seconds seem like minutes that
become

 

the hours
that turn to years
as your life wanes away
into an oblivion, where
nothing

 

matters…
that is prison.
so glad that he could see
beyond those walls that oversaw
the blur

 

of years
he left behind
them, he said that we who
are like God are beloved friends
that know

 

no end.
“today i’m free
for i know who i am,”
he said, “as do you, my new ark,
my friend…

 

always
sell the shadow
to support the substance
like Sojourner said. & each one,
teach one.”

 

right as
he stopped speaking
we arrived at his sister’s
who couldn’t pick him up that day.
he said

“thank you
for being there
& listening to me.
i’ve told you nothing but the truth…
Use It.”


Human Nature

In a
Chorus of lines
Martyred by emotions
The poem sings we are utterly
Human.


Tonight at Noon

In the midnight of our days
The moon marches languidly
To the music of the spheres
Refracting itself
Through the stars of the twilight garden
Until auras of the cosmic aria come
Bleeding from the inverted ocean
Of the hovering horizon
Where Earth makes love to the sky
& prays beneath golden rain of Ra
In hopes of returning us
To the lineage of forever.


Prosaic Mosaic

1. Narcissus
fell in love
with his face
reflecting
off a pool
of water
dove in and
drowned himself.

2. Drowning is today
killing seeds of tomorrow
leaving nothing
but a barren wasteleand
buried beneath the rubble
of skyscrapers
and what used to be monuments
for eternity to see.

3. Life is
an uphill battle
but I must wage the war
till truth is kin
(or else my dreams
will be nightmares
of its obscene
oblivion).

“Injustice anywhere is a threat
to justice everywhere.”
but we are still
fightin lost battles

and “The world
is a hemophiliac” with a history
that “could pass for a scarlet text…”

yet life’s full of little
wars and I
fight them all at the same time.

4. Tomorrow will curse us
with brand-new cuss words
that mama and daddy never used
destine us to die
soulless
from our everpresent
psychosis
if we keep ego trippin.


Many More Miles to Memphis

by the time
i get to Phoenix
plays on the radio.
Soulsville is just ’round the corner.
& my life

is at
another crossroads
with so many more crosses
still to bear. the voices in my head
just say

“this too
shall pass, so just
keep on livin.” it is
hard times for dreamers, yet & still
i dream–

bcuz
i am the nova
of all the beautiful
hues of you beamin’ in between.
& we

wrapped in
the sheath of our own
hopes & dreams, affect change
with our words so simple & plain.
so, i pray

to God
(since we have so
many miles to go)
that time permits our words not to die
in vain.


A Beautiful Trip

by the time i got to Woodstock
i had witnessed
the House of a rising Son
at the crossroads, down
in the delta of a Mississippi
still burning. then,
waded my way up Ol’ Man River
to Chicago & conjured cosmic reign
till dawn rode the blue train, alongside

Howlin Wolf, Willie Dixon
& of course Muddy Waters,
inventor & epitome
of a down home blue electricity
often heard, but
seldom seen, until the coming
of Jimi on the last
of those 3 days of peace & music
where he bled light & shed sound
on his Experience, in a technicolor
vision of purple amazement.
by the time i got to Woodstock

needless to say it was the final day
of a beautiful trip
to utopia laced with euphoria…
& when he came out
there was no “excuse me”
necessary, because i
was already there with him
kissing the sky.
from the very 1st riff
of his star-spangled rendition
of Francis Scott (in a distorted) Key
i rode higher than the highest
high on the rays of the sunship
horizon, absorbing
the spectrum of humanity
all around me. wishfully
thinking that Jim Morrison
just might walk on stage,
smile at Jimi & segue way
into “this is the end
beautiful friend…”
(but destiny just wouldn’t let it happen).


The Heart Speaks To The Mind

 

Know the ledge
from which you jump
is the impulse
to dream
beyond the tunnel
that once
held your eyes
captive,
unable
to see the light.

The Heart Speaks To The Mind II

 

No longer are words
& logic enough to feed
The flame. I need to feel
The pulse of your passions untamed
In the embers of your soul.


What I Want My Words To Do To You

 

may these words meander

but help us find our meaning

in the metaphysical metaphor called

life. may they live for today:

Carpe Diem. & be weapons

of faith, hope & love–

always taking the risk

that yields the greatest results.

may these words reveal

that by your own free will

“all is flux, nothing stays still.”

 

may these words spark

the arc of your imagination

with the electric music

of the muses. & be your constant

catharsis of creativity

articulating conversations

within the collective conscience

of the cosmos, urging

an understanding

of the mysteries of the world

whose journal of its journey

reads like the matrix

of eternity

by infinity.


Phantom

 

Even
As you begin
To go out of your gourd
Do not conform to the flow of
The stream

Follow
In the footsteps
Of elders who reveled
Always on the road less traveled
& be

Beyond
The beat of time
Living like a phantom
In the margins, where God resides
In you.


Born 1970 A.D.

 

“I was born underwater with 3 dollars & 6 dimes…”
–Erykah Badu

 

Yesterday, under a celestial sea of secrets
& impossible dreams
Protected by Neptune – patron god of Atlantis & his powerful trident of truth – I was born
A duality of 2 fish swimming in divergent
Directions, but raised & praised as an anomaly, yearning
To break free from the restraints of reality.
Today, I am the chameleon king
Of the house of the collective
Consciousness of the cosmos, walking on the exalted exhalations of my own lungs
Up the spiral staircase with its seven steps to heaven
As I inhale the ways of the scale, now
& forever reinventing myself
For a life without end. tomorrow,
I’ll be reincarnated as a lovebird, perched
On the peaceful crescent
Of afterglow, flowing from my Libra moon.


 

 

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