Poetry is When Love Soars

Many people have asked me why I prefer to write poetry over fictional stories. Why, they wonder, do I choose the more difficult of the creative writing genre? Poetry is, as most realize, an acquired taste.  I choose it because it is a taste not only that I enjoy, but it is a taste that takes me outside of what I immediately perceive as possible. Poetry to me, unlike fiction, takes me deeper into the mysteries of life, in places that are not readily expressed or easily accessed. These are the places where there are hidden treasures unspoken, forbidden, or lost. They have been untouched by language, music, or even breath. Poetry takes us to the strange and uncanny, because it is strange. Because we are strange. Because love is strange.

So poetry is not more difficult. It just takes us to a place where we are not used to going, but we can go there, if we want to and we try. Going there, in fact, will take us into places within ourselves that we only dreamed of, places where anxiety, depression, emotional problems melt away. And why do they melt away? Because we will finally find ourselves at home, in a place where we belong. All it requires is a shift in consciousness from this third-dimensional reality that we think is reality, the reality that we think is hard and difficult and loveless, full of war, and pain and suffering and delusion. That reality, that reality, is the one that is not real. The true reality, the place where poetry blooms, is a place where the delusion unfolds into something magical, breathtaking, cosmic, and full of divine grace, where even the greatest pain in your life makes sense and where all the death and misery holds a key to not only truth but bliss, not only for you, but for all.

For the places where poetry can grow are untouched. These places are accessed from within you and they are as the purest water or purest air. They are the scared places of the world, and they are accessed from within our heart spaces, through the soul, in the light of what many call Source light. The subject matter of poetry cannot be seen within the three-dimensional form of light that bathes this lower world. No. Poetry has the multiverse and the multidimensional as its subject matter: the place where true creation happens. Science, fiction, stories that reject poetry: all of these can be wonderful, but they spend their time on creating more stories in this world, the world in which we suffer, not the world as the world that is our true heaven, the birthright of all. And that is why poetry makes people uncomfortable. Poetry calls into our own multi-dimensional intuition of ourselves; that part of us that makes us a bit uncomfortable, because we know on subconscious level, that the life we see through the five senses and this mind that analyzes them is living in a lie, a virtual world that has no meaning in and of itself. It is difficult for people to want to face that truth, although we enjoy movies that suggest it like the Matrix, which minimally dances with poetry. Plato as well spent his life working in the “matrix” and helping students who were willing to rise above it, from a life of victim-hood and suffering, to a life of wonder and goodness and true consciousness.

Furthermore, poetry calls us to speak in ways that we do not usually speak. It seems to speak in riddles that are deliberately designed to be obscure and strange, like a puzzle that takes a tremendous amount of effort to unfold. But that is just it. It is a puzzle, this mystery, this love, and if the poet makes the mystery too clear and recognizable, the curiosity will never be evoked, the wonder, the desire to seek into the stranger regions of life. A poet that writes with clarity is not writing poetry. He is generally writing impressions or feelings. Still the poet will strive to make the mystery clear, by evoking the questions as accurately as possible. The questions are more beautiful than the answers, after all. And what question is greater than the question of love, of life, of your life, itself?

But know that there is nothing wrong with expressing beautiful feelings and impressions clearly in the world. Yet that is the state of our reality now, in the third dimension. We have psychology to feed us clear explanations of why we feel a certain way. We have clear solutions like drugs and therapy that tell us that they will make us feel better. Psychology gives a story to explain our suffering in an intellectual way and paints a very crude picture of the nature of the pain and pleasure within us. But do they take us closer to who we are, or further away? Do we not begin to feel numb, a numbness that simply trains itself to be content with a life of longing, regret, chasing desires or trying to suppress them? A life of dreams cast aside, deep sadness and resignation subdued only by inane distractions and self-righteous justifications. We no longer have time for love or poetry. We no longer have time for ourselves.

But still poetry beckons us back to the mystery of life, that child-like energy that brings back to the magic, the excitement and the power within ourselves, within others, within the whole world. Simply, it is the energy that makes it exciting to get up in the morning, not because you are going to Disney World, but because you are simply alive. Poetry, in short, is the flower of that kind of life, the love of the world, and reveals the human attempt and effort to express what is not easily expressed because true love leaves us bewildered and baffled and dumbfounded. Love, like poetry, is a playing on the very limits of language itself, and is always threatening, upon every verse, to push us over the edge into the void of time and space; for that is who we truly are, standing ever on the edge with one foot holding on to the delusions of our life, and the other hanging in mid-air, waiting for the wings to finally grow. But we truly don’t need to wait. We can just step off, for that is when the wings will grow, not before and not after. For now is the only time when love can soar.

The Old Gods

They are the stars in the night, sometimes showing up when there are no clouds. No one can touch them. They can’t touch each other. The loneliness is unbearable for them because they want to touch and feel and be inspired. Instead they have to project into a body to do that and pretend how marvelous it is. If they work hard at it they can sometimes see starlight in each other’s eyes and that gives them moments equal in both great joy as they look upon them, and in great sadness as they look away. Still as their body grows older, these stars, they are abandoned by society. The loneliness grows as well as the brightness of their minds and so they cultivate a cloudy hope that they are actually eternity itself who projects a million lights into the sky, an ethereal treasure to make this hell called human society worthy of all their soulful starry nights.

Catching Shadows

what object does not cast a shadow before the sun?
what person does not share their smile with a frown?
we are stretched between the dark and brightest light,
between the left and the right, the end and what begins;
no one can avoid the polarity of our meager perception
and so when I say I love you, my words fall as leaves fall
beneath the wilting autumn sun, shades confusing you
as you try to catch them in your shadow where they land

Beautiful Errors

when I was younger and filled with desire,
I used to think that powerful art could awaken,
that the charms of poet, music and philosopher
could return us to our long lost forgotten souls.
but how mistaken I was about that primal love
for I had not known or returned to my own soul
and so how could I have possibly ever known
that all religion, philosophy, brilliant art and song
are maps of an erroneous creative mind blind
confused and longing for a heavenly blissful life
a life that has been present for us here all along.

About (Love)

It has taken a while for me to publish an “About” page. But today was the day for it to be written.

We can live our lives in the same identity for many many years, or we can try this way or that way as the wind blows. It doesn’t matter if you try on one costume or may costumes. You are still just the one trying on costumes.

But who are you anyway?

The world teaches that you are nothing without the costume.

But I am here to tell you are everything without it.

That is because what you are is simply Love.

So here is my about page. This will never change. https://2ofswans.com/about-love/

Woman Awakening

I was watching the night stars with him

but they were fixed and did not blink,

eyes as still and vacant as a cloudless sky

for they were of dreams never seen alive,

as silent films flicker on the walls inside;

no true woman can hold that heavenly sky,

and so I awoke not bothering him goodbye

You Feel Her

and she arrived from the far gateway in the skies
but you don’t remember she stands faithful by your side
for your eyes did cast fearful shadows in the sunlight
and rainbows failed the hidden rain of dusky twilight

but she loves you still as sure as the seasons turn
and you know she’s as true as the passions you burn
for whispering rhythms of her heart you nightly hear
even midst the rage at the wounds you drown in tears

An Infinite Place

When hard pressed, I cried to the LORD; he brought me into a spacious place.

Psalm, 118:5

1) The darkness has no power, but creates an illusion of power. The more people believe in it, the more powerful it becomes. It first and foremost creates the illusion that outside forces are causing you suffering: We often say to ourselves, “If it weren’t for _____, I’d be happy.” But the truth is, those people, that society, that person, that circumstance are not the ones causing your suffering. What is causing your suffering is the belief that these mirages have any true power over your life.

2) The tragedy and comedy of life is that we seek solutions to our problems in what we believe to be the cause of our problems. We rarely question any of these assumptions, and that is why we rarely find any lasting solutions.

3) If you believe – and obstinately refuse to believe otherwise – that Santa Claus is the source of your Christmas presents and you attempt to return an undesirable gift back to him, you will remain the proud owner of an undesirable gift.

4) Knowledge does not give you freedom. Knowledge is a prison; unless of course, the knowledge you are accumulating also contains clues and keys. That is to say, that knowledge needs to allow questions about itself.

5) We seek more knowledge outside of ourselves because we are afraid to go within. Most don’t even think there is anything there.

6) We don’t believe we have the answers to our questions not because we are certain of it, but because we think we know it.

7) It would be a huge shock to the system if people found out how much their knowledge is used against them, in order to suppress their own power. But make no mistake, some people needs a period of suppression, for in many ways suppression can be a form of incubation.

8) An animal tamed well does not lose its power: it refines it. That includes the “devil”.

9) It is very difficult to find a good teacher. Most will teach you how to become something more like themselves, for that is how their teacher taught them. Education can span multitudes of generations and the sheer magnitude and breadth of it makes people feel like what they are learning is the truth.

10) Humanity is still impressed by what is big, loud, and clear; by what they can perceive and experience through their five senses. They are amazed that dogs can sense earthquakes before they happen. The funny thing is the “before”. To most people the volcano is the lave flowing out of the mountain, and what has been happening hidden beneath the surface for years is of little importance, let alone existence.

12) Life itself is your power and it is infinitely wide and infinitely deep. That is what really scares you.

13) Most men would rather limit their own power to the confines of their mind and ego. This makes their women feel protected and well fed.

14) How much energy does it take to limit one’s own power? An incredible amount, and so instead of suppressing such infinite energy, a man will give it away by creating leaking holes in his energetic field. The more powerful the man, the more thirsty are the women who surround him, draining him of his life force. The first one in line is usually the mother, for she feels he owes her and he believes it.

15) Women are of the earth, the source of life and all nurturing and flow. The idea that a woman must live off the life force of a man in order to feel beautiful and powerful, is not only a disservice to her, but also to men. Feminism, which wants to make women equal to men, is no different – it doesn’t celebrate the feminine, but denies her.

16) Feminism teaches women to become black widows: to feed off the masculine energy and kill the man.

17) Some try to escape the nature of modern society, but most end up railing against it and so fuel their anger at the expense of love. Resistance against the lies is also a lie.

18) Anything that limits your capacity to love life is a lie. How many are courageous enough to believe this?

19) You are an infinite being of infinite power, but you have been taught that power is something other than it is and that is why you reject the idea.

20) Everything the world teaches about worldly power is absurd and ridiculous, and that is why most believe that power is reserved for the few with money.

21) The man or woman who believes that money is the primary motivator of humanity, has watched life through a television screen.

22) You have something to teach humanity; you have a gift to give. But before you can give to them, you must give that gift to yourself.

23) Who is the source of all the world’s treasures? You.

24) Life is easy, even when faced with challenges, when you follow the rhythm and energy of your own soul song.

25) To a person who has been taught that being loud, brash, hard, flashy, rich, or big are signs of success, a place of quiet loneliness, softness, relaxation, and subtlety first appears to be undesirable and even counterproductive (unless it appears to serve success). “I don’t have time for that”, you say. What? You don’t have time for yourself? You don’t have time observe yourself closely, so as to give yourself appropriate gifts at the appropriate time? What? You don’t have time to watch the world go by on its own despite you and even against you? What can you experience in life if you don’t slow down and give yourself the love you’d give a child or an animal? What can you hear of yourself if you don’t remove all the noise? So ask yourself: What do you think you have time for? What are you chasing and what are you leaving behind in the chasing? What are you burying in in order to avoid it? What do you think you will get if you bury that and chase this? You know the answer to that. Answer it; but answer it slowly in a quiet and safe place, and infinite space, away from all the loud answers in the mouths of the world.

The Life I Didn’t Know

…A simple thing it is to write about what we want others to see about us. Not so simple it is to write what we have hidden from ourselves either deliberately or intentionally. It is all the same. What is hidden is that which we don’t want ourselves or others to know, but what is hidden has no less an impact on our lives. I have never known the heat or nature of the surface of the sun, but that does not mean that the surface of the sun is without power in my life. My life, to be exact, had always seemed to be a pebble bouncing across the surface of a lake, ripples racing outward as the light of the sun danced in between the valleys of the tiny crested waves. Magically, the pebble would avoid the fate of falling to the bottom of the deep waters, and by some uncanny will it would persist this lateral and repetitive movement. Pointless and uninteresting did it all seem especially after so many years, and yet I have now found that if I had looked perhaps a bit closer upon it, I would have seen two invisible hands alternating the responsibility of keeping the pebble above the water: one called Fear, the other called Pride, both called Hope…