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Poetry
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joyseph Sin conexión
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Poetry
Here's a poem to consider. Someone got rid of their self-importance ... and saw things "differently". (I wonder, though, if they weren't seeing the human model ... is that what don Juan called it? I don't mean the human form, of course.)

Near, far off, not here, not there,
By Vladimir Solovyov
(1853 - 1900)
English version by Boris Jakim and Laury Magnus

Near, far off, not here, not there,
In realms of mystic reveries,
In a world invisible to mortal eyes,
In a world neither of laughter nor of tears

There it was, goddess, that I first
Recognized you one misty night.
A strange child was I,
And strange dreams did I see.

It was in an alien guise that you appeared
To me. Your voice sounded obscure.
And as the obscure creation of a childish dream
I long considered you.

Now you appear to me once more
With a caress of unexpected love.
I see you now not in a dream,
Your speech is clear to me.

I, who had been deafened in an alien world
By a roar of incoherent speech,
Suddenly heard in your salutation
The word of my homeland.

The voice of my homeland in your magic speech,
In the light of your azure eyes,
My homeland's reflection in ethereal rays.
In the golden color of your marvelous curls.

Everything by which my heart and mind live,
Everything trembling here within my breast,
All powers of feeling, will, and thought
That are mine I've given into your hands.

That morose despot, the cold ego,
Sensing its death, trembles.
As soon as it sees you approaching from afar
It grows silent, pallid, and then flees.

Let it perish, arrogant fugitive!
In free bondage and in living death,
I am the sanctuary, I am the sacrifice and the priest.
Tormented by bliss, I stand before you.

joyseph[br]joystjohn's page
19-Feb-2007 04:10 PM
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joyseph Sin conexión
Member
***

Mensajes: 114
Registro en: Dec 2006
Mensaje: #2
Poetry
Here's a poem to consider. Someone got rid of their self-importance ... and saw things "differently". (I wonder, though, if they weren't seeing the human model ... is that what don Juan called it? I don't mean the human form, of course.)

Near, far off, not here, not there,
By Vladimir Solovyov
(1853 - 1900)
English version by Boris Jakim and Laury Magnus

Near, far off, not here, not there,
In realms of mystic reveries,
In a world invisible to mortal eyes,
In a world neither of laughter nor of tears

There it was, goddess, that I first
Recognized you one misty night.
A strange child was I,
And strange dreams did I see.

It was in an alien guise that you appeared
To me. Your voice sounded obscure.
And as the obscure creation of a childish dream
I long considered you.

Now you appear to me once more
With a caress of unexpected love.
I see you now not in a dream,
Your speech is clear to me.

I, who had been deafened in an alien world
By a roar of incoherent speech,
Suddenly heard in your salutation
The word of my homeland.

The voice of my homeland in your magic speech,
In the light of your azure eyes,
My homeland's reflection in ethereal rays.
In the golden color of your marvelous curls.

Everything by which my heart and mind live,
Everything trembling here within my breast,
All powers of feeling, will, and thought
That are mine I've given into your hands.

That morose despot, the cold ego,
Sensing its death, trembles.
As soon as it sees you approaching from afar
It grows silent, pallid, and then flees.

Let it perish, arrogant fugitive!
In free bondage and in living death,
I am the sanctuary, I am the sacrifice and the priest.
Tormented by bliss, I stand before you.

joyseph[br]joystjohn's page
19-Feb-2007 04:10 PM
Visita su sitio web Encuentra todos sus mensajes
joyseph Sin conexión
Member
***

Mensajes: 114
Registro en: Dec 2006
Mensaje: #3
Poetry
Here's a poem to consider. Someone got rid of their self-importance ... and saw things "differently". (I wonder, though, if they weren't seeing the human model ... is that what don Juan called it? I don't mean the human form, of course.)

Near, far off, not here, not there,
By Vladimir Solovyov
(1853 - 1900)
English version by Boris Jakim and Laury Magnus

Near, far off, not here, not there,
In realms of mystic reveries,
In a world invisible to mortal eyes,
In a world neither of laughter nor of tears

There it was, goddess, that I first
Recognized you one misty night.
A strange child was I,
And strange dreams did I see.

It was in an alien guise that you appeared
To me. Your voice sounded obscure.
And as the obscure creation of a childish dream
I long considered you.

Now you appear to me once more
With a caress of unexpected love.
I see you now not in a dream,
Your speech is clear to me.

I, who had been deafened in an alien world
By a roar of incoherent speech,
Suddenly heard in your salutation
The word of my homeland.

The voice of my homeland in your magic speech,
In the light of your azure eyes,
My homeland's reflection in ethereal rays.
In the golden color of your marvelous curls.

Everything by which my heart and mind live,
Everything trembling here within my breast,
All powers of feeling, will, and thought
That are mine I've given into your hands.

That morose despot, the cold ego,
Sensing its death, trembles.
As soon as it sees you approaching from afar
It grows silent, pallid, and then flees.

Let it perish, arrogant fugitive!
In free bondage and in living death,
I am the sanctuary, I am the sacrifice and the priest.
Tormented by bliss, I stand before you.

joyseph[br]joystjohn's page
19-Feb-2007 04:10 PM
Visita su sitio web Encuentra todos sus mensajes
joyseph Sin conexión
Member
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Mensajes: 114
Registro en: Dec 2006
Mensaje: #4
Poetry
Here's a sonnet I happened on this morning. If you guys read this, you'll find the last line the interesting one.

Sonnet

Among the mighty mountains sojourning,
Years and decades went by as I beheld
Peak after peak at dawn or evening
Flushed with a golden glory that compelled
An ultimate homage as the day upwelled
Or night descended. Thrones of gods they seemed,
Those dazzling virgin snow-peaks -- gods who dreamed
Immortal lives away, by time unknelled.

But now, as in a dream myself, I see
The bare and level fields stretch far away:
Nothing but light and space the scene affords.
Through th' green, a ground of lapis lazuli
Shines deepest blue, and hedges, brown and grey,
Turn to a net of glittering golden cords.

-- Sangharakshita

joyseph[br]joystjohn's page
07-May-2007 09:44 AM
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joyseph Sin conexión
Member
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Mensajes: 114
Registro en: Dec 2006
Mensaje: #5
Poetry
Here's a sonnet I happened on this morning. If you guys read this, you'll find the last line the interesting one.

Sonnet

Among the mighty mountains sojourning,
Years and decades went by as I beheld
Peak after peak at dawn or evening
Flushed with a golden glory that compelled
An ultimate homage as the day upwelled
Or night descended. Thrones of gods they seemed,
Those dazzling virgin snow-peaks -- gods who dreamed
Immortal lives away, by time unknelled.

But now, as in a dream myself, I see
The bare and level fields stretch far away:
Nothing but light and space the scene affords.
Through th' green, a ground of lapis lazuli
Shines deepest blue, and hedges, brown and grey,
Turn to a net of glittering golden cords.

-- Sangharakshita

joyseph[br]joystjohn's page
07-May-2007 09:44 AM
Visita su sitio web Encuentra todos sus mensajes
joyseph Sin conexión
Member
***

Mensajes: 114
Registro en: Dec 2006
Mensaje: #6
Poetry
Here's a sonnet I happened on this morning. If you guys read this, you'll find the last line the interesting one.

Sonnet

Among the mighty mountains sojourning,
Years and decades went by as I beheld
Peak after peak at dawn or evening
Flushed with a golden glory that compelled
An ultimate homage as the day upwelled
Or night descended. Thrones of gods they seemed,
Those dazzling virgin snow-peaks -- gods who dreamed
Immortal lives away, by time unknelled.

But now, as in a dream myself, I see
The bare and level fields stretch far away:
Nothing but light and space the scene affords.
Through th' green, a ground of lapis lazuli
Shines deepest blue, and hedges, brown and grey,
Turn to a net of glittering golden cords.

-- Sangharakshita

joyseph[br]joystjohn's page
07-May-2007 09:44 AM
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BratscheWarrior Sin conexión
Senior Member
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Mensajes: 446
Registro en: Sep 2006
Mensaje: #7
Poetry
Someone posted this at the old nagual.net site a while back. Don't know who it's by. i've always liked it.

Make Space in the Cupboard


Who is the beckoner, the dreamer within?
The old face we recognize when we see not a thing?
The place in a cupboard that waits to be seen
The nonsense that makes sense of all of our dreams...

Who is your brother, your sister and friend?
Those who grow older and we forget to depend?
The place in the cupboard that waits to be seen
How can words not say what we want them to mean?

Who wrote you that letter without asking why?
And left you feeling empty like you'd already died?
The place in the cupboard that waits to be seen
The smile of a friend you always wanted to be.

Don't tell me the answer and don't tell me the end
Don't involve reason when choosing your friends...
The answer is simple and the answer is free
The place in the cupboard just waits to be seen...
07-May-2007 11:23 AM
Encuentra todos sus mensajes
BratscheWarrior Sin conexión
Senior Member
****

Mensajes: 446
Registro en: Sep 2006
Mensaje: #8
Poetry
Someone posted this at the old nagual.net site a while back. Don't know who it's by. i've always liked it.

Make Space in the Cupboard


Who is the beckoner, the dreamer within?
The old face we recognize when we see not a thing?
The place in a cupboard that waits to be seen
The nonsense that makes sense of all of our dreams...

Who is your brother, your sister and friend?
Those who grow older and we forget to depend?
The place in the cupboard that waits to be seen
How can words not say what we want them to mean?

Who wrote you that letter without asking why?
And left you feeling empty like you'd already died?
The place in the cupboard that waits to be seen
The smile of a friend you always wanted to be.

Don't tell me the answer and don't tell me the end
Don't involve reason when choosing your friends...
The answer is simple and the answer is free
The place in the cupboard just waits to be seen...
07-May-2007 11:23 AM
Encuentra todos sus mensajes
BratscheWarrior Sin conexión
Senior Member
****

Mensajes: 446
Registro en: Sep 2006
Mensaje: #9
Poetry
Someone posted this at the old nagual.net site a while back. Don't know who it's by. i've always liked it.

Make Space in the Cupboard


Who is the beckoner, the dreamer within?
The old face we recognize when we see not a thing?
The place in a cupboard that waits to be seen
The nonsense that makes sense of all of our dreams...

Who is your brother, your sister and friend?
Those who grow older and we forget to depend?
The place in the cupboard that waits to be seen
How can words not say what we want them to mean?

Who wrote you that letter without asking why?
And left you feeling empty like you'd already died?
The place in the cupboard that waits to be seen
The smile of a friend you always wanted to be.

Don't tell me the answer and don't tell me the end
Don't involve reason when choosing your friends...
The answer is simple and the answer is free
The place in the cupboard just waits to be seen...
07-May-2007 11:23 AM
Encuentra todos sus mensajes
BratscheWarrior Sin conexión
Senior Member
****

Mensajes: 446
Registro en: Sep 2006
Mensaje: #10
Poetry
A house of cards
Built on air
Never had a chance
15-Jun-2007 08:35 PM
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BratscheWarrior Sin conexión
Senior Member
****

Mensajes: 446
Registro en: Sep 2006
Mensaje: #11
Poetry
A house of cards
Built on air
Never had a chance
15-Jun-2007 08:35 PM
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BratscheWarrior Sin conexión
Senior Member
****

Mensajes: 446
Registro en: Sep 2006
Mensaje: #12
Poetry
A house of cards
Built on air
Never had a chance
15-Jun-2007 08:35 PM
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BratscheWarrior Sin conexión
Senior Member
****

Mensajes: 446
Registro en: Sep 2006
Mensaje: #13
Poetry
i changed my mind about you
People tend to do that
When they look a different way
16-Jun-2007 06:13 PM
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BratscheWarrior Sin conexión
Senior Member
****

Mensajes: 446
Registro en: Sep 2006
Mensaje: #14
Poetry
i changed my mind about you
People tend to do that
When they look a different way
16-Jun-2007 06:13 PM
Encuentra todos sus mensajes
BratscheWarrior Sin conexión
Senior Member
****

Mensajes: 446
Registro en: Sep 2006
Mensaje: #15
Poetry
i changed my mind about you
People tend to do that
When they look a different way
16-Jun-2007 06:13 PM
Encuentra todos sus mensajes
joyseph Sin conexión
Member
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Mensajes: 114
Registro en: Dec 2006
Mensaje: #16
Poetry
Blind, blind, leave the intuition behind;
positive and negative follow fine.
The start of science: beginner’s mind, too,
portends dying to what you know you knew.
St. Michael makes the intellect grow so,
but the written page means long-term aging.
Only when you reach your year sixty-three
can you hope to understand, pen-in-hand,
that you have killed yourself and trammeled on
all that’s good in learning that came before.
Intellect and printing: the end of lore.
But every death embraces a seed.
The sprout of it germinates in your head.
If you are tapped by grace, your skull will crack.
All that you lost once might flow back in then,
just in time for flesh to peel away from bone.
That’s all okay; by then, maybe you’ll see
death’s no sort of end. Maybe it’s a friend.
The void in the bowl is what makes it whole.

joyseph[br]joystjohn's page
17-Jun-2007 02:10 PM
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joyseph Sin conexión
Member
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Mensajes: 114
Registro en: Dec 2006
Mensaje: #17
Poetry
Blind, blind, leave the intuition behind;
positive and negative follow fine.
The start of science: beginner’s mind, too,
portends dying to what you know you knew.
St. Michael makes the intellect grow so,
but the written page means long-term aging.
Only when you reach your year sixty-three
can you hope to understand, pen-in-hand,
that you have killed yourself and trammeled on
all that’s good in learning that came before.
Intellect and printing: the end of lore.
But every death embraces a seed.
The sprout of it germinates in your head.
If you are tapped by grace, your skull will crack.
All that you lost once might flow back in then,
just in time for flesh to peel away from bone.
That’s all okay; by then, maybe you’ll see
death’s no sort of end. Maybe it’s a friend.
The void in the bowl is what makes it whole.

joyseph[br]joystjohn's page
17-Jun-2007 02:10 PM
Visita su sitio web Encuentra todos sus mensajes
joyseph Sin conexión
Member
***

Mensajes: 114
Registro en: Dec 2006
Mensaje: #18
Poetry
Blind, blind, leave the intuition behind;
positive and negative follow fine.
The start of science: beginner’s mind, too,
portends dying to what you know you knew.
St. Michael makes the intellect grow so,
but the written page means long-term aging.
Only when you reach your year sixty-three
can you hope to understand, pen-in-hand,
that you have killed yourself and trammeled on
all that’s good in learning that came before.
Intellect and printing: the end of lore.
But every death embraces a seed.
The sprout of it germinates in your head.
If you are tapped by grace, your skull will crack.
All that you lost once might flow back in then,
just in time for flesh to peel away from bone.
That’s all okay; by then, maybe you’ll see
death’s no sort of end. Maybe it’s a friend.
The void in the bowl is what makes it whole.

joyseph[br]joystjohn's page
17-Jun-2007 02:10 PM
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forfuckssake Sin conexión
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Mensajes: 87
Registro en: Jun 2007
Mensaje: #19
Poetry
My Brother, the Other

by Michael Holmes

I can feel you getting closer as something else moves far away
What's clearing is the bullshit that defined one's history
The King will die, the star was I, clammering for the cheer
As lights go down and curtains bow, no time for one last beer

I can feel you getting closer, I can even smell you now
Is it because you're already here just waiting for my crown?
Take me, break me, make me yours; unbend me to your will
For I leave it all behind- in a heartbeat- standing still.

My brother, the other, a double-life, playing by yourself
Who just as might keep shining light while I'm stuck on the shelf
I long for you, I yearn for you, inspite of unvoiced fears,
That all the action, all my calls will fall on plain deaf ears

My brother, the other, a chance of chances for the second ring
The magic of your very being says you hear everything
So rest assured, true self-assured I'll keep on fighting through
Till what surrounds me falls away and all that's left is you.

Copyright 2007 Michael Holmes
19-Jun-2007 03:22 AM
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forfuckssake Sin conexión
Member
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Mensajes: 87
Registro en: Jun 2007
Mensaje: #20
Poetry
My Brother, the Other

by Michael Holmes

I can feel you getting closer as something else moves far away
What's clearing is the bullshit that defined one's history
The King will die, the star was I, clammering for the cheer
As lights go down and curtains bow, no time for one last beer

I can feel you getting closer, I can even smell you now
Is it because you're already here just waiting for my crown?
Take me, break me, make me yours; unbend me to your will
For I leave it all behind- in a heartbeat- standing still.

My brother, the other, a double-life, playing by yourself
Who just as might keep shining light while I'm stuck on the shelf
I long for you, I yearn for you, inspite of unvoiced fears,
That all the action, all my calls will fall on plain deaf ears

My brother, the other, a chance of chances for the second ring
The magic of your very being says you hear everything
So rest assured, true self-assured I'll keep on fighting through
Till what surrounds me falls away and all that's left is you.

Copyright 2007 Michael Holmes
19-Jun-2007 03:22 AM
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