The Unseen

Something grows, imperceptibly

The Great Ones speak of Liminal Space and

The World of the Unseen

Where so many things are happening

Tell me about your world-view

Does it include the Truth of the Unseen

The beauty of the unscientific mystery

Science a wonderful thing indeed

But always tending to catch up with the spiritual views

— The guru’s truths —

— The real-world magic that can’t always be proved —

Until sometimes it is and then everyone jumps in

Having scoffed at Faith as if it were a weakness

“You need something to cling to”

Oh darling, as if I had not clung and then thrown it all away to Seek

— To disbelieve —

— To question everything —

There are two kinds of faith

Blind and Experiential

Funny how in my own life

Experiential led to Blind

Oh, to experience the Numinous

— The luminous —

I am sad for all those who do not see

Who cannot believe

Who pity me

Make no mistake

I do not pity them

Nor do I devalue their experience

It is their Truth, equally

Oh, but I must confess I do wish for them

This beautiful gift of Seeing Into All of This!

To have gone through the hell of the Quest

And come to realize that there is another transformation that exists:

Experience creates faith

But once it’s solidified inside

You no longer believe

— There is no need —

For you possess just one thing

Total, complete

Knowing

 

 

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Twisted

Trick, trick, trick

Tick tick tick

He won’t stop

‘Til He gets what He wants

Stealing all my thoughts

To twist and turn and weave

As He sees fit

Taking all clarity

Hoarding all wit

He’s like a Hawking, or Jobs or Einstein

But multiplied infinite times

Oh honey, you ain’t gonna win His game

Genius like this is Genius Insane

Trick trick trick

Tick tick tick

That great mind you think is up to it

Is proof you’ve already been Tricked

There is no up to it with a Devil like this

All that education, that intelligence

He’s just got you building a higher fence

Humming, foolishly, as you close yourself in

He’s running circles around you

Your best psychological thinking is His

He tells you “it’s projection”

He won’t let you have a thing

Don’t you know by now

He will tell you anything

Just to keep Himself going

To stop you from feeling your True Feelings

The only chance you might actually have

To not be

Tricked tricked tricked

Tick tick tick…

 

A Worthy Endeavor

I feel Hope rise up, filling me

Pouring out my eyes

Gratitude bursting out of my heart

I think it just grew about three sizes

At the very same time

I feel scared shitless

Not a great word for a poem, maybe

But True

It is scary to Hope

Because it’s Dark Partner – Disappointment —

Has Crushed me more time than I can count

“Don’t hope at all, don’t feel this much…”

Some small voice begs from deep inside my soul

But the Hope is too powerful

And it flushes my entire system with this kind of warm glow

Another part of me smiling and shouting with joy

I LOVE EVERYBODY!!!!

It is so hard to not get attached to emotions like this —

To know they will change

Why is it that when we’re in the depths of despair

It feels like the pain will Never Shift

It feels like the suffering is endless

We so easily forget the small beautiful moments

Heart-aches somehow solidify more

Hook into us

Yet

When we Hope, when we Love, when we Feel Amazing

There is a voice that cautions,

“Now now – not too much…

Don’t be too happy…

The other shoe’s is about to drop…”

It’s true and false at the same time

Feelings move

That is what they do

So I come to the One Great Altar:

Allowance

Knowing I must let myself fully accept This Moment

This Joy

And, with courage, do the same for the inevitable

Other Side.

What an enormous task.

But what a worthy endeavor.

Cory

 

cory

 

One more

A symbol

What darkness within

That you fought silently, privately

Trudging through

No addict, like me, will ever judge you

The ones who have No Experience

Walking razor’s edge

Will toss out opinions

Sharp and hurtful

Empty of meaning

Ignorance and judgment in place of feeling

They won’t ever understand

They will just blame

But you and I, my friend,

We are the same

It is only a choice

Sometimes

Not everyone will get that line.

But those of you who do –

Well, this one’s for you

I whisper now

My desk to your grave —

I know how you fought

I know you were brave

We don’t always win the game that you played

(Though I know very well that this was no game)

Your Soul up for grabs

As the demons, they raged

A light went out

Like they do every day

But that don’t mean that Life isn’t changed

The Warfare of the Psyche

Is no fucking game

Those who don’t know it intimately

Ought just give their Thanks

I honor you, friend

Your Death no place for shame

The fight that you fought…

You and me

Quite

The same.

Summer Heat

Image

It’s hot outside

With a gray sky

Cloudy, sweaty heat

Heavy-like

Left the front door open

So this weather

Could enter

The summer breeze comes.

Slow, like molasses

Or honey dripping down from a spoon held high

The Great Lover’s breath exhaling

Through the foyer…

The living room…

Moving

Undulating

Sticky, naughty heat

“Bad, bad weather,” she thinks

A little grin

Another bead of wetness

Slides down her skin

Dampness on top,

Within

Overcast July-ness hangs everywhere

Thick and delicious and naked

Beautiful

Who seeks the soul of a beautiful girl
Does the beautiful boy even have a soul
Or, do they lose it to the Beautiful
With Its strict, perfectionistic demands
That She should not age
Nor have flesh at the thighs for lovers to grip
Nor thin lips
Nor large hips
That He — can’t possibly be kind or warm
Because he’s Expected, practically directed
With that straight nose and carved jaw to simply stand there
With that strangely prized apathetic look of The Modeling World
Beautiful men reduced to the thing in their J Brand jeans
Beautiful women reduced to caricatures in magazines
Blank slates for other women to draw inaccurate conclusions about
Oh, the perks of Beauty –
Mistrust, betrayal, jealousy
Competition, oh yes dear, and
Fear
For the Beautiful person can only hold on for so long
Until they close up, shrivel
From a lack of Being Seen
Beautiful — Put On them at birth
Or created from low self-worth
Like that monogramed bag everyone has
Cuz it tells us what we’re worth
So when He and She turn hardened
We say “The Beautiful are mean”
But Beauty’s just a little fire…
Who holds the gasoline?