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 Poetry 
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Joined: Sat May 05, 2007 4:05 pm
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Location: Sheffield, UK
Post Poetry
Many years ago, I wrote a poem to try to capture certain experiences that I have described elsewhere on this forum. I thought that I would post it now.

This was my original poem, written about 40 years ago. The Hub upon the Wheel is a symbol for a state outside time and space and to which we seek to return, but which paradoxically already contains our true nature. The trees and yellow light image is based upon a dream.


The Hub of the Universe

For there is a great white road
Which leads beyond the sun,
Designed for man to travel
When his mortal span is done.

It leads past the magic forest
Where the trees breathe yellow light,
And promise total darkness
To those who dare to fight.

It leads past the hidden shrine,
Past the cross upon the hill,
Where God did choose to suffer,
And man did choose to kill.

It leads back to the Centre,
To the Hub upon the Wheel.
It leads back to the home of man,
Where Truth alone is real.


At some later date, maybe 10 years later, I worked it into a longer poem with an apocalyptic theme, where I envisaged a sort of saviour figure trying to help those trapped in time. The 'maimed and muted minstrel' was based upon a character in a fantasy novel, whose hands had been terribly damaged but who was also a harpist whose music controlled the winds.
In this version, the saviour figure creates a path home as an act of compassion.


A Vision

Time sped swift and golden
Like a child, upon the shore
And the seas rose up like dragons
From elemental lore.

The children of illusion
Cried without respite for love
But they did not see the coupling
Of the serpent and the dove.

And their seed sped forth unbidden,
Straight as an arrow's flight
From the centre of the cosmos,
From the Home of love and light.

From the womb of all creation
From the hand that holds the seal,
From the space within the atom,
From the Hub upon the Wheel.

And the children of illusion
Saw the angels of the light,
Saw the avatars of rebirth,
Saw the dragons of the night.

And the cities of illusion
Went like dreams at break of day,
Like snowflakes in the springtime,
Like signposts on the way.

And the maimed and muted minstrel
Mourned the passing of the age,
His the only voice to master
Time's monuments to rage.

Then a passion came upon him,
And he plucked the strings of light,
And he sounded forth his music
In the silence of the night.

He took his rhythm from the dancer
Who beats the drum of time,
And tempered fortune's cruelty
With the measure of his rhyme.

His melody he gathered
From the voices of the bound,
The children of illusion
With their woeful broken sound.

His harmonies were given
By the masters of the dream
In the silence of their pity
And the violence of their scream

And he built a great white road
To lead beyond the sun,
Designed for man to travel
When his mortal span is done.

It led past the magic forest
Where the trees breathe yellow light,
And promise total darkness
To those who dare to fight.

It led past the hidden shrine,
Past the cross upon the hill,
Where God did choose to suffer,
And man did choose to kill.

It led back to the Centre,
To the Hub upon the Wheel.
It led back to the home of man,
Where Truth alone is real.

Patrick

_________________
"A name is a prison, God is free."

Nikos Kazantzakis


Last edited by Patrick Booker on Sat Apr 30, 2011 1:25 pm, edited 2 times in total.



Sat Nov 21, 2009 12:28 am
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Location: Saskatchewan, Canada
Post poetry
Thank you for sharing these with us Patrick.............my poems always felt like my babies and I have been quite hesitant to let anyone "see" them.

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Ann Marie


Sat Nov 21, 2009 1:00 am
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Location: Virginia, USA
Post Re: poetry
ann marie wrote:
Thank you for sharing these with us Patrick.............my poems always felt like my babies and I have been quite hesitant to let anyone "see" them.

Hi Ann Marie, On another thread, I addressed a post to I think, Kristen, Patrick, and Jan, maybe Michael too... But I was thinking of you because of our brief mention to one another before about the nature of "god" -- perhaps the same one that dropped its turd from above in Jung's childhood dream. You also mentioned about why "god" and its consort or spirit would have a son but not a daughter. My dream-visions and some poems (no longer have any of them) I wrote when in my late teens to mid twenties seem to be in retrospect very Gnostic and not very respectful of the patriarchal deity. This was before there were lots of books on such a topic and it was not something I was as yet holding as a conscious belief. I suppose it was my soul's conviction. I have mentioned a few times before here at the forum about writing while I was still a teen a poem about escaping "the cycles of miserable fate that trace the ends upon themselves alas so late" at a time when I did not even consider believing in something like reincarnation. Perhaps my notion these days is more like that of Meister Eckhart's that there is a Godhead of Love and Light beyond the tribal "god" that says it loves us if we behave but is quite prepared to ruthlessly make us suffer and die a horrible death (plus possibly an eternal hellfire) if we cannot keep from sinning. Considering what that tribal deity's sins are in asking for massacres by its followers against its enemies and its poor emotional self-control about its own jealousy, rage, cruelty, and revenge -- why should we give it even a single moment of our devotion and certainly not our affection? After I get the Leonardo posts finished (they are "secretly" related by the way to rebellion against the stern male deity), I want to get more openly into the same kind of who and what is god that you expressed in your forum profile. Here is a link to what I said on another thread that I felt would interest you:
Quote:
The image of Aquarius is also something I posted about on another thread, but oddly the urn with the water coming out of it is portrayed in my inner visions as the eye of god raining out either tears or urine or golden fluid light upon us as fallen humanity -- take your pick depending upon what we each perceive as being the moral and emotive nature of the deity.


http://unus-mundus.fr/viewtopic.php?p=8508#8508

Suzanne

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"Only if a man dares to entrust himself again to the depth of his origin can he reach the height for which he was destined." Karlfried Graf Durckheim


Sat Nov 21, 2009 2:23 am
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Post Re: Poetry
Patrick Booker wrote:
...... At some later date, maybe 10 years later, I worked it into a longer poem with an apocalyptic theme, where I envisaged a sort of saviour figure trying to help those trapped in time. The 'maimed and muted minstrel' was based upon a character in a fantasy novel, whose hands had been terribly damaged but who was also a harpist whose music controlled the winds.

In this version, the saviour figure creates a path home as an act of compassion.

A Vision

Time sped swift and golden
Like a child, upon the shore
And the seas rose up like dragons
From elemental lore.

The children of illusion
Cried withoout respite fror love
But they did not see the coupling
Of the serpent and the dove.

And their seed sped forth unbidden,
Straight as an arrow's flight
From the centre of the cosmos,
From the Home of love and light.

From the womb of all creation
From the hand that holds the seal,
From the space within the atom,
From the Hub upon the Wheel.

And the children of illusion
Saw the angels of the light,
Saw the avatars of rebirth,
Saw the dragons of the night.

And the cities of illusion
Went like dreams at break of day,
Like snowflakes in the springtime,
Like signposts on the way.

And the maimed and muted minstrel
Mourned the passing of the age,
His the only voice to master
Time's monuments to rage.

Then a passion came upon him,
And he plucked the strings of light,
And he sounded forth his music
In the silence of the night.

He took his rhythm from the dancer
Who beats the drum of time,
And tempered fortune's cruelty
With the measure of his rhyme.

His melody he gathered
From the voices of the bound,
The children of illusion
With their woeful broken sound.

His harmonies were given
By the masters of the dream
In the silence of their pity
And the violence of their scream

And he built a great white road
To lead beyond the sun,
Designed for man to travel
When his mortal span is done.

It led past the magic forest
Where the trees breathe yellow light,
And promise total darkness
To those who dare to fight.

It led past the hidden shrine,
Past the cross upon the hill,
Where God did choose to suffer,
And man did choose to kill.

It led back to the Centre,
To the Hub upon the Wheel.
It led back to the home of man,
Where Truth alone is real.

Patrick

Well, Patrick, we must be on the same wave length and share a similar sympathetic vibration as my deceased One and Only might say in his musician related lingo. I was thinking yesterday to send you today a private message to ask you about the topic of "sound" that you mentioned in your profile. Here is something I E-mailed to a couple of friends on this 11/11 about things I usually do not mention openly here on the forum -- just hint at it a lot!
Quote:
The theme is repeated over and over again in the old dream notebooks that Lee's and my mission in life was to resolve our own remaining issues and then to walk out of the prison with some others coming along with us, while similar processes are also going on among other soul groups throughout the world and beyond into other dimensions where enslavement is less obvious but very real nonetheless. It is somehow now for many an opportune time for no more cycles of return back to the same old suffering, cruelty, torture, war, and pure damn viciousness we see whenever we happen across the latest news on the Internet or TV. Lost souls are being reclaimed and led in processions to under the canopy awaiting the signal to go home -- whatever that symbolic image may mean in ultimate reality.

As the aria in the Magic Flute said:

And when a man has faltered, it is love that shows the way.
A friend will take him by the hand...
and will guide him with joy to a better place.
A loving hand will show him the way.

Sound (as implied in the term sacred) has something to do with assisting this safe passage...

Suzanne

_________________
"Only if a man dares to entrust himself again to the depth of his origin can he reach the height for which he was destined." Karlfried Graf Durckheim


Sat Nov 21, 2009 2:43 am
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Posts: 507
Location: Sheffield, UK
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Suzanne,

I have experimented a bit with overtone chanting, and use recordings by Tom Kenyon, Jonathan Goldman. There are extraordinary possibilities here - far beyond my limited exposure to it.

This might be of interest:-
http://www.cymascope.com/

I have met John Reid, and seen him demonstrate his wonderful invention. Very impressive.

Patrick

_________________
"A name is a prison, God is free."

Nikos Kazantzakis


Sat Nov 21, 2009 6:22 pm
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deleted on request


Last edited by Gone on Thu Apr 21, 2011 1:56 pm, edited 1 time in total.



Sun Nov 22, 2009 4:59 am

Joined: Mon Mar 13, 2006 7:27 am
Posts: 735
Location: Vancouver, B.C., Canada
Post thanks, Patrick
That is inspiring Patrick, thanks for that. You write in such a way that a feeling of 'freedom' is the ultimate outcome for the reader, and that's no idle outcome...

Care to post any more? Any such offerings are more than appreciated. Like the fact that you came back to your earlier work at a later date. You found a new thread of the archetypal tale that eventually lead you back again to those initial words you wrote so long ago, a homecoming of some proportion.


best,
Kristin

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"The tomb is not a blind alley; it is a thoroughfare. It closes on the twilight. It opens on the dawn." ******* (Victor Hugo)


Sun Nov 22, 2009 5:57 am
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Joined: Sat May 05, 2007 4:05 pm
Posts: 507
Location: Sheffield, UK
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Thank you all for kind comments about my poems. I haven't written any for many years - I do have a few more, but I always thought that those were the best. I will have a look at the rest though, Kristin.

I can see what you are getting at, Jan. The second poem was written years after the original, and I was consciously trying to incorporate various ideas.

I like your comparison to giving birth, Ann Marie. And your references to sound, Suzanne - on the few occasions when I have really felt a poem coming through, it sort of rides on a rhythm.

Patrick

_________________
"A name is a prison, God is free."

Nikos Kazantzakis


Sun Nov 22, 2009 11:26 am
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Last edited by Gone on Thu Apr 21, 2011 1:55 pm, edited 1 time in total.



Mon Nov 23, 2009 12:23 am
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Location: Sheffield, UK
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It is a lovely poem, Jan. I also could not really integrate my experience into my 'real' life.

Beethoven did indeed dedicate the 'Eroica' to Napoleon, but when he heard that Napoleon had declared himself Emperor, he scratched out the dedication on his manuscript.

Patrick

_________________
"A name is a prison, God is free."

Nikos Kazantzakis


Mon Nov 23, 2009 12:07 pm
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