Emergence in Verse

Mysteries of Eros — Sunday Honey

Gyorgy Kepes: Lichtenberg figures: A. R. von Hippel 1951

I.
Most of them wanted burnt coffee, 
watered down tea, and 
stale pastries. Which
as you know, 
I do not 
offer.  

II.  
When I let people in 
they got angry
and reckless;
they couldn’t find 
their expectations
inside my shining cases. 

III.  
Rocky road.
My flavor was not 
well refined;
I begged for 
customers. 

IV.  
Still 
they wanted me
to be
something else. 
Biscotti?

V. 
I tried to become 
what I thought
they thought
they wanted of me;
I killed all of me.

VI. 
Do they know
my doors are open?

VII.
Maybe I 
give away 
too much for free. 
Maybe I'm not 
expensive enough. 

Might I consider 
how much energy 
my bun shop 
requires?

Might I be
more inviting?

I wonder.

Maybe I’m too open. 

Maybe they want 
to be
persuaded.

Maybe I do.

Maybe it’s time,
Ginger pie.

•••••••••

There is something. Something about a dream I had. Something about the feeling of helping. Touching. Changing. Something about being part of it. The process of transformation. 

I wonder why a part of me held this desire so close to the chest. 
Was it because I got shut down? Rejected? Burned by others who claimed to want the same? 

Was it because I worried there was something wrong with humanness?

Manipulation is a strange thing. How do you know when someone is being honest? How do you know when you are being honest?

We live in a world of people who are mostly strangers to themselves. Lying and not knowing it. Not knowing the true meaning of that sinking feeling. 

•••••••••

How to say what you really mean? Be quiet. Wait for the feeling. Channel, don’t think, as you interpret. As best as you can, do not distort the message. 

“Beyond the superficial, the considered phrase, "It feels right to me," acknowledges the strength of the erotic into a true knowledge, for what that means is the first and most powerful guiding light toward any understanding. And understanding is a handmaiden which can only wait upon, or clarify, that knowledge, deeply born. The erotic is the nurturer or nursemaid of all our deepest knowledge.” — Audre Lorde

•••••••••

The Muse — that is, Eros — emerges through the space of consciousness that is our bodies.

If we want to receive her poetry, our sacred mission is to clarify our minds and bring our bodies more alive. 

Our purpose is to notice consciousness composing the symphony. To feel wisdom penetrating every cell of our being. 

Our ritual is to become her transmission.

Receive 
transmit
receive 
transmit
receive
transmit

A game 
she calls it.

We cannot control the what of being. 
Not really. 
We can affect the how of things — 
the environment — 
being we are it.  

There are questions:
     texture          shape
                  space
    weight
                  spiritus. 
There are spectrums
we move through.
Formless form,
shapeless shape;
soulbodies. 
A million ways 
to say the same word
a million ways 
to pour 
a cup of tea
and find meaning
in its leaves
a million ways
to evoke from life
its infinite cast of characters. 

Learn to breathe and you can learn anything. 

•••••••••

I am full of joy and full of longing. Can I sense them dancing, hands clasped, entwined limbs, permeating? 

I am grateful for the tension — it means there is meaning. It means there is something worth the wanting. It means there is joy in the process, painful as it may be. It means pain is pleasure, too. It means I love you. I love you. I love you.  It means I wake, rich with feeling. It means I am alive with something beyond me. 

There is connection Here. A sense of the ripe unseen awakened, reaching inward, penetrating body, tendrils sweeping every corner, emotion seeping through every pore, love expanding, flowing outward...

Alan Watts would laugh. “Feeling is happening,” he’d say. “Connecting is happening.” 

It’s a happening and we’re emerging. A merging? 

What’s with the nouns anyway? 
We are more verb than any “thing,” static.
What, in any case, distinguishes 
a thing 
from an event? 
Isn’t it all process? 
A rock, too, fades into stardust 
and that same stardust ripens as us. 

•••••••••

Joseph Cambpell says the first function of mythology is “to evoke in the individual a sense of grateful, affirmative awe before the monstrous mystery that is existence.”

The second is “to present an image of the cosmos, an image of the universe round about, that will maintain and elicit this experience of awe.”

If I had to choose a god (I have, anyhow) Eros is It. She is all things. Infinite forms. Eternal resonance. Joy and power and chaos. Pain and pleasure. Spontaneous combustion. Rhythm and texture. Flow and structure. Ripe fruit. My heartbeat. Between my legs, wet heat. A devilish temptress sweet as honey. 

A quaking mess of sensitivity. 
God and magick. 
The same pulsing.