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July 25, 2005
Intimations Of Immortality
From Recollections Of Early Childhood
There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem
Apparell'd in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it hath been of yore;—
Turn wheresoe'er I may,
By night or day,
The things which I have seen I now can see no more.
The rainbow comes and goes,
And lovely is the rose;
The moon doth with delight
Look round her when the heavens are bare;
Waters on a starry night
Are beautiful and fair;
The sunshine is a glorious birth;
But yet I know, where'er I go,
That there hath pass'd away a glory from the earth.
Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song,
And while the young lambs bound
As to the tabor's sound,
To me alone there came a thought of grief:
A timely utterance gave that thought relief,
And I again am strong:
The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep;
No more shall grief of mine the season wrong;
I hear the echoes through the mountains throng,
The winds come to me from the fields of sleep,
And all the earth is gay;
Land and sea
Give themselves up to jollity,
And with the heart of May
Doth every beast keep holiday;—
Thou Child of Joy,
Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy
Shepherd-boy!
Ye blessèd creatures, I have heard the call
Ye to each other make; I see
The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee;
My heart is at your festival,
My head hath its coronal,
The fulness of your bliss, I feel—I feel it all.
O evil day! if I were sullen
While Earth herself is adorning,
This sweet May-morning,
And the children are culling
On every side,
In a thousand valleys far and wide,
Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm,
And the babe leaps up on his mother's arm:—
I hear, I hear, with joy I hear!
—But there's a tree, of many, one,
A single field which I have look'd upon,
Both of them speak of something that is gone:
The pansy at my feet
Doth the same tale repeat:
Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home:
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
Shades of the prison-house begin to close
Upon the growing Boy,
But he beholds the light, and whence it flows,
He sees it in his joy;
The Youth, who daily farther from the east
Must travel, still is Nature's priest,
And by the vision splendid
Is on his way attended;
At length the Man perceives it die away,
And fade into the light of common day.
Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own;
Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind,
And, even with something of a mother's mind,
And no unworthy aim,
The homely nurse doth all she can
To make her foster-child, her Inmate Man,
Forget the glories he hath known,
And that imperial palace whence he came.
Behold the Child among his new-born blisses,
A six years' darling of a pigmy size!
See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies,
Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses,
With light upon him from his father's eyes!
See, at his feet, some little plan or chart,
Some fragment from his dream of human life,
Shaped by himself with newly-learnèd art;
A wedding or a festival,
A mourning or a funeral;
And this hath now his heart,
And unto this he frames his song:
Then will he fit his tongue
To dialogues of business, love, or strife;
But it will not be long
Ere this be thrown aside,
And with new joy and pride
The little actor cons another part;
Filling from time to time his 'humorous stage'
With all the Persons, down to palsied Age,
That Life brings with her in her equipage;
As if his whole vocation
Were endless imitation.
Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie
Thy soul's immensity;
Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep
Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind,
That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep,
Haunted for ever by the eternal mind,—
Mighty prophet! Seer blest!
On whom those truths do rest,
Which we are toiling all our lives to find,
In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave;
Thou, over whom thy Immortality
Broods like the Day, a master o'er a slave,
A presence which is not to be put by;
To whom the grave
Is but a lonely bed without the sense or sight
Of day or the warm light,
A place of thought where we in waiting lie;
Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might
Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height,
Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke
The years to bring the inevitable yoke,
Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife?
Full soon thy soul shall have her earthly freight,
And custom lie upon thee with a weight,
Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life!
O joy! that in our embers
Is something that doth live,
That nature yet remembers
What was so fugitive!
The thought of our past years in me doth breed
Perpetual benediction: not indeed
For that which is most worthy to be blest—
Delight and liberty, the simple creed
Of childhood, whether busy or at rest,
With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast:—
Not for these I raise
The song of thanks and praise;
But for those obstinate questionings
Of sense and outward things,
Fallings from us, vanishings;
Blank misgivings of a Creature
Moving about in worlds not realized,
High instincts before which our mortal Nature
Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised:
But for those first affections,
Those shadowy recollections,
Which, be they what they may,
Are yet the fountain-light of all our day,
Are yet a master-light of all our seeing;
Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make
Our noisy years seem moments in the being
Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake,
To perish never:
Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour,
Nor Man nor Boy,
Nor all that is at enmity with joy,
Can utterly abolish or destroy!
Hence in a season of calm weather
Though inland far we be,
Our souls have sight of that immortal sea
Which brought us hither,
Can in a moment travel thither,
And see the children sport upon the shore,
And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.
Then sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song!
And let the young lambs bound
As to the tabor's sound!
We in thought will join your throng,
Ye that pipe and ye that play,
Ye that through your hearts to-day
Feel the gladness of the May!
What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind;
In the primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be;
In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of human suffering;
In the faith that looks through death,
In years that bring the philosophic mind.
And O ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves,
Forebode not any severing of our loves!
Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might;
I only have relinquish'd one delight
To live beneath your more habitual sway.
I love the brooks which down their channels fret,
Even more than when I tripp'd lightly as they;
The innocent brightness of a new-born Day
Is lovely yet;
The clouds that gather round the setting sun
Do take a sober colouring from an eye
That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality;
Another race hath been, and other palms are won.
Thanks to the human heart by which we live,
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,
To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
- William Wordsworth, 1770-1850
photos courtesy of David J. Nightingale © 2005 (all rights reserved)
Posted by Neal at 8:40 PM | Comments (0) | Category: Poetry & Art
July 18, 2005
Imagining reality
Look at this chocolaty rose.
Can you smell it?
Can you feel a petal melting on your tongue?
Can you taste its milky sweetness?
Can you hear yourself swallowing the chocolate of your mind?
Posted by Neal at 7:52 AM | Comments (0) | Category: Poetry & Art
July 16, 2005
Another Jules
say my name
"The most alluring thing I can think of at this moment is to see you in the throes of passion – to watch you getting off, and to know that I am the reason. I want to see your head thrown back, eyes closed and lips slightly parted, lost in the moment. I want to see you pass that point of no return, when the rest of the world becomes obscured by the star about to go nova within. I want to hear you call my name in that last gasp before you fall over the edge into exquisite oblivion.
But first ...
I want to take you to a secluded place, where the only sounds are our own. I want to surround you with candles. I want to trace my wine-dipped finger across your lips and watch your tongue follow.
I want you to stand behind me, snake your arms around my waist, and lower your mouth to my neck, just beneath my ear. I want you to breathe in my scent and brush your lips against my quickening pulse.
I want my hands to cover yours and my head to lie back against your shoulder as a sigh escapes your lips.
I want to witness the moment you surrender to the fact that you want "us" to happen every bit as much as I do.
I want you to slowly turn me toward you and take my face in both your hands. I want to stare into your eyes as our lips meet for the first time. I want you to feel my low groan when your tongue emerges to dance with mine. I want you to feel it at your very core.
I want you to have no doubt about my feelings for you. I want the depth of my desire to sweep away any lingering reservations you may have. I want you to know that I have never felt anything this powerful, this overwhelming, or this awesome.
I want to put my hands on your back, beneath your shirt, and feel your skin react to my touch. I want to feel you press your body more tightly into mine, making contact from shoulders to thighs. I want to see your head fall back, exposing your neck and chest to my eager mouth. I want to feel your hands grab my ass, pulling me even closer.
I want you to hear me catch my breath in anticipation as you remove my shirt. I want you to taste my skin as your hands move toward my breasts. I want you to thoroughly explore each nipple with your teeth and with your tongue as my hands insistently guide your head.
I want my mouth to give you incomparable pleasure.
I want you to hear the intensity of my arousal in the soft sounds escaping from my lips. I want to kneel before you, feeling the heat of your sex against my face. I want to see your hands urgently tear at your clothing in order to give me full access.
I want to run my fingers down your back and bring you to my lips, tasting your salty sweetness. I want to drink your anticipation.
I want to lie on my back, opening myself to you completely. I want you to bury your face in me and feel my wetness bathe your face as I lose all inhibition.
I want you to feel my breathing quicken as I move my hips to match your rhythms. I want to feel your hands in my hair as you ride our storm.
I want you to know, without a doubt, that I am yours in thought ... that I am yours, in word and in deed ... that I am yours, whenever and wherever and however you want me.
I want to see you pass that point of no return, when the rest of the world becomes obscured by the star about to go nova within.
I want to hear you call my name in that last gasp before you fall over the edge into exquisite oblivion. (Say my name... )
I want to hear you call my name as you come for me. (Say it now...)
And of course, I want to do it all again ... and again ... and again ..."
Posted by Neal at 8:20 AM | Comments (2) | Category: Poetry & Art
July 15, 2005
One Jules
"You don't look up in the sky and see six billion planets and galaxies, and not realize that life is eternal. We're not made up of just this little body. There is a Soul which is eternal. That's what we have to look at first. Second, you have to be doing spiritual practice.
. . . Practicing 24 hours a day is when that consciousness of your Source never leaves your mind. Whatever you do - when you make a mistake, speak harshly, or are insecure - you're still conscious of Source.
. . . One thing about religion and spirituality. There is only God in the universe, everywhere, in everything, and in you. You are one with God. God is everywhere; God is everything. You can know it by knowing, listening, by praying about it, by asking for what you want, because God is always the creator, and the creator has to always create by asking: “What do I want now? What do I want to create now?” That's your job, the life of prayer, of looking to see what it is and where it is and how it is you want life to be for you, and asking for it, and then seeing the chips fall where they should. Everything lines up according to what you think, feel, and ask for, which is what true prayer is. Do not spend a day, let alone an hour, let alone a minute, without praising loving and thanking the cosmic God Source, the Prime Creator, Jehovah, Allah, whatever name you call that Source - being in tune with that, and saying "thank you, thank you, thank you - thy will be done." The Will that you want done is your highest aspirations, your highest love. Never let a minute go by without being in tune. So that's the answer to the question, “Do I ever worry or think negatively?”
. . . It's the fear that has to be gotten rid of, not what you're afraid of. When fear goes, then you become a stand-up person and look at life squarely in the face and in the face of any adversity or negativity, and say, "I will drop the fear." Just as you dropped the attachment, you drop the fear. But you know, we are addicted and attached and habituated to fear. We seem to have our compass needles set at the dark zone, the soap opera of life. Get off'a that!
. . . Drop the habit of caring about anything or anybody, in the sense that you are disposed to a.) chortling manifestations of sympathy, or b.) buying into their "poor me" sad act, and c.) being the broker of change, and as their personal wand-carrying angel, helping them to find joy, and d.) thinking there’s a laurel wreath for your head when you’ve done that. Helping others is impossible. The only way you can help another is to get them to release their problems, emotions, unhappiness, suffering, and grief, and listen to their inner God Voice. It’s more about making them let go of the screens to vision. Once the screens are gone: they have eyes, they will see it daily.
. . . When you get up and go to bed, just clean your aura. See yourself vibrant, healthy, wealthy, and wise. See by visualizing abundance that you are the creator of everything you could possibly want. And visualize exactly what you do want to create, how you want the physical reality to look. How you want your physical body and your life, your bank account, every detail of your life, to be. You envision it exactly that way, already done, already having been completed in the matrix, in the mind of yourself. In your own mind, you see it. And you affirm it. And you invoke it. And you speak it, and react that way, act that way, look that way, talk that way, not as a dilettante, not as a pretension, worry, or anxiety about it. Not as a windbag, but as someone who walks with the dignity, vibrancy, courage, and energy of one who has all these things that you would have, in the fullness and the completion of knowing it is already done, already yours. And you practice. It's the same image of being a musician, sculptor, dancer, actor, architect, or policeman that you see yourself being that, then by practice, and doing the things necessary to groom yourself and perfect yourself, creates the perfection of that particular thing, creates the mastery of that particular thing. Without doubt and without fear, without interference, you will be able to create and accomplish anything, because that's our only goal. And our only purpose is to have harmony, happiness, abundance, and be the most creative we can be, and to produce the greatest good for ourselves and everyone throughout the planet and universe.
. . . Wake up thirsty to start your work, intoxicated to be doing it, with a yearning to start again each morning. To be able to perform the talents that you are innately born with, practice every day, every hour, every minute possible, so that you see the advancement, and you feel the ecstasy of accomplishment and mastery.
. . . When I talk about how easily I do 10 hours of piano practice a day, it will generally stop conversation. People stare in horror. But it inspires artists. I've had great musicians tell me, "After I realized you could do that, with no sense of time passing or boredom - which you conveyed to me - I find that I can do it too. I've evolved, thanks to that remark you made." But who shares intimate details of one’s passion, or on the practice of one's art?"
Posted by Neal at 4:51 PM | Comments (0) | Category: Playtime
July 10, 2005
Why Do You Work So Hard?
"Call it the cafe question. Any given weekday you can stroll by any given coffee shop in the city and see dozens of people milling about, casually sipping and eating and reading and it's freakin' noon on a Tuesday and you're like, wait, don't these people work? Don't they have jobs? They can't all be students and trust-fund babies and cocktail waitresses and drummers in struggling rock bands who live at home with their moms.
. . . And we look at them and go, What is wrong with these people?
. . . But the truth is, God, the divine true spirit loves nothing more than to see you unhinge and take risk and invite regular, messy, dangerous upheaval. This is exactly the energy that thwarts the demons of stagnation and conservative rot and violent sanctimonious bloody Mel Gibson-y religion, one that would have all our work be aimed at continuously patching up our incessant potholes of ugly congenital guilt, as opposed to contributing to the ongoing orgiastic evolution of spirit.
It is not for everyone. It implies incredibly difficult choices and arranging your life in certain ways and giving up certain luxuries and many, many people seemed locked down and immovable and all done with exploring new options in life, far too deeply entrenched in debts and family obligations and work to ever see such unique light again. Maybe you know such people. Maybe you are such people.
But then again, maybe not. This is the other huge truism we so easily forget: There is always room. There are always choices we can begin to make, changes we can begin to invite, rules we can work to upset, angles of penetration we can try to explore. And if that's not worth trying, well, what is?"
- Mark Morford, July 8, 2005
read the whole article at the SF Gate
Posted by Neal at 11:38 PM | Comments (2) | Category: Playtime
July 7, 2005
Where did they go?
My friend saw some faeries on the bridge of flowers. Do you believe?
- Lauren Mills, "The Moss Green Princess"
"A long, long time ago, the Earth belonged
to the creatures of the wood. By creatures
of the wood I mean gnomes and elves,
fauns and faeries, goblins, ogres, trolls
and bogies, nymphs, sprites, and dryads.
They tended it and took care of it, played,
danced and sang in it, cared for wounded
animals, sat on mushrooms discussing
matters of import and drinking Labrador
tea, rode down streams on leaves and bark,
and parachuted from trees with dandelion
seeds. This was the world into which
mankind was born . . ." more
- Mat Jacobson, "An Historical Overview of the Whereabouts of Gnomes and Elves, Fauns and Faeries, Goblins, Ogres, Trolls and Bogies, Nymphs, Sprites, and Dryads"
Posted by Neal at 10:25 AM | Comments (1) | Category: Mother Earth
July 5, 2005
Be your Self, no matter what they say
To be yourself is the trick of making your own world, for then there is no other world possible.
- Adam
Posted by Neal at 9:52 AM | Comments (1) | Category: Father Time
July 4, 2005
Eight points
The Medicine Wheel is one way to connect eight points.
Here's another way:
Allow yourself to see it as a multidimensional, or holographic, image.
And here it is up close:
"The big question for astro physicists today is the nature and composition of 'Dark Matter'. Dark Matter, the stuff that makes up 96% of the mass of the universe yet is instrumentally undetectable. They know it exists because of the gravitational field it projects. It is my theory that these geometries or gaiametrics are the affects of Dark Matter on land and culture, the mechanics of the Great Mystery. Dark Matter is a gross misnomer and actually is 'Light Matter' the realm of Light beings and a flashing universe.I think that when the scientific community rationally proves the nature of Dark Matter they will also rationally prove the existence of parallel universes of light and spiritual domains. The consequence of which would result in a evolutionary leap in consciousness, the admission into a trans dimensional brotherhood - an ascension of sorts - and the end of the world as we know it. Could it be that out of Dark Matter the ETs emerge and return? All that exist within the 96% leaves us operating within only 4% for out rational existence, a finite existence for the mind of a Supreme Creator Being.
Think of it, between this page and your face there are heavens, hells, ETs or UTs, angels, fairies, ancestors, collective memories, and a gravitational field that carries prayerful intention across dimensional boundaries. Ultra terrestrial gravitational fields formed these gaiametrics. It is through these, Dark Matter projected, organizing mechanisms - the naturally generated geometry described here - that we can communicate with spirit consciousness, and it communicates with us. The Crop Circles of England are gaiametrics projected from parallel space telling us of the actual existence of these worlds and how to connect with these beings and grids of grace filled lighted strings that make up 96% of universe.
Similar to Dark(Light) Matter there is no rational, as yet, for these enigmatic landscape geometries, nonetheless their influence on culture is very evident."
- Peter Champoux, Itasca to New Orleans, August 2004
Posted by Neal at 10:38 AM | Comments (0) | Category: Mother Earth