Of Poetry, Seething, and Siddhi

Of Poetry, Seething, and Siddhi

Words, framed and sanctioned

Symbols carrying cargos of meaning

Mind to mind transmission

Carving runes and masking sigils; Sharing jokes and playing riddles

Casting sticks and bones and dice; Reading leaves and flame and every known device

Throwing cards and throwing pictures; Wearing masks and assuming characters

Who we are, who we think we are, and who we wanna be

In our minds  - one big RPG

Assuming forms, made up anew and those too with god-thought-form egregore

Poetry is my only friend at times, at other times my only fiend

If these words could penetrate you and bring you magick power and wisdom potential

Then perhaps my feigned mission will bear the fruits of poetry

Then perhaps those of trained vision, of meter, rhyme, and alliteration 

Would see the wile of this conversational style

Help me to see oh poetry; Numb me and plumb me to the depths of experience

For what is worthwhile and who doth care how we fare in the haze of our days

Words inspire and words conspire and words destroy

Like a soft lover one minute and a sharp weapon the next

So too like life with its imaginary barrier between joy and sorrow

We walk along precipices unseen and fear is often love of the body

And love of the body is the habit of comfort and earthboundedness

All this searching and seeking sucks the wui we from the wanderer of the way

All this knowing of the future is about attention.

The diviner plays norn

The divined gets pampered

This attention reveals patterns and trends and possibilities

Dissociated states may aid or hinder

But attention is really about knowing the present, not the future

The present makes the future and the siddha plays with what appears

Fierce lady seethmage on a high seat like a life guard sky shamaness

Chanting old songs in rhythm

Occasionally spewing strange prophecies

Wanting to move madly like the Nechung Oracle

But confined to the sky seat

Strange imaginings and cauldrons of blood and flesh-eating dakinis

Love and War, the vicious and the tender

Stories of love and death, triumph and destruction, joy and sorrow

Sometimes this makes me long for even mind beyond

But I and we are addicted to the selfness of life

Evolution and lifetimes of survival mechanism and chasing joy

The automatic and addictive has set in and we can merely aspire

But why fret? And why wallow in resentment and envy?

For there is always a bug or bird to feed and the earth to tend

And there is always a place for a warm smile and kind words

And we can always make wishes and aspire to fly in balance

Struggle and ease and ease and struggle

Ease beyond these I long to sieze

But aye the gate beyond delusion seems a tease

Seemingly insurmountable mountains of struggle and confusion appear ahead

Guess I’ll camp here instead

And wonder what could have been

As old age sets in

Or