Tag Archives: Beauty

The Last Poem

I need a poem so stunningly beautiful

That it self-destructs

I would guzzle such a poison that annihilates the reader

Where each verse joyfully burns away my weathered skin

Leaving no aspect of this reality unchallenged

Upon reading such a creation I rise above this body

And witness the mortal me

As the entirety of his existence

Dissolves into nonsense

Quickly, a desperate escalation of his pace

As the emptiness hunts for him

With each step he pushes against crumbling stones

His fingers claw into the earth with all that he can muster

Still, he falls into that unrelenting blackness

Wailing and Flailing

The pounding wind from the decent

Soon becomes as still as a vacuum

All perceptions are left floating

Empty and resting

His surroundings become irrelevant

And I can’t tell if he’s still falling

Nor can he

Differences dissolve

And our true nature resolves

It is the merging of that which was never apart

Oh to have such a poem

Freedom packed into rhyme

Infinity captured within time

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I Am Not, Yet There Is

As it becomes clear that this body is void of any personal identity, the enigma of existence unravels.  What is left is an alarming emptiness. An impersonal organic structure of perception exists but not in service of an identity.

And as the identity vanishes, so does the haze through which I had previously seen the world. A remarkable clarity is born as the heavy emotions and burden of re-activity are lifted from my heart.

After meditating on this discovery I stood up from my trusty park bench, and somehow, I felt taller. But there was also fear of these new sensations. There is an obvious temptation to return to the old ego. To return to that familiar stomping ground. But this time I’ve come too far.

Walking back to work I feel as if I am floating. I repeat several times to myself “I am not, yet there is”. It is an accurate reflection of how I am feeling. That the long accepted paradigm of my existence is changing. I used to be a person in the world. Now there is just the world.

It is a pure awareness of my environment. I call it pure because there is no false “I” that I am trying to incorporate into it. I am not evaluating the goodness or badness of the events around me. There is simply no baseline against which they could be measured.

The Now becomes a given. Without a personality to make life conditional, things just are as they are. Thinking has not stopped, but I am not energizing it with excessive attention. There is an ease which carries me back to my desk.

It is not a beautiful day here by any means. It is rainy, windy and an unseasonable humidity is in the air keeping it slightly warmer than normal. It is a day that could have easily lowered my mood, but I am quite content. There is an ineffable beauty to it. Not so much from an aesthetic perspective, but in the energy of it. It is the energy of life simply living itself.

Is Creative Writing A Form Of Non-Surrender?

The practice of surrender is an exercise recommended by many of the most recognizable spiritual gurus. We hear that letting go of resistance and accepting the is-ness of the present moment is key to achieving a lasting inner peace.

I have also read much about the link between true creativity and spirituality. Eckhart Tolle says that “All true artists, whether they know it or not, create from a place of no-mind, from inner stillness.” In learning this I began to attempt to tap into my creative side. I thought that in doing this I would also be tapping into my own spiritual dimension. This is where my question appears. If I am being creative as a way of transcending my unhappy current state, is this actually a form of not surrendering to the realities of the present moment?

True creativity comes from stillness, but can creativity also lead to stillness?

One thing I had noticed about my life prior to being introduced to the spiritual dimension is that I had practically no outlet for creativity. There was no vehicle through which any artistic creation could emerge. By starting to write poetry I wanted to open that door and see what popped out.

However, poetry has become something I am hoping will lead me to a more enlightened state. Rather than enjoying the act of creating on it’s own I have burdened it with the task of transcendence and infinite wisdom. In fact, I find that all of my doing has become polluted with outcomes and expectations. I rarely do things out of a natural instinct, but instead look at how each task will affect my spiritual journey.

I need to go much deeper into surrender and make space for whatever comes next.

I still dream of writing a beautiful poem that touches many but to write beautiful poetry you need to see beautiful things. John Keats said “Beauty is truth, truth beauty”. Perhaps through surrender I will see truth.

The Pine Trees

I live in Ottawa, Canada and last night around 10 centimeters of snow fell. As I got into my car this morning it was still coming down but it was quite tranquil. There was barely a breeze and snow falling this way does an excellent job of muffling the sounds of the rat race. It wasn’t sticky snow but was nonetheless gathering quite significantly on the branches of trees.

When I arrived at work the snow had stopped but the air was still calm. Then without much warning the clouds parted and the sun shone bright against a sky blue backdrop. The sun has been a rare sight in Ottawa lately so I took special notice of this. It hadn’t been out for 5 minutes when I noticed the wind was starting to blow. The snow that was laying softly on the ground was now starting to be thrown about by this ever increasing breeze. Looking into the distance each building had developed a white halo of drifting snow.

This quick change in the weather caught my eye and I stood from my desk and went to the window. What was a stiff breeze now became a gale. Snow everywhere was flung from it’s resting spot and visibility was decreasing with each passing gust. I looked towards the front entrance of my building where three or four 40 foot pine trees stand bunched together. They seemed either unaffected or protected from the dramatic shift in weather, but then something incredible happened…

As if some universal threshold was broken the wind reached such a speed that the branches could no longer hang on to their snow. In one swift punch from Mother Nature the pines disappeared into a cloud of it’s own blowing snow. The trees were violently shaken by the indecisive wind direction until all it’s branches lie clean. As the snow all moved along and the trees became bare I experienced a definite awe in witnessing such a simple event.

Soon I began to realize that what I saw had profound spiritual undertones. The gathering of snow on the branches was similar to how we add layers upon layers to ourselves. Then there was the sun busting through the clouds providing a sign of hope. With the appearance of the sun the winds start to dramatically change. The environment becomes turbulent and more violent. Often, in a spiritual journey, after the first signs of light things start to get worse before they get better. Then as if the tree can take no more it releases the snow and carries it’s burden no more. The pines stand barren, simpler and free. The winds still blow but those pines barely seem to notice anymore.