Saturday, April 1, 2017

An April Fool’s Lament 2017

So there he was   
On his way to find out

“When will I be a butterfly?
Who has that secret map leading to the treasure of treasures?
What books need to be read? What poems have the great insight? Who has possession of that great book of illumination? If I read it will I becoming any closer to knowing the answer? What songs should be sung ? When what songs are played do I to stop anything I am doing and dance when I hear them? Where is that great hermitage and what meditations and prayers will connect me to the source of everything? Is it the real truth that peace and love were the intentions of the universe? Does the existence of silence mean that there is nothing other than what we see or is it that the silence is the source great ineffable consolation?
See the geese returning from their winter retreat. What do they know that we don’t? Hear the sweet song of the chimes? Where and who is the source of that sacred wind that causes the chimes to console the ever-wandering spirit? Isn’t music proof of the sacred? Do tea ceremonies really work? Do religious ceremonies and spiritual exercises of any kind fuel anything? Is it true that the Book of Wisdom was written by a woman or is it that woman is the essence of wisdom? Is it really evil that feeds desires and invents those attachments that keep us from knowing the truth? It is the commencement of April and Eliot is wrong. It is National Poetry Month, right? It is not just resurrection but birth and the joy of life we are waiting to celebrate. That long cold lonely winter is over.”

Paradise was never lost it was within just waiting for him to stop asking questions and live it.

He Thought,,"It ain't over yet!"

On the Road to Find Out – Cat Stevens

It ain’t over – Rodney Crowell

Cousin Caterpillar

If you want to sing out – Cat Stevens

 Here Comes the Sun - ( G. Harrison) Performed by JF Sobecki and Friends

The Layers

Related Poem Content Details

I have walked through many lives, 
some of them my own,
and I am not who I was,
though some principle of being
abides, from which I struggle
not to stray.
When I look behind,
as I am compelled to look
before I can gather strength
to proceed on my journey,
I see the milestones dwindling
toward the horizon
and the slow fires trailing
from the abandoned camp-sites,
over which scavenger angels
wheel on heavy wings.
Oh, I have made myself a tribe
out of my true affections,
and my tribe is scattered!
How shall the heart be reconciled
to its feast of losses?
In a rising wind
the manic dust of my friends,
those who fell along the way,
bitterly stings my face.
Yet I turn, I turn,
exulting somewhat,
with my will intact to go
wherever I need to go,
and every stone on the road
precious to me.
In my darkest night,
when the moon was covered
and I roamed through wreckage,
a nimbus-clouded voice
directed me:
“Live in the layers,
not on the litter.”
Though I lack the art
to decipher it,
no doubt the next chapter
in my book of transformations
is already written.
I am not done with my changes.


“One day I will find the right words and they will be simple”
        - Jack Kerouac

“The only truth is music”
       - Jack Kerouac


Copyright JF Sobecki LLC 2017 All Rights Reserved

No comments:

Post a Comment