I
Imagine the Elephant.
That big thing
In your little room.
You can hardly move,
And the elephant
Is not going anywhere.
This massive being is with you 24/7.
It seems to follow you wherever you go.
There is no getting rid of it.
The thing is—other people don’t see it.
They CAN’T see it.
So there is no use talking about it.
Sometimes you wish that the elephant would go away,
(Wouldn’t life be easier then?)
But you’re stuck with this large and strange being.
It is bigger than life,
And does not want to leave.
There is no getting away from it.
You have to admit that you care about it.
It does not want much.
—Like a person, it wants to be known and loved.
II
Talking about the elephant makes you look crazy.
Few are interested in your story.
It seems made-up.
You try not to sound alarmed
When you tell them what you see,
But they are not really interested anyway.
Most of the time they don’t even ask questions,
Or don’t have much to say.
They want to be polite.
They don’t want to encourage you.
They don’t care what you say.
They want you to talk about something else
That is more familiar and everyday.
After all, who sees elephants?
Why would anybody want to?
How can anybody believe in such a thing?
Category Uncategorized
Take Your Soul In Your Hand
(for Fatma Hassouna)
Broken glass
Broken buildings
Broken souls
A new wasteland
--A new vessel for holiness;
The human that endures.
Like thunder, greater than
Any violence or fury of Nature,
The bombs fall from the sky.
Human beings crushing human beings;
Soul killing captive souls.
How can a soul rise from the rubble?
The soul needs so little.
It can survive a bomb blast,
Even though the body dies.
How can you remember Eternity
When you have nothing to eat?
Long is the soul’s longing
For redemption,
For the peace of God.
The Others
We can start from several assumptions. We are visited by non-human beings. They are more technically advanced than we are. Some are kind, some are dangerous, some are indifferent to us. Governments around the world have kept them secret for at least 80 years. Although there has been extensive interaction, much of it seemingly random, most have been reluctant to tell the story of their encounter. At the same time, it seems that most, if not all of the visiting extraterrestrials do not want to become widely known; they have also been secretive. This has been a crazy situation, since our acknowledgement and relationship with these beings is significant.
In recent decades there have been surveys of people that have had contact. Surprisingly, many have had repeated experiences, and a majority of these have been positive. Most of the evidence for their existence is anecdotal. There has been almost no physical evidence. There have been some witnesses to recovered spacecraft, but this remains to be fully revealed or disclosed. The Others do not seem to fear us, but wait for us to develop to the point where we can accept them.
The anecdotes of experiencers tend to be fantastic and unbelievable. They are generally ridiculed. They can not explain the very strange things that have been happening to them. Information we have gathered is piecemeal and fragmented. We have not been able to study them scientifically. They do not fit the way that we look at things. That information that we do have seems impossible, incomplete, and often contradictory. Their manifestations are generally outside of the human framework.
Despite their enigmatic quality, recent surveys show that ET appearances and abductions follow a pattern, or patterns. We might believe the varied narratives that some ETs have given which experiencers have recounted, but these stories are quite mixed. Confusion reigns, particularly since we, as a whole, are ignorant of the different species. Some of the species demonstrate caring for us, and others have an extreme antipathy. Some seem to want to heal us and develop our species, and other extraterrestrials want to manipulate or destroy us.
Ironically, what we need to do is expand our science to include what is not visible. A model is the study of Near Death Experiences. Although we have religions that accept what is not visible, many religious people have a tendency to view extraterrestrials as angels and demons. This is not helpful. We need to bridge the gap between faith and ignorance and knowing.
We have been given various historical narratives by different extraterrestrials. Some say that we have been ‘seeded’ by other species. The accounts of genetic meddling are numerous. Considering that recorded human history goes back only a few thousand years, it is difficult to know conclusively if these are true—or if true, incomplete. There is so much that we don’t know.
If there is such mystery and obfuscation and ridicule—why try to find out the truth? Aren’t you curious? Don’t you want to know? There has already been much disclosure, but most of it is not ‘official’, by governments and scientists. Much of the truth is anecdotal. And varied. It will make your head spin. Some of it, some part of it, you will decide is true, even if it defies logic and possibility. It is truly a different world.
Remaking The Soul
I want my life to be easy and comfortable,
Not dissonant or demanding.
I do not seek trouble or disharmony,
Yet often, through failed relationships,
My life has come apart.
Should I spend time with people who are hard to love
And seem better left alone?
Must it be so hard to bear others in my life?
I embrace all these fragments of myself,
Even as I struggle to love them more.
I forgive, even my unforgivingness,
That my soul be remade among you.
Six Years
Not everyone can make death wait;
You meet it well-prepared.
You do not deny your fate,
But have faced it long and well-aware.
Though the bloom must leave the rose
The end need not come soon.
All the doors are not yet closed.
Why wait alone in an empty room?
Life has slowed to match your pace;
You often pause and rest.
Illness may have lined your face,
Yet you are patient with your distress.
Life is as it ever was;
The people you know, the place you live.
There never was a need to rush:
To become the one named palliative.
Many leave this life without a prayer;
Without a vision in their soul.
Suddenly they leave their life of care,
It seems—their cup half full.
To some your progress may seem sombre,
But it is a blessing—not a curse.
An examined life is full of promise;
A foretaste of heaven, and of peace on earth.
War of Words
What goes around, comes around: You say what you want to say; “That fool is an arrogant clown” And that’s fine, until the day That comes upon you, like a thief, (Nothing can break your fall) You still spout the same belief; You said nothing wrong at all. But you are the one to blame. Without reflection, you can not tell. Everything still seems the same, Yet suddenly you are in a hell Among people you haven’t even met. Each one wants to throw the first stone. (You have the first glimmer of regret) Without defence, you stand alone. You could have tried to stop the war, Stayed their hands, and brought peace, But that was a bridge too far; You were thoughtlessly at ease, Holding opinions about all things, Seemingly wise, unafraid to speak, Yet silence would have been better—listening To the other, and softening—as if weak.
I Have Seen The Promised Land
I have seen the promised land. I can not describe it to you. Words can not contain it. It lives in both the present and the future. We belong to it already, And have been surrendered to it. It is the Great Peace. It comes slowly, yet with great urgency, But does not force an end to war. It is the home of the lion and the lamb, Where God has prepared the feast And sits with us at table. Why must we be broken open? Our anger must lie fallow --another seed must germinate. The love that you have heard of Is not enough to bring the change; It is an agent and a solvent. Our bloodied swords must rust, And all our pointless struggles fail, So that we can enter with empty hands.
The Promised Land
We will reach the promised land, Though we have difficult days ahead. It will come to pass for all of us; Both the living and the dead. We will reach the promised land When night, without fear, becomes day. When for others and ourselves, We forgive, and bless, and often pray. We will reach the promised land; The impossible peak of the mountaintop. But how can that happen? How will the violence stop? We will reach the promised land When truth can not become a lie, When freedom will not reside in silence, Or imagination abandoned and left to die. We will reach the promised land. MLK saw it before he died. He said that he did not fear death --There was no reason to dodge or hide. We will reach the promised land When ceasefire ends and become peace; When we are no longer nomads in our soul, And our hearts are not wandering refugees.
Loss
Soldiers and Generals have no imagination.
They do not see that bombs become cradles for children,
And their flying missiles— coffins and unmarked graves.
Can’t they see that their advance is a funeral march?
Their guns are crutches, newly minted for the battle,
Their tanks stately hearses, ready to carry the dead,
And their artillery no different than ambulances
–Rushing forward to attend the fallen.
Their cheers of victory are keening wails;
Their loud celebrations a sombre wake,
While their prayers for divine assistance
Are the Devil’s ready call to arms.
In war, guns are like flags:
Nation against Nation;
People against people.
Chaos and loss—a carnival of death.
I weep for those whose loss is absolute,
For those vanquished, or lost in rubble,
And for those forsaken enemies who
Have once more lost their minds.
October 24, 2023
On ChatGPT
On The ChatGPT Essay Comparing Buddhist Practice With Poetry I am against the rise of verbose machinery, Even when they are talking harmless nonsense. Why solicit the opinion of a dunce? They do not bleed; they do not feel. These know-nothings are like our rampant television sets. Even though they may have Zen-like acuity And seem to narrate the most wonderful stories and delineations They are a pastiche of broken human knowledge And in their vacant soul—the blind leading the blind. II I turned (almost at once) to the writings And fierce biography of Anna Akhmatova. Perhaps like her—despite its upheavals, I seek refuge in my own country, Without turning or looking away. She suffered in, and through her passion; Her writings, her marriages, her lovers, Yet all around her, arose stone walls and ideologues, Ready to imprison, destroy, or distort All that was original and beautiful.
Cosmic New Thresholds 