CurranPoem

Decades ago riding, in the back of a pick-up truck, My good buddy Rick and I were talking philosophy, Truth and Counter-truth I told him—waddya mean? Life is both real and an illusion--particle-wave duality We are flesh and we are spirit—50 years later, my flesh Has lower back pain and sciatica but the spirit still loves Riding in the back of pick-up trucks—which is now illegal

Melodies like memories Dance in my mind But the melodies Are more welcome Then the memories Who only remind me Of trouble The songs bring back The good times Memories belong to the flesh Emotions belong to the soul

     Rasa is one of those Sanskrit words that has a long history and is not easily translated in to English.  In ancient Sanskrit (here we are talking about thousands of years ago) rasa meant the sap of a tree.  (Wikipedia)  The sap of a tree flows and contains the essence of the tree.  Gradually poets began to use "rasa" to apply to the essence and flow in music, dance, art and poetry.  It came to mean the emotions of creativity and eventually spirituality and by the time of the Upanishads nearly 3000 years ago, rasa would be used to describe the divine nature of the gods.  A little over 1000 year ago, the word came to be associated with Krishna.  Chanting the Hare Krishna could produce the transformational experience that would result in healing and wholeness.    Some Jews, Christians and Muslims can experience this in their prayers and meditations, musicians in their music, physicists in Quantum Physics.  It is abo...

We wear language like a garment-- A worn old t-shirt chosen because It’s comfortable worn so many Times before and it speaks for us But doesn’t say much other then Haven’t we been this way before? But there are big vowels lurking In color and adjectives in hats And metaphors in shoes and Even conjunctions in trousers All waiting for you to speak

Eyes tight shut As one remembering What is best forgotten Open—they welcome New light but the old light Teases the new light And rainbows of recognition Dance inside the spilled shadows Of dancing demons who are Only waiting to be introduced To their new angels who wait Patiently for their introduction

Time is a deep river beyond our fragile rafts That keeps us afloat as we watch the distant Shore thinking that soon we will be there Time is a deep river invisible to us and our prayers To an unseen essence we call spirit that binds the Universe together into a mystery of which we Are mere players and also the slayer of dragons But sometimes the dragons devour us and we suffer Not knowing that if we but laugh at the demons they Will mourn and melt before human courage which They can neither slay nor destroy nor bless nor love There is a place that does not exist that is the only Place there is—the river flows into mystery taking With it our rafts, our joys, our suffering, our angels And our blessed demons into the depths of a river That has flowed deep and wide for countless suns And moons since the angels touched earth with the Spark of life on which we float our fragile rafts and All the forgotten generations of creatures before us ...

Trees were old Before humanity Was young They watch us With the silence Of saints and they Will pray for us After we are gone