Archive for the ‘2007’ Category

2007-02-20

Tuesday, February 20th, 2007

It's been a long time 
   since the muse or cold reality
has driven me from my bed 
   to scratch my fear.
A cold wind creeps under the door tonight
   and drives the transient 
      to murmur its name to the transient.
We sit in a house with all that we've collected
   trying to prove ourselves permanent 
while driving ourselves
      deeper into the material illusion.
We hold these things to us 
   and yet look away
least the pattern becomes too apparent,
   and the mirror catch us whole.
For in truth we are erosion in motion, 
   the resumption of dust,
      the gathering of less and less.
I struggled with my pillow tonight 
   against this clarity.
And with every turn came another vision,
   and with every dismissal, 
another flash of mortality
   like a sword through the curtains.

Very little is under my control here;
   save how I ride the failing machinery.
I felt the weight of my gut 
   and remembered the mirror's vision
of an older man 
   than I think I am.
Am I not, the young, the sure, the strong?
   Am I not those images 
      that fill my mind's long delusion?
Year after year ... I am changing.
   But it comes on so slowly, 
      I can't see it.
And so, we draw on with grace, 
   we draw on with sloth,
with gluttony, with materialism, 
   with work and with projects,
with dreams of fame, 
   of making an impact,
      of impressing others.
And with all of these ... we fail.
   But, we press on.

An increasingly narrower place, 
   the road of clarity,
our deepest animal urges 
   are doomed 
by our gathering awareness
   until we have only what remains 
      or denial.
I want so for it to matter, 
   but it will not.
Against the bigger scenery, 
   we are but shadows,
tiny sparks of awareness 
   from the fires of evolution.
A momentary knowing 
   against the implacable;
the improbable and transient 
   standing against that 
      which cannot register us.

In all these years since Dylan Thomas said,
   "Rage, rage against the dying of the light",
      I've finally heard him clearly, 
         but now I doubt his advice.
Beyond here, lies a truth 
   and an embrace
      that only I can encounter.
God grant me the wisdom and courage
    to be loving and honest in this place.

                                      gallagher
                                      20 Feb 2007
                                      Monroe

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

2007-03-22

Thursday, March 22nd, 2007
I have suspended disbelief before a thousand scriptures
   as I’ve eased myself into knowing this world.
I have asked, watched, listened and I have read
   but the secrets have alway been inside.
And everything outside has always been
   just smoke in the morning trees.

Neither action or intention, nor word or form are there
   and all science and reason lie without.
It is no servant of words or names, this...
   where, the clocks are dumb and time has gone still.

You speak of Krishna or Vishnu, of Buddha and Jesus
   but these are just shadows on the wall
of the candle that burns within
   in that center of being that wells from within itself.

Scripture is just the trim that adorns the door
   outside the place that contains the beloved.
		
			gallagher
			22Mar07

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

2007-06-17 – Pythia’s traces

Sunday, June 17th, 2007

What prevents your witness of this place
   but the urges of your blood
      and all the drama that follows?

Here, where the sun pours liquid, 
   you pass by in a vision
captured by nature's dream 
   of fitness and the raging of genes.

In and out of that still point 
   you turn like dream warriors
self-reflected in your inner eye 
   and in the stories you tell yourselves.

But past the end of the dance 
   something waits, still and serene.
It is the quiet moment 
   when your water's been poured
but hasn't yet 
   run down to the sea.

There, 
   there is no dance, 
no counterpoint, 
   no singing in the wires.
just a moment of freedom 
   to commune 
with the sun's blessing
   and to witness 
the rise and fall 
   of the fields of flowers.

Time to see the dance 
   and the singing 
      as if for the first time
without the urge 
   to spill yourself.
A time to witness the children's faces 
   smiling new at that same beauty,
before they begin, 
   that you can see, 
      now that you are done.

The puppy at play, 
   the gentle wind in the grass, 
      the light that can shine
 from an eye with love;
    be it animal, 
      child 
         or man.
That sweet blessing 
   behind the play of forms, 
      that beneficent something
 that embraces 
   all of this coming and going, 
      all the mystery and beauty.

Oh, Beloved, 
   carry my sweet Pythia away 
      into your light,
and, Blessed One, 
   whisper to her softly 
      how well she was loved.

                                          gallagher
                                            17 Jun 07

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —