SamadhiMuse » 2007

2007-02-20

Dennis — Tue, 20 Feb 2007 08:10:35 +0000


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 we've collected
   to prove ourselves permanent and to drive ourselves
      deeper into the ever present now.
Now ... least the pattern become too apparent,
   least the mirror catch us whole.
For we are erosion in motion, the resumption of dust,
   the gathering of less and less.
I struggled with my pillow tonight against the clarity.
   And with every turn came another view,
      with every dismissal, another insight of mortality
         like a sword through curtains.

Very little is under my control,
   save how I ride the failing machinery.
I felt the weight of my gut and relived the photos
   of an older man than I know.
The young, the lithe, the sure, the strong
   fill my mind's eye's long delusion.
Year after year ...
   it changes so slowly, I cannot admit.
We draw on with grace, we draw on with sloth,
   with gluttony, with materialism, with work and projects,
      with dreams of fame, of making an impact,
         of impressing others.
All of these ...
   but, we press on.

An increasingly narrower place, the road of clarity,
   our deepest animal urge doomed by awareness.
      We are left with what's left
         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 fire 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 I doubt his advice.
Grace or terror, denial or courage,
   comfort to give away, or the lack of to mourn.
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

Dennis — Thu, 22 Mar 2007 08:10:27 +0000

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

Dennis — Sun, 17 Jun 2007 08:10:35 +0000


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 the still point you turn like dream warriors
   reflected in your inner eye and in the stories you tell yourselves.

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

Here, 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 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 her softly how well she was loved.

2007-10-11

Dennis — Thu, 11 Oct 2007 08:10:42 +0000


How long since the pen has fallen from the sky
to touch the paper in front of me?
It is so difficult to tell the froth
from the surge of the sea.

But, I feel it here - change and movement
are in the air.
Potentials, rearrangements, rebalancings,
new beginnings, old endings, the wind of manifestation.
A new dance is being called.

Sharon crackles with psychic energy
like the light that blazes from a door ajar
and through it all, trust and receptiveness
run like a river, soft and waiting.

Oh, beloved, let your will be done
and our dreams expressed as well
and our wills become ever more perfect reflections of yours
all inseparable, all one, all mystery,
all so alive on some edge of becoming.

                                 gallagher
                                 11 Oct 2007

2007-12-13

Dennis — Thu, 13 Dec 2007 08:01:14 +0000


A month ... and the silence has gathered.
The cars and the buses moving through the city
   are like a repeating film clip.
My busyness has eroded against the silence
   and I've seen the waste of time.
The name and parts of the days are getting lost
   and meaning fades away with them.
I chided Alan about being impaled by pointlessness -
   the old man's dilemma.
I just couldn't imagine a place
   where I couldn't find a passion and a purpose.
Like a child in a candy store,
   I've had my fill now and must remember
      where I was bound, if I can.

                              gallagher
                              13 Dec 2007
                              Christchurch
                              - a rainy afternoon