mystical poetry thread

[Nungali]

'Diving Into Love.'

by Nungali.

 

She stepped off!

Oh God!

How could she have done that?

What space must your head be in to be able to do that?

She stepped off, I imagine,

calm and serene,

not screaming and clawing

and falling down, down

but streaming

through the layers of swirling mist

to the rainforest floor below;

like a rainbow arching down

to ground itself in the earth.

 

She stepped off

beside the plunging waterfall,

at the top of the vast vertical rock abyss,

at the head of the steep, deep,

twisting serpentine gorge.

Right at the top of the world,

right at the top of her world,

she stepped off.

 

Right at the top of her world,

young, beautiful and healthy,

(they told me)

the last person in the world

you would ever imagine

that would do such a thing.

 

I have stood on that very spot

and tentatively peered over the edge

into that vast vertical chasm,

watching the water racing down

and turn to spray

and felt that urge to fly myself,

down to the rainforest below

and quivered and tried to inch

back from that spot,

the inexorable force

drawing me down

to where the tops

of the giant rainforest trees

are bunched together

like far away broccoli.

 

"Get away from there!"

a voice shouted.

I turned (without falling)

the old 'Uncle' emerged from the bush.

He took my arm,

pulled me from the edge

and looked deep into my eyes.

We sat staring into each other

by the swirling pool,

his dark, crystal eyes

surveying my pain,

his black skin wrinkled

from searching my face.

"It's the tail of the Rainbow Serpent."

Gunabar told me.

"The twisted gorge is his body.

You have to be careful here,

you'll fall right into it."

He talked. I asked questions.

He looked at me

- through me.

 

"You ask me questions,

questions about energies and places.

I'd say to you ...” Gunabar said to me,

"... It's all about love.

It all comes down to love,

from your heart."

 

And then I heard the story

for the first time:

"Not long ago

a young white girl

from around here,

stepped off the edge....

It's not the first time.

She was happy they said.

Nice girl, good job, nice car.

Why did she do it?

They didn't understand.

She left a note at the top,

I found that note,

'I couldn’t find love anywhere,' it said

‘the only place I could find love was here'.

That's all it said.

She left that note at the top of the waterfall

and stepped off."

 

My heart was shaking,

my eyes watering,

a giant ball of emotion was surfacing

from some inner deep part inside myself.

I looked down the valley.

I turned and looked into Gunabar's eyes.

They were like black far away pools,

they were like places I have never seen.

"The white people didn't understand,

I understand." he told me.

"They had a service at the top of the falls,

they floated flowers in the pool at the top.

I floated a broken branch and a broken boomerang

- symbols of a broken life.

My offering went over the edge.

The flowers didn’t,

they got stuck in a whirlpool at the top,

I gently pushed them over

with a stick."

 

I have since returned

and stood in that very place,

high above the clouds

and been drawn again

to that roaring air.

That same place where

Gunabar told me that story.

Not at the edge beside the falls

but around the side,

near the lookout where

you can see the whole drop.

And I can’t help thinking

what space must your head be in

to be able to do that?

 

The shock of the first news is still there.

It probably always will be there.

She stepped off...

Oh God, how could she?

So now I sit, inexorably drawn

and look at the view,

the drop, the falls

and I imagine that young, beautiful girl,

that child of nature,

feeling so much love

but finding it nowhere else,

gazing out over the mountains,

head held high,

standing on the edge,

beside the plunging,

roaring, drawing water

and gently...

 

stepping on the air.

 

I imagine her calm and serene,

smiling and streaming down, down,

the spark of her soul a streaming meteor

accelerating through the air, down, down

through the layers of swirling mist,

hurtling towards the far away

now zooming closer

broccoli forest below.

 

Not screaming and falling down

but plunging, unstoppable,

totally committed

heart first, into love.

 

 

.http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/e/e5/Ellenborough.JPG/200px-Ellenborough.JPG

.

Edited November 12, 2013 by Nungali

[Mark Foote]

child of the moonlight

soft as the forest floor

silver like the river

white like foam along the shore

 

 

(ok, maybe off topic for a mystical poetry thread, just writing for writing's sake)

Edited November 12, 2013 by Mark Foote

[Nungali]

 

Pure poetry unassuaged of purpose and delivered from the lust of result is in every way perfect

[deci belle]

I hope more bums contribute to your wonderful thread, sun!!❤ I hope I do too!!

 

 

 

Passing Notes

 

 

I'd spell it out—

leave your ear stinging

but there's no reason…

and so forgetting cause

there's just wonder.

 

They all say

you know the way

but I want to hear it

coming from you

…like thunder.

 

Our own mouths

can melt metal,

but who could forge

an open secret

like you?

 

Whisper me

homeless pearly words

when we meet in the middlle

in the middle

of nowhere.

 

I'll sing you

rungs of hollowpoint

leaned against the new moon

by passerine nightbirds.

 

I'll talk you down

from siamese heights

and then I will house you

beyond the veils

…yonder.

 

 

 

 

ed note: correct the grammar in my salutation! Differentiate the dialogue with italics per Basher's suggestion

Edited November 15, 2013 by deci belle

[skydog]

too anti social..sigh

Edited November 16, 2013 by skydog

[Unseen_Abilities]

-

Edited January 31, 2014 by Unseen_Abilities

[Nungali]

SUFI DANCE

 

On certain nights I attend Sufi dance.

I can't remember where it is or how I get there,

or, for that matter, how I get home and back into my bed.

I talked to a friend about it.

He told me I was dreaming.

But if it is a dream why do I wake up so sore and tired?

Sometimes I have blisters on my feet.

But I feel I'm getting somewhere with it,

I'm no longer getting as dizzy as I used to.

I seem to be developing more love and patience.

I look good, people tell me.

 

I was practicing a very difficult part of the dance last month.

The teacher wore orange robes and the dance was very technical.

 

The month before, a different teacher,

(who wore a red robe) taught a simpler stamping dance,

a somewhat angry yet purposeful dance.

 

There was a teacher before that a beautiful woman

who wore a silver robe,

her dance was fluid and graceful.

I didn't do very well.

I think I became a little infatuated with her,

it was hard to concentrate.

 

I liked the blue teacher,

his dance was joyous and expansive.

Good things happened to me after his lesson.

In my mundane life, that is.

 

The green woman!

Well, that was easy!

But I was a little confronted.

Well worth it, because after those lessons,

I met her - in my mundane life.

 

The Golden One seemed to be saying

he is what I will become.

I found him a little confusing.

 

I haven't been taught by the black teacher yet,

I have had a glimpse of her style.

She is naked

and black and sprays of stars

and spiral galaxies cover her body.

 

But now, it’s all mixed up.

Sometimes I seem in one level of the dance,

and at other times in another level.

 

But lately there is no teacher.

No particular colored robe

and no difference between

the me here in this part of the dance

and that me there in that part of the dance

and another me over there in another part of the dance.

But at the same time I am out of the dance

and watching myself and the other dancers.

When that happens

the dance becomes a huge astral entity,

a massive cone of light

with layers and bands of colors

and dancers and teachers.

Each colored circle,

one on top of each other,

diminishing in size;

a huge cone of dancing, multi-colored,

banded light floating and rotating

amongst the blackness and stars of space.

 

At times while I am in the dance

other dancers come into my space

and bounce and career off me spinning madly,

grinning, singing and dancing off

to their destinies on other paths and trajectories.

In this part of the dance are wild eyed poets

giggling on LSD,

dancers that are leaping and floating

like fauns and satyrs somersaulting

leaving behind them trails of stars and sparkles.

 

Lately I have connected with a dance partner.

We dance exquisitely together,

she looks just like my partner in the mundane world

but lately she seems to have distracted attention.

Something seems to be bothering her,

perhaps it is me?

It probably is.

My dance is far from perfection.

 

When I look up through the translucence above,

I see exquisite dancers.

They are vibrant and ecstatic.

I want to be like them.

They fall and tumble

but this helps then to rise

in their total control of the dance.

Even when they misstep.

I want to be like that.

And when I look down

I see the dancers below me

still learning the dance.

I remember when I made those mistakes.

Some are awkward and squabbling

like cranky penguins

but others are concentrating and aspiring.

 

But sometimes,

when the dance blends

with my mundane life

and I seem stuck in the middle part of the dance.

A crazy insane part of the dance

that must be passed through to finish the dance.

It does with me what it will

and I can only respond to its energy

and lose myself in the ecstasy

of not being there.

But I know I am there.

Just as I know that at this moment

life seems much too serious to

be taken seriously

and so much is happening

all at once,

that it must be a dance

or a dream.

 

But it matters not

because one thing I have learnt

is that no matter how hard the dance is,

if I persevere

and continually attempt to see life

from the top of the cone,

in my higher consciousness,

with purified love,

I will survive

and rise up beyond the cone

to the ecstasy of infinite space

and feast upon the stars of life.

 

 

~ Nungali

[mYTHmAKER]

I removed 9th's poem as to keep it up would perpetuate it's grossness.

It seems as though he or the mods removed his original poem

 

Edited November 20, 2013 by mYTHmAKER

[skydog]

.

Edited November 18, 2013 by skydog

[Unseen_Abilities]

.

Edited November 18, 2013 by T.S

[9th]

King's Head, Lion's Body, Eagle's Wings

 

looking out over rising horizon

towards supplication of beggaring multitude

the endless whining sound

demanding font of mountainous decree

ultimate standard of highest morality dispensation

your hate defines my love

in starkly superior parameters of health

take this tablet - don't call me in the morning

i wont respect you

but what would new age jesus do?

installation of purification program

code name: monde du angelique nouveau

institution of crypto concentration camps

to instill race for focused Mastery transduction

and infinite capacity for charging ahead

through blinding light of faithful intercourse

with Heavenly Hostess Cake

spread eyes wide open and dripping wet

the Holiest of Holy Water

flooding greatly over landlocked region

inviting preservation of animal coupling

plowing across waves in electric arc

covenantal divide traverse conversion

into solitary entrance of bridal chamber

within repose of sanctioned coital embrace

[Mark Foote]

Ikkyu this body isn't yours I say to myself
wherever I am I'm there

 

(from The Haiku and Poems of Ikkyu Sojun)

[thelerner]

Could someone please explain how or why this poem is considered mystical poetry

Crude - racist - obscene ?

my 2 cents..

Its got a free flow consciousness thing going on. And imo the crude - racist - obscene is said in parody.

 

if the poet

don't wake up the people

then who will?

[mYTHmAKER]

my 2 cents..

Its got a free flow consciousness thing going on. And imo the crude - racist - obscene is said in parody.

 

if the poet

don't wake up the people

then who will?

in your opinion - how can you know what he meant. What who was he waking up?

Also he did not explain himself.

I noticed the poem has been removed

Edited November 20, 2013 by mYTHmAKER

[thelerner]

in your opinion - how can you know what he meant. What who was he waking up?

Also he did not explain himself.

I noticed the poem has been removed

Definitely in my opinion... reading a poem is a bit like intercourse. You can't always be sure what the other person feels but it was good for me.

[suninmyeyes]

in your opinion - how can you know what he meant. What who was he waking up?

Also he did not explain himself.

I noticed the poem has been removed

Yes I wanted 9th to explain the poem too ,as due to dry written internet communication it could have been interpreted as few different meanings . As well as English not being my first language sometimes I wander if I understand things correctly if they are written in special way ..

[suninmyeyes]

I just saw that 9th is banned . Anyone knows why ?

[futuredaze]

Something I wrote once.

 

Some men dwell in shadows, like owls, constantly watching and waiting - because they cannot handle intense lights. Other folk seek light as does the moth – yet they are prone to the same ill fortune as the mad dancing moth, intoxicated on passions. The sage is constantly moving in and out of light, swimming thru shadows, adapting to his environment – he is like the chameleon.

Edited November 20, 2013 by futuredaze

[Aetherous]

Yes I wanted 9th to explain the poem too ,as due to dry written internet communication it could have been interpreted as few different meanings . As well as English not being my first language sometimes I wander if I understand things correctly if they are written in special way ..

 

I think the meaning of the poem was along the lines of, "you shouldn't develop a holier than thou attitude". I viewed it as being anti-racist...although it was "crude".

[suninmyeyes]

Yes I felt it that way too ..

[suninmyeyes]

~by Ryokan from Dewdrops on a Lotus Leaf

...But if you don’t write of things deep inside your own heart,

What’s the use of churning out so many words?
... Unless you got lost on purpose You would never get this far.
Time passes,

There is no way We can hold it back

--Why, then, do thoughts linger on,

Long after everything else is gone?
I’m so aware

That it’s all unreal:One by one,

the things

Of this world pass on.

But why do I still grieve?
When I think

About the misery of those in this world

Their sadness becomes mine.
...Suddenly I thought of an old friend

Separated from me by miles of mountain and rivers.

Will we ever meet again?

I gaze toward the sky,

Tears streaming down my cheeks.
We meet only to part,C

Coming and going like white clouds,

Leaving traces so faint

Hardly a soul notices.
From heaven

A gift more precious

Then jewels or gold;

A visit from you

On the first day of spring!
Chanting old poems Making our own verses,

Edited November 20, 2013 by suninmyeyes

[mYTHmAKER]

I think the meaning of the poem was along the lines of, "you shouldn't develop a holier than thou attitude". I viewed it as being anti-racist...although it was "crude".

Using racist terminology to express anti racist sympathies can in a sense perpetuate racism,

especially when one is theoretically ambiguous. He never explained what he meant

[soaring crane]

He never explained what he meant

 

Neither did Robert Frost, and 99% of the people who read this poem are in fact being mimicked:

 

The Road Not Taken

 

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

 

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

 

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

 

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

[soaring crane]

Speaking of mystic poetry:

 

Design

 

I found a dimpled spider, fat and white,
On a white heal-all, holding up a moth
Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth --
Assorted characters of death and blight
Mixed ready to begin the morning right,
Like the ingredients of a witches' broth --
A snow-drop spider, a flower like a froth,
And dead wings carried like a paper kite.

What had that flower to do with being white,
The wayside blue and innocent heal-all?
What brought the kindred spider to that height,
Then steered the white moth thither in the night?
What but design of darkness to appall?--
If design govern in a thing so small.

 

-- Robert Frost

[ThisLife]

The first time I can honestly say that I came to think that there might "just possibly" be something worthwhile to be said for poetry, was when I was in my early twenties at university and someone who lived in the dorm room next door loaned me a collection of poems by a 60's, San Francisco 'beat' poet named Richard Brautigan. It was enigmatically called, "Rommel Drives on Deep Into Egypt". I'll add three extracts from it below in hopes of providing a cross section of the extremely wide range of subjects that Brautigan turned his most unusual eye to :

 

*

*

 

[1]

 

 

"Alas, Measured Perfectly"

Saturday, August 25, 1888. 5:20 P.M.
is the name of a photograph of two
old women in a front yard, beside
a white house. One of the women is
sitting in a chair with a dog in her
lap. The other woman is looking at
some flowers. Perhaps the women are
happy, but then it is Saturday, August
25, 1888. 5:21 P.M., and all over.

 

*

*

 

[2]

 

"Love Poem"

 

It's so nice

to wake up in the morning

all alone

and not have to tell somebody

you love them

when you don't love them

any more.

 

*

*

 

 

 

[3]

 

December 30

At 1:30 in the morning a fart
smells like a marriage between
an avocado and a fish head.

I have to get out of bed
to write this down without
my glasses on.

 

*

Edited November 24, 2013 by ThisLife