If the nature of things were such that
consciousness, awareness, mindfulness, did not exist then no existence would be
known by anything. That things do exist are only known by way of conscious
experience of them. The most miraculous and amazing thing in the lives of human
beings, and by which they, we, know anything at all, is seemingly taken for
granted. From our own point of reference only two things exist; one being the
thing which is conscious, or self; and the other being that which we
experience. Hence the observer and the observed.
What then is the observer, and what is the
observed? These are but two of the perennial questions which we, and no doubt
any and all intelligent self-conscious entities ask themselves. What am I: from
whence do I come: what am I doing here; and to whither do I go? Why do I exist?
Why does anything exist? How does anything exist? Is there some point or
purpose to existence? Why do I ask these questions? What makes me ask these
questions? Does it matter? Does anything matter? If not then why not? And if so
then why? Is it a simple matter of choice that I, mind, ask questions and
desire comprehension; or is it implicit in the implicate order of things? If
there are answers to these questions then where can they be found?
Such questions I asked myself even as a young
child; and as no doubt all or most people do and have done since the beginning
of human existence on earth. Such questions arise in the mind naturally, there
is nothing either clever or unusual in it; for it is the most natural thing in
conscious existence to ask questions and seek answers and understanding.
The
answers which I have found hitherto come from no book on earth: no philosophy;
no religion; no physical observation; no rational analysis; and neither from
the words of any human being. They just came by way of experience. And in the
beginning I was not even aware that I was asking them. But I will talk a little
of the things which I found, and my feelings toward them. I do this in order that
children, young minds, may contemplate upon something other than that which the
state indoctrination, by way of both science and religions, pump into young
minds as soon as they can think. Hence an alternative to give thought to. Also
that in due course they can come to compare viewpoints which emanate only from
direct human experience as opposed to doctrinal belief systems and conventional
conceptual thinking. Existence, creation, is mysterious; but mystery does not
imply that in due course it defies understanding, and even by way of reason.
Reason can never dig out these inner truths, but when known, digested and
synthesised, they do not defy reason. And when both emotion and reason walk
together in one harmony and accord, then so to does creation itself join in the
cosmic dance of being. And when the outer becomes a living reflection of the
inner then creation itself flowers; from essence into form.
Dick Richardson West Somerset. 2001
~~~~~~~~~~
If all the stars were paper,
and all the space was ink;
and if I had forever,
the time for which to think;
then never would the stars
suffice,
and ne’r would spread the
ink,
to tell the story of my
love,
and what I came to drink.
to shed a little light
among the existential gloom
of those in troubled flight;
would that amount to giving
what is not mine to give,
or can the power of the word
encourage them to live?
A little learning is a
dangerous thing,
or so it has been said,
but if you do not give it
now,
then you cannot when you’re
dead!
And for what purpose then I
ask,
is freedom given for?
The choice is mine,
at least for now,
to give them something more:
to tell them of from whence
they came,
and to whither they return;
for the end is the
beginning—
and so much there is to
learn!
And never did the ancients,
of that mystic thread
through time,
describe the realm of
paradise—
So
I’ll make that project mine !
*
* *
I told it at the outset,
and I’ll say it one more
time,
that the power is within you
to make this world divine.
Seek
not the grail beyond you
for the magic is inside;
the deepest root within you,
loves eternal cosmic bride.
The marriage is outside of
time;
before the stars did shine;
before time tore asunder
the repose of the divine.
Wait not then for Paradise,
and all glory yet to come,
for it’s even now within you
and the first thing ever
done.
Do not believe the truth of
this
but seek it for yourself;
for life on Earth is far too
short
to miss such divine wealth.
And so, when times are cold
and hard,
and the winters chill is
rife,
gather the Babes around the
hearth,
and speak to them... of
LIFE.
Fire the flame within them,
as the coals do warm the
hand,
and tell them of from whence
they came,
the divine eternal land.
*
* *
The Fulfilment of Incarnate Being.
(Paradise on
Earth—or the Reciprocal Convergence)
How many coats of
consciousness
must yield before the dawn
where man can live incarnate
without such pain to mourn.
What
scalpel could be honed so sharp
to heal the wounds therein;
or does the knowledge of
one’s self
eradicate the sin?
What
lies before the thought of things
which manifests the day;
the realm of infinite
duration,
where there is no price to
pay.
What road transcends the temporal
things
of form and shape and size,
where knowledge of the
ground of self
illuminates the prize.
Where
feeling is not touching
and knowing is not thought,
yet overcoming paradox
is a lesson to be taught.
Where
metaphysics hangs its coat
and mystics dwell in awe
the singer may be sighted,
but the song goes on yet
more.
part two
The
inward journey trod and done
will yield the truth, but
not the sum.
From whence we come we must
return,
knowing not how, but with
will to learn.
When Cosmos in the Atom
dwells,
and the seer is that seen,
still yet our senses
manifest
illusions of the dream.
But
slowly moves the dawning
of illusions bubble burst,
when first we take a
faltering step
with philosophic thirst.
What substance hath a
shadow,
the minds virus of great
might,
wherein the death of living
truth
is but the lack of light.
Self
righteous halls of intellect
who’s substance is but I,
like the sound of one hand
clapping
knows not that which is
nigh.
Like
jewels cast out upon the tide
that sink with marching
time,
it is not an act of nature
which perpetrates the
crime.
part three
The
idea which creates the ‘self’
and enshrines its love
therein;
is the first sour fruit of
freedom;
for the idol is the sin.
Stand not in awe, nor bow,
nor scrape,
to creation by your hand;
for can it ever match the
truth
within a grain of sand?
The
symphony of man’s delight
is but a passing tune,
now waxing, and then waning,
like seasons of the Moon.
What
magnitude of counterpoint
beholds the greater me,
when casting back its
freedom
like winds across the sea.
The greatest love a man
beholds,
like the tiddler on a line;
must yet, by self, be cast
back to
a freedom, beyond time.
Where all is one, and one is
all,
is a mere lesson for a boy;
while MAN is now the
affirmation
of a vast eternal joy.
part four
Of what, and when, and how,
and why,
the knowing will come clear
if time you make with quiet
mind,
and communicative ear.
What then comes amid the
calm,
whatever be its name,
the wing like voice of
insight pleads,
“Go forth, and do the same!”
How provest thou of what is
known,
in rhyme, or verse, or
prose,
where awareness was the
essence,
before the thought arose?!
Where nothing was excluded;
though only briefly dwelt,
the mono-pole existence
wherein no pain was felt.
But
if the mind denies itself
and turns its face away,
then the glory that is man’s
by right,
won’t see the light of day.
So how can man discover,
that which, by truth, is
best?
Unleash the ties of ego’s
grasp;
Meta-Aesthesis, Consummatum
Est.
*
* *
W
List to me old Omar,
of whence you come and go;
that of which you had no
ken,
but dearly longed to know.
I'll turn a few old pages,
the lesson for to see
beyond sans wine, and dust
to dust;
beyond the temporal tree.
You
wondered what the vintners buy
with that from which they
sell,
that ever could be quite as
good,
and do the work so well.
There is another vine you
see,
much sweeter than the brew;
who's roots go deeper into
truth,
and lift your mind anew.
So
many doors you entered
and tallied there so long;
but ne’r a one there told
you of
the singer and the song.
So stay a while yet longer
while I tell of what I know;
and the swan-song of my
story,
of whence we come and go.
*
* *
(Synetic
dialogue)
I am the watcher
at the gates of dawn
where there is no eve, no
noon, or morn.
I do not think, but float
and stare;
and of all things I am
aware.
I am the final judge of
time,
and all that moved once, is
now mine;
for all is still; ’tis only
me
that permeates this wondrous
sea.
I am the final perfect
thing,
brought forth, the final
song to sing.
From whence I came, and
whither I go,
even I can never know;
for I am not the light you
see,
but only that which falls on
me.
Each
light within this wondrous dome
unto itself, and each alone,
with a truth that all do
see;
but only known by the thing
called ‘me’.
I am remembrance of the
great;
and knowledge of the final
state;
and when I judge it so well
done;
I am the reflection... of
whence I come.
*
* *
THE LAST VIRTUE
Dedication to Professor Abdus Salam,
Director of the
International Centre for
Theoretical Physics; Trieste.
My soul is of a birth so rare,
beyond the multitudes rude
glare.
The womb of silence is all
mine,
its knowledge vast as the
divine.
Where time can neither rust
or move,
and none there are to
disapprove
the chorus of the lights
aglow
which only lovers come to
know.
The sparkling womb of
eternity
fit for only that part of me
which lasts the final
discernment day
when part must go, and part
must stay.
And when annihilations job
is done,
that part of me which is the
son
of creations love divine,
and knowing that which is of
mine.
And thus we know the deeper
wealth;
the knowledge of the truth
of self;
and all that is not me you
see,
the absolute of objectivity.
part two
“I envy you this knowledge;
especially while so young”!
Oh no my friend,
don’t do so,
for you know not what it’s
done!
The consequence of knowing,
whilst on this world one
dwells,
is synonymous with drowning
in a stream of living hells:
in a world where love is
tethered
to a lie (about to die)
by the will of men incarnate
who’s spirits have run dry
of all that is of value—
—and thus what is the worth,
the exodus from paradise
to find oneself on earth!?
But in due course they all
will know,
and only then can this world
glow.
In the meantime, let them
feel,
and life, to them, will then
reveal.
*
* *
RWR