Hey, folks.....
After the recent 'events' on Gather, I'd like to bring forth something I kind of held back for the second round of the First Chapters "contest." I think it will help put a lot of us in 'a better place.'
I kept this hidden from public view,so that the nasty assaults (by whomever ;-) wouldn't trash it before more thoughtful/sincere/informed people had reviewed it.
This collection of prose is meant to be read all in one sitting... each stanza leads into the next. Its a short work, but will get you thinking. I advise reading it with 20 minutes of quiet time and you'll really enjoy it.Its like a Western writer's version of a what a Tibetan Buddhist chant does for the 'participant'.......it should be calming.....well, that's what people who have read it tell me ;-)(Copyright 2005, No reproduction in any form allowed w/ocontractual permission by author)
This work is dedicated to HH, the 14th Dalai Lama, Tenzin Gyatso, for his inspiration and selfless commitment to the betterment of life.Thank you to him, and special thanks to Tim and Max.
The Butterfly in Thy Heart
Sweet is the life that liveth within a heart.
Light is the weight of that fragile butterfly-like life upon a body’s needs.
Strong is the hope that transforms and renews life.
Quick is the butterfly’s demise, if fear overcomes the compassion that nurtured its metamorphosis........
Where are the Willows?:
The willow tree branches move lazily with the cool spring breeze.
Spindly, bereft of leaves, they ache to feel the warming sun.
Whipping scant lifeless tendrils, radiating off of massive trunks.
Brown veins turn amber yellow, as life blood flows into the undamaged survivors of winter’s fury.
Buds explode into thousands of tiny green tongues, lapping the warming sunshine - golden mother’s milk.
Wind catches the growing feathers of fantastically long deciduous dreadlocks. Twisting and turning them methodically, yet whimsically, for the sun’s gentle caress.
Once spurred on, the beauty’s leaves explode into full bloom; transforming her entire being - leaving her cloaked beneath a myriad flits of green.
“Where is the water?” her roots cry, as they relentlessly and blindly seek sustenance through the detritus of former life.
Then.......
Comes the summer storm, that splits her thick sinewy branches asunder. Leaving her long broken arms lying strewn upon the surrounding ground.
Thin, feeble, tendrils sprout upon former locks - hair like seekers for life blood, while weaning off their broken trunks.
Where are the willows?
Their strong trunks grow from our hearts.
While warming desire spurs their growth, love and compassion provide the nourishment.
Once broken however, they do not die. Surprisingly, miraculously, they transform a few limbs into millions of new possibilities.
Unless.
Unless that which “springs eternal,” is mistakenly forsaken for bitterness - a poison soil.
Happiness:
Easier seems the life that has material comforts in abundance.
Harder seems the life that does without, surviving from check to check; or harder still, from hand to mouth.
Easier is the path to see, when distractions beyond subsistence are not present to confuse.
Harder is the attainment of happiness, when our inner sight is blinded by ideas of fun, love, easy existence, and desire’s empty passions.
Happiness springs from my contented soul, whose need for other’s approval is gone.
Happiness beams through my smiles of forgotten pain and hurts; with the acceptance of what will be.
Happiness is our one true desire; and yet, the most elusive goal.
For through goals, happiness is not begot.
Ease the pain, compassion for the hurting soul is what’s required.
Emptiness isn’t empty; it’s a state bereft of all damaging passions, that feed upon desire’s flame.
Direction-less-ness isn’t the outcome of banishing desires; inner peace be the result.
“What is happiness?” asks the mind.
“What do you think?” reply the heart.
“Here!” sayeth the soul. “Where the spirit can thrive.”
“If I let it be so,” snipes the mind.
“Lack of awareness keeps us bound,” responds the heart.
“What is that?”
“For me to know, and you to find out.”
“Bastard!” curses the mind.
“Yes, destiny’s bastards are we. Yet we also illuminate
life’s solution. Know thyself, and care for others.
On that path, happiness will lie.”
With the Lightness of the Butterfly in My Heart:
The bird’s warble progressed through multiple cadences. Three sharp thrills, followed by three lulling vibratos.
He lay, prone, on his bed. Safely cloaked within the comforting darkness of his windowless basement bedroom. Random flickers of light and life broke into his self designed inner sanctum, through a tiny window in the adjacent changing room.
“Damn! Can’t have any peace and quiet - regardless of how much I try,” he lamented facetiously.
He remained perfectly still however, stretched across his massive king-sized bed - insulated amongst a jumbled mass of sheets, pillows, and a weighty comforter.
Staring open-eyed at the ceiling, he could see nothing; but the lack of sensory input was comforting, rather than disturbing.
Visions of his night long embraces with her danced through his fuzzy awareness - eliciting new found joy. Until his romanticized stream of consciousness was disrupted by a random sound; instantly drawing his gaze to the now brighter sunbeams.
Rays of sunlight now projected onto his dream chamber floor, in sharp abstract angles......capturing silent maelstroms of swirling dust motes in fascinating illumination.
“That damned bird just won’t shut up; and the sun won’t stay behind the fog. Guess I’ll just have to do something new, and let go.....” he decided happily, with a twinge of regret.
“Everything changes and shifts. Let go Max, Let go.....” he advised himself.
“Today might not be better than the last, because that would be hard to do; but life moves on, and so should I,” he concluded.
Too many times in his life he tried to hang onto good feelings and memories of wonderful experiences - to the detriment of his current life. But the euphemism of “go with the flow,” had taken on new significance - due to his heightened awareness of life.
“Happiness is the byproduct of a good life, not an objective, little bird. If I lose my ability to hear your beautiful song by attempting to manage life, then I’d be sorry indeed.”
He rose from his bed slowly, fighting back a sense of dizziness, and carefully strode to the changing room to peer out the little window. The mass of weeds and briars that grew undeterred outside his window had become a haven for nesting birds. None seemed to mind his observation of their furious activities; and the songbird once again called out for its mate.
“Hey kids,” he commented aloud. “Happy day, eh?”
The birds ignored his presence, and joyfully exulted the dawning new day of life.
His cat observed all, in focused repose upon the window sill, with an unjaundiced - yet curious - eye. He lay contentedly, allowing his hunter’s instinct to lie dormant, as he was captivated by his master’s effusively peaceful state.
Discovery:
Discover the home, discover the school.
Discover friends, enemies, and scared nothingness in so many.
Discover work, discover a new family.
Discover death, discover existence; always discovering, discovering,...
........yet missing the discovery of life?
Distractions:
Distractions are.
Distractions are not.
Distractions come, distractions go.
But some distractions stay - always.
Staying, like an unwelcome guest whom we still make comfortable. Comfortable denial. Comfortable in regularity, if not validity. A masquerade, providing a false sense of comfort.
Due to their limited scope, distractions are easily defined; generating a semblance of security to the ego that desires to ‘know all.’
True reality defies full understanding.
Until.
Until.........until we accept.
Lite of Light:
Heavy is the heart that allows light to depart.
Lite is the light that dwells there.
Strong is the force that feeds the light.
Fearful and weak is the will that allows darkness in;
whose cause is often battered feelings,
which in turn empowers despair.
Yet, stronger still is the new determination that finally banishes the darkness ............once truth is clear.
Hiding From Me:
Where are you?
Waiting for love?
Looking for joy in pain?
Just staying There..........
Where is There?
Here.
Here is There!
White is the new black.
Are you ready for love?
I give you no chance to determine this for me. For Here, for Now, ForEver.
I remember love; it is still There.
Why didn’t I see it There, inside myself?
I let the funhouse mirrors tell me who I was. Distorted are their
 reflections, twisted are their views.
Why did I let them hide me?
Hide me within myself, while I furiously looked without?
The Circle:
Circles start, but never end.
Like circles, feelings suffuse the soul within a never-ending cycle.
Not as moronically trite or cliché as ‘the circle of life.’
Rather, its driving force is the hidden circular motion of emotion.
Ignored, emotion rebels and ultimately brings one low.
Humored, it lies dormant; to wither and die as life moves on.
Nurtured, it eases other’s pain. In turn, generating empathy and thereby rearing it’s child: compassion.
There is where love arises; like the harmonic tones that emanate from a half-filled crystal goblet - teased forth by a patient finger, ringing the circle of it’s rim.
Where does the circle start?
Colors of Love:
What color is Love?
What color is Compassion?
What color is Empathy?
What color is Caring?
What color is Tolerance and Understanding?
What color is Neutrality?
What color is Distain?
What color is Anger?
What color is Hate?
What color is Evil?
Some of these colors can be seen in the harmonious hues of a rainbow.
 The remainder? They phase from gray to black.
What color is your “Love?”
Black:
Black is the heart that knowingly hurts.
Blacker still , is the heart that plans such hurt.
Black is the dirt in which new things can grow; rebuilding life from former deaths.
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. From earth we became, to earth we return.”
From death in the heart can come tremendous new life, once hate’s bitter residue has finally leached away.
Long is the pain:
Long is the kind of pain that tears a soul, through heart rending actions.
Pain that results from carelessness, callousness, cynicism, and purposely hurtful inflictions of bitter hate
Although it often comes from the actions of others, its banishment can only come from within.
Within.
Within the broken, torn, feeble, and abused soul.
The soul with seemingly little power, and even less will.
The soul that feels it can give no more,
and receives little or none for charities done.
Bewildered is the soul that feels only numbness,
after a lifetime of discouragements.
Solutions, surprisingly, don’t come from without;
they come from within.
While broken, beaten, tired, and helpless; a tiny spark of life always still lives within.
Long is the pain.
Lasting as long as this spark of life in one’s soul is ignored.
Affiliations:
That which brings us together,
destroys that which would break us into disparate and isolated parts.
Community is reassuring.
Community is reaffirming, and nurturing; by virtue of its existence.
Community is also a drug. A drug that can inhibit us from first defining, and then developing, the community of one?
Part of the whole is good.
While being inseparable from the whole, is dependant and weakening.
Where is the balance?
“Know thyself.”
Good Feelings:
Orgasm, orgasm, orgasm! That’s oft the ‘feeling’ we pursue.
But where is the orgasm of spirit?
Abroken, bruised, or self isolating soul distains the concept of spirit
- for fear of further disappointment and pain.
Manic, superficial, obsessive, and desperate souls seek everywhere but within.
Mocked by the isolated soul, they become new adherents
- destined to become the next generation of isolates.
Totally ‘within vision’ borders on narcissism, and false ego supremacy.
Where are the good feelings?
Male Love:
Hard is the knot of muscle in his embracing arm.
Soft is the look in his passionate eyes,reflecting his tremulous heart.
Kind, gentle, warm, and reassuring
are his nascent yearnings and demonstrations of love;
whilst unsure footing rules his steps.
Once confident however, and strong of will,adventuresome is his soul.
While beautiful and inspiring.....
.... a reassuring resurrection of life’s incessant will and powerful strength;
it oft becomes the hallmark of goodbye.
For a free will and a confident and beautiful soul is attractive to all,tho not meant to be tied to one before his time.
Such is his inherent virility and inspiring nature.
Thus making him susceptible to alluring, yet insincere, seductive mechanizations...
...as he mistakes them for real avenues, just unexplored.
To hold then, is like to break the butterfly’s wings
- a crime of immeasurable magnitude,
yet strangely understandable in its blinded mission to feel secure.
A butterfly’s beauty is its freedom of flight, expression, and transient existence.
Alighting here, flitting there, its journey seems random and haphazard;
until one understands its transformations.
Arrested development, therefore, is a butterfly’s worst death.
Accept the butterfly as he is, and his magic will hold you spellbound.But restrain him not, by deceit or trickery,
or suffer the pain of moral destruction.
‘ Tis better to feel his flitting joy, and walk away cleanly;
standing back, awaiting for him to alight,than to proudly display his dead wings temporarily behind glass.For his wings, though carefully handled, would disintegrate quickly-leaving both with dust.
Make of thyself what she is meant to be, then when butterflies come, rejoice in mutual joy -
whatever his hue, size, or wing span’s grandeur.
For a butterfly’s beauty lies not amongst its wings,
they serve only to alert us to his beautiful but fragile soul.
Female Love:
They say that female love is that of a mother. Say not, tho that is oft its color.
She is as the wind, the surf, and the soil.
Subtle, yet omnipresent - a fertile place of new growth.
New growth in progeny? Yea, yet nay.
New growth greater still, in the rebirth of hope,
affection; and in reaffirming, unconditional, love.
How can she be so strong, and yet so fragile?
This is life’s ultimate paradox.
Surviving all, she wears not suffering nor discomfiture on her sleeve.
Drama, yes she displays;but strength of her will eventually rises above it all.
Desperate is she who uses her gifts to attempt to manufacture love.
Clueless is her nature, when obsessed with managing the desired
- yet unmanageable.
Stronger still is she who sees things as they will be;
accepting blows as gracefully as caresses.
For she knows that neither maters in the end.
In the end,
she is the ocean,the surf,
the waves,
and lofty mountain’s winds.
For that which creates, is torn by default;
unless she gives way to nature’s forces,whichever they may be.
Fickle is the Love:
Fickle is the love that says “I love you” in the throes of passion’s fathomless eyes,
and “maybe” as the shower runs.
Fickle is the love that sends tender greetings,
yet leaves them unsigned.
Fickle is the love that holds us tenderly in the night,
yet feels the burning brand of shame when honestly
touched in the public light.
Fickle is the love that says “I love me,”
before thinking of their love for the other.
For first is the love that is naturally unspoken and shows in the eyes,The heart,and the meal upon the table-actions which express a nurturing and giving soul.
First only in one’s little world is the selfish love of self above all.
And, lonely and sad is the heart that sees all;
yet awaits for awakened awareness.
Futile is that hope, and self deception is its effect.
For awakened awareness starts with the desire to improve, to know, to question.
Where one sees the joy in a child’s innocent smile;
instead of identifying with a stranger's cold stare of cynical self aggrandizement.
How will the fickle ever find reality,
when their partner denies the leaching of their life blood by the other?
How will deeper awareness ever come to those too fearful to hazard pain in its pursuit?
If one isn’t willing to pay the price,whether it ever be asked or not;then how will they value the result?
It is in the risk of the dice’s throw,
nature’s chance,
where one risks all,
that he’ll find reward.
Risking with reckless abandon matters not either.
Value comes from sincere effort,
whatever the consequences or results.
Failure isn’t failure, if actions are honorably pursued.
But venture not, makes for the fickle pickle.
Glow:
Glow within, shows without.
Bleakness within, gloweth not.
Desperation projects like a vaudeville show.
‘Love’ when proclaimed too oft, is then just a word that showeth not.
Deceptive is the term called ‘love,’
made more so by formulaic greeting cards.
Empty is the ‘love’ that warmeth not.
For love is not the word,
the statement,
nor the possessive claim that’s hidden meaning is meant.
Glow from empathy,
grow from compassion,
learn from experiences,
and love will project without.
Music:
There is the ‘music of life.’
There is music to which we dance;some of which we hear,
some of which we do not;
and other music still, that we chose to ignore.
Where ‘music is food for the soul,’ who is providing the meal?
If ‘we are what we eat,’
 shouldn’t we chose the music to which we shall dance?
Dance with the devil’ no more, I say.
For the true music of life surrounds us in all that lives and grows.
How is it that I’ve only now heard its true voice?
Nature:
Obscured lightning flashes on a distant horizon,
shortly preceding rumbling thunderclaps;
as massive inky black streaks begin to appear .....
....impossibly straight and vertical,
they extend directly from the heavens to the earth-in unobstructed clarity ....
.... providing dramatic contrast to the beautiful skies.
Rain assaults the planet,
as the fury of the sudden spring storm is violently unleashed.
For hundreds of miles in every direction,
the once serene crystal blue turquoise skies turn pitch black within minutes;
and are sharply cloven by jagged bolts of electricity.
The rain abates, yet crashing thunderbolts rip open and illuminate the sky,
as their forked ends pummel the earth brutally.
Then comes the driving rains,
in pelting waves - much harder than before.
“Where will the bolts strike?”
one wonders.
“Who will be torn asunder?"one asks.
“Will it be me?
Will my time come to a close through such a random strike?”
one fears.
It is not random.
“I chose this life, this spot, this outcome,
when I chose to live....
... rather than to hide in the shadows.”
“Take me ole storm; if this be thy blind will, and my ultimate fate!”
“Strike the life from me, or drown me in your torrents;if that be your unconsidering choice.”
“I banish fear, and welcome what is to come....
....while trembling in anticipation of what mystery is to become me."
“Nay,
I repent my resigned abdication!
Ichose not to die
- even though I feel submerged within your strongly charged atmosphere.”
“I chose, rather, to defy thy omnipotent presence-tho futile the result may be.”
“I chose to let thy assaults of water cleanse me instead.”
“If, perchance, I am lost amongst the severity of your power;
that will be what it is.”
“Until then, I will draw strength and power
from the infinite number of ions that comprise the cells of your presence.”
“Iwill drink them in, finding affirmation in your strength.
While not mine, it shall not dissuade mine;
as it will serve to imbue me with the elements that are ours to share.”
“Yes, your natural force is incomparably stronger than mine.
But we are of the same stuff, you and I;
and I shan’t forget that again.”
“While seeking shelter from your powerful vagarious forces is wise,
I had no choice this time..
.....finding myself alone and exposed on a wide and barren Tibetan landscape,
with no place to hide.
Initially, I felt trapped and forced to face my fears of raw nature.
Now I feel emboldened, stronger,
and of the resolve that human habitation will no longer be my prison.”
“Therefore, I now willingly walk naked and unprotected
within your raucous world
- reaffirming our coexistence on this plane,
and drawing strength from the knowledge and feeling that we are one.
One with each other,
only variant parts of a larger whole.”
“Thus you comfort me, whilst you howl
- embracing me,
and including me in the grandest of all schemes.
I Am the Butterfly:
I’ve always looked at Butterflies with awe,
mixed with admiration and longing.
Many times in my ignorance I tried to capture,
hold, or ensnare a Butterfly
to assuage my troubled heart
- such is their enduring power to bring joy into the darkest places.
Intentions may be positive, but their effects not.
The biggest hurt is finally acknowledging our mistakes.
Repayment, in the form of reciprocal hurts suffered,
will mirror those inflicted.
Time maters not, in their justice
- they will come eventually.
Acceptance of the repayment is difficult,
yet denial only makes it a harder and longer road.
Awareness can’t be obsessively sought,
but is hereby earned.
Joyful is the heart that finally becomes aware of the Butterfly within.
I now am the Butterfly.
Boundless joy is my reward,
regardless of other’s actions or character flaws.
So I must live as one, such as one must.
Escaping detection is not my wish,
nor do I desire to glory in splendiferous colors and complex truthful design.
Powerful is my attraction, as are my risks.
But over cautiousness will defeat my purpose,
To inspire other Butterflies..............................To see themselves within.
**************************
Comments:
>>Finally, u make something short and sweet ...other than me ;-)
Andrea m. commented Feb 3, 2007
>>:-)
Steven M. commented Feb 3, 2007
>> All the familiy voted!! Good job! Interesting.... :-)
Maxime D. commented Feb 3, 2007
>>Excellent Job
Linda G. commented Feb 8, 2007
>> Good luck and thank you for that compassionate, respectful feedback.
Joe V. commented Feb 10, 2007
>>Good job!
Amber B. commented Feb10, 2007
>> Patrick, you have developed here a calming series of very eloquent and illusory images. Patrick, you are gifted and use your gift to discover your being and the world around you. Wonderful. This reads much like the book of Proverbs.
Edward Nudelman commented Feb 12, 2007
>> Patrick,
First, great work here. I particularly like "Black." I seem to be drawn to short, succinct poetry that leaves a lasting impression.
Next, thanks for the shotgunning of 10s in the First Chapters competition, but especially for the encouraging comments. Yes, I had a late flurry of about 6 votes of "1" in a row right before your vote and comment. Clearly from the timing and the lack of comments (clear to me, at least), these were simply attempts to reduce the score of my submission relative to others'. As you point out, it doesn't really matter since I had no illusions of winning anyway. But it WOULD have been really gratifying to put a second chapter up there!
Disregard the slings and arrows, Patrick. You are a light, shining in a sometimes dim place.
John E. commented Feb 13, 2007
>> Reading poetry is a new experience for me. I really enjoyed this work. It has a lyrical quality which reminds me of great music.
The "Hiding" stanza was especially meaningful to me. My experience has been that each person has several facets which vary with shadow and light. I know I do, and I work hard to keep the darker ones hidden. It's nice to see that I'm not the only one.
Keep up the good work. This was evocative, vivid and original.
Jack L. commented Feb 13, 2007
>> Beautiful work. The right message at the right time. Thanks, again!
Joel R. commented Feb 22, 2007
>> Beautifully writen. Intelligent and thought provoking.
You have a way with words. I always thought the Budhists had it right and I see that you pull from many of their conceptions of the soul and identify what is really important despite what life throws our way.
Thanks for sharing.
Jamie C. Mar 4, 2007
>> Although I am a Christian, I have a deep appreciation for Buddhist precepts and practices. In fact, one of my closest friends is Buddhist, and we build each other up with edification.
Nicely done. I hope this sees the light of a publishing table. =T
Tanya Smith Mar 30, 2007
>> I am too, Tanya.... But while Christians talk about "why," the Buddhists help us with the "how".....like you said, really practical daily 'exercises' for being more compassionate. Doing both can't hurt anyone; and they are totally compatible because Buddhism is about personal self development in order to become enlightened (its the same as WWJD? :-)
Now I can't just leave it for Sundays, sux, eh? ;-)
BTW, thanks for all your great comments....I really appreciate it! I hid this all during the FirstChapters "competition"....but its what I followed :-)
Even still, some weenie hit it with a couple "1's"......how silly, huh? Oh well.....
Thanks again for your wonderful feedback.
patrick m. commented Mar 30, 2007
>> I shall have to come back to this when I can read it all in one sitting and have time to truly contemplate that which you have written. Your imagery in the first couple of stanzas is fantastic.
Don't recall the name of most first chapter authors so I don't know if I read yours. The entries got buried in the listings so quickly that most (including mine) didn't get many (if any) new readers after a days even with self-promotion attempts. My sympathy for the drive-bys. My rating had me flying high for a day or two until it go hit by what I estimate were three drive-bys all at once. With only 10 votes in I suddenly dropped from above 8 down to a little above 6.
I repeat, I have added this to my "must read list' and will be coming back to it.
Carol LeHane commented Apr 2, 2007
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Comments: 35
And like her thoughts, once the paper feels them, it changes them -- her sorrow becomes our mercy, her joy, our wonder.
vjw
Good luck
great job!
Thank you for inviting me here.
You did an exceptional job; go on writing !
love and light
Namaste
Ron Jenkins
The Kilgore Trout of Gather.
Glutton for punishment, I.
Anyway, its run by Reader's Digest.....they are legit.
Thanks again for your heartfelt feedback. I can see that it works for the more aware folks.....thats very encouraging.
:-)
On a critical vein, I have to say that this is one of the few pieces I have seen with careful editing and a lack of errors. That means a lot.
As to the quality of the work, you astound me. I love especially the following:
"Buds explode into thousands of tiny green tongues, lapping the warming sunshine - golden mother's milk."
"fantastically long deciduous dreadlocks" (that is a great phrase!)
" "Yes, your natural force is incomparably stronger than mine.
But we are of the same stuff, you and I;
and I shan't forget that again.""
This last one, in reference to lightning, inspires me.
I plan to save this and reread.
I loved the visual shape of the Colors section, almost like a rainbow turned on its side. And I also loved the section on Affiliations. Who knew you could write like this? Just wonderful.
I'm glad you all enjoyed it....and thanks for the nice comments, they help a lot too. Don't feel so much alone when I read sincere "affiliations."
:-)
If you follow your own advice the '1' would have no meaning. As the master said, "To compare is to demean yourself with a false illusion." Okay, I said it, oh heck, okay, I just made it up. Bite me.
The person probably thought a '1' was the highest score; top of the list, you know, the best. I find this 'A' number one, myself.
:-)