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Showing posts from April, 2019

A Poet's Journal: February 26th, 2015

  February 26th, 2015 How rare to have body and mind on the same page!  It is not easy to do the things we want when we want to; the auspicious moment always seems to grow from inability and our inability from a desire for something more.  Imagination drags us through this lonely field, giving us our tasks, our worries, making the distance around us insufferable.  And so whenever I have something to do, it is very difficult not to get caught up in the imagination of doing it before it is actually done, working through it a hundred times.  I am not speaking of preparation or details here, but the simple idea of a future to come, and what that future might bring, and how we might handle that--this is the imagination, this is the gateless gate, firmly shut and too defiantly high to look over; this is the gate that never was nor ever has been a gate.  Yet it is richly adorned and so much a part of our inability that it seems better to look at and keep closed rather than pass right through

A Poet's Journal: February 8th, 2014

February 8th, 2014 The urge that takes us and tells us to move on, pick things up, fall back, sleep silently, act loudly, must be followed before it is defeated in the mind.  Our logic and our reason have no use for it even though it is an expression of the same source and its foundation lies in what the exterior world makes us conscious of.  There is much negation involved of course; for every one of the elaborate urges that come over us, there is but a fraction that awaken the mind with the realization that something has been truly set forth.  Therefore it is not necessary to wait, to pick and choose, but merely to remain aware of the endless flow of perception present within us until there is something that undeniably goes beyond it.  It is in these instances that we see reality, that the whole weight of our burden is released, and instead of fatigue, vigour transports us a thousand miles inside the depth of a moment, and there lying within, awaits the realm of poetry. Dou

A Poet's Journal: February 4th, 2014

February 4th, 2014 It is in our nature to fashion understanding after intellect; from the first breath of consciousness it has been said that man is the thinking animal and whether we agree or not, the tradition with which our thoughts move is to place one object up against another, or one thought or memory up against another, and proceed through reasoning or logic to come up with a strategy that will invariably prove or not prove that one is better or worse than the other.  We place upon the scale of importance efficiency and fact, and hold with words those ideas and matters of thought that have not yet been fully understood.  To speak, or more generally, to use the senses, is our way to enlighten understanding, whereupon it is only those things that are left unsaid, or that have yet been revealed, that the intellect truly understands.  By the concept and definition of a word, we give boundary, by which is meant exclusion, so that the objective reality that we come to take as tru

A Poet's Journal: January 24th, 2014

January 24th, 2014 Arranging our lives into a schedule and setting goals for them is a pleasing venture in itself; our efforts are never so precise and our discipline never so honourable as when we have something to point to, turning our every day activities into an improvement of the self.  Ben Franklin set aside one day a week for study and personal improvement, and advised others to do the same; Coleridge offered three hours a day as fitting to the battle against time; but when we burn up the hours and carve into our days these affairs, the magic disappears; the struggle we once thought honourable now seems vain and doubt leaks into the mind.  Should we make a new schedule and set a new goal it would be just as pleasing, but there is always the lone question that asks us if we are cut out for that sort of life.  Apart from turning us on to patterns and appearances, the mind is far from logical in its understanding, so why then do we try to frame it?  There was a profound sage

A Poet's Journal: January 20th, 2014

January 20th, 2014 Where does error exist?  When I look back upon the time I spend helplessly involved in myself, or with the cares and appeal of appearance, I find there still remains a deeper motivation to uphold that which I have been made aware of rather than clarify the reasons for which I have become used to it.  The ambiguity of reality is based upon a logic undeniably self-evident and uncontrollably suggestive to any situation wherein opinion exists: the way the world works is the way we work and the view is less extensive than we believe; what someone thinks of me I become, and what I of them they in time fulfill, but each are mutual and neither ahead nor behind, above or below, the other, and change is almost impossible. Douglas Thornton