The meaning of life in nine syllables…

Metaphors

I’m a riddle in nine syllables,
An elephant, a ponderous house,
A melon strolling on two tendrils.
O red fruit, ivory, fine timbers!
This loaf’s big with its yeasty rising.
Money’s new-minted in this fat purse.
I’m a means, a stage, a cow in calf.
I’ve eaten a bag of green apples,
Boarded the train there’s no getting off.

-Sylvia Plath

“A melon strolling on two tendrils”. What an absurd image and yet it cannot stop us from envisioning such a picture in our mind, primarily because such an endeavoring is contrary to the laws of nature.  A near impossibility as the laws of physics dictates to us and yet we appreciate the incongruence of the words.  Why?

I believe it is human nature to chuck convention and embrace chaos and the unknown. If we hadn’t as a species, then mankind would not have evolved into its plethora of mysterious complexities. The number nine coincides with nine months and denotes pregnancy, becoming a metaphor for birth. The birth of creativity and all things that remain possibilities on earth.

And so it would seem that even miracles are possible. And the only vehicle to make that happen is the human mind. Seat of all consciousness, director of our lives and fortunes, but what happens when the director is in absentia? What happens when all that is left is the simple fragment of your soul and the memory of what it was to be alive?

In Absentia

You make a slow mad rush

towards my slouched

appearance,

A kind of salute

to your silent approach.

You raid me

as a dog might

with endless pawing,

alerting me to your

existence.

Yet there is nothing simple in the delights

that amuse.

If only we could find such happiness

in simple things.

Yet what is simple? 

For your eyes have dimmed and the light

that once questioned

with mirth,

what is the meaning of life?

Has now fled.

Your light,

in absentia

from your soul

has faded,

As footsteps do

in the heavy snow

that blankets 

unwhispered words

of lost compassion.  

Your story has lost meaning

in this dictum of life.

What of the number of stars in heaven?

Angels keepsakes,  

The likes of which only bibles

and other constructs of humanity 

may dictate to us,

Becoming only

a memoir,

that is lost in translation.

But always remember,

As a child of your heart

with wings aloft

in the wellspring of your soul,

I will always remember you.

And you will always be

and forever shall be,

Blessed,

beyond what can be understood,

As a father may be

to a son

who never lived.

The Kiss

 

 

Fine silken threads,

Soft to the touch,

Barely registered,

under my fingertips,

Perceiving so much,

from very little.

In you,

Desire,

Unwavering, unerring,

In that slow draw,

towards an untamed flame,

That ignites

the essence of my soul.

For you overwhelm me,

And I find myself drowning,

in the sweetest of sorrow.

Flailing in my need for the nectar that stings me,

Yet nurtures,

That breath of life

which sings from

your lips.

For you sting me, and yet,

As a moth to a flame,

I sing for you, at the top of my lungs,

And I cannot stop,

Seeking you.

And desiring to touch the bareness of your skin,

Fingertip to fingertip,

Under the hands which transform me

with no remorse,

So deep is my love for you.

You,

The very thing I cannot live without,

Painfully seeking those hands

which plant seeds,

in the tumultuous soil of unbridled yearning.

Reaching towards an unforgiving sun,

Granting me that simple treasure,

With untold joy

and gentle measure,

Infinite in depths of pleasure,

The heaven of your kiss.

 

When

 

Dark grey clouds arise to mar the morning sun,

Joining up antiquity, 

To wed the mist and sun,

as one.

What brings us down upon our knees,

A moment in our soul.

Along a beam of peace,

Brings forth no ray of malice,

A word of prayer offered,

To our lips, 

A silver chalice.

Linking time by threads of fabric,

Unraveling at seams,

Yet by these beams,

A cavalry of hope to souls?

For in that golden hour,

are moments, captured,

to remember,

as waning buds join late September.

Such moments are but few,

Yet wisdom seeks the golden stems,

As rare as crystal orbs,  

 that form the morning dew.

When all of these and more,

Form footsteps on a distant shore,

Granting mercy to the meek,

Filling vessels that we seek,

Within that golden moment,

When transforms to now.

  

Consummatum est

 

Extant

 

Dark, mysterious, extant,

Remaining hidden by darkness, 

Divine architecture denied,

by the revelation of the sun.

 

Yet in the darkness

of the

quiet,

Lying dormant,

in the stillness of a cipher,

Divine beauty.

 

What mysteries lie here in

the stillness of the quiet?

For what remains unseen,

By human eyes,

Exists,

yet cannot be defined,

By what is known.

 

For what is known,

is small,

As the eye of a needle is,

That loops the thread,

Which binds the waves,

of an endless ocean. 

 

Horizons unseen,

A place in your mind,

Where the sun sets.

 

Yet undeniably,

And inexplicably,

There exists,

Beauty.

 

Yet we remain blind,

To its truth,

And it remains,

Forever,

undiscovered.

 

The Jenolan caves in New South Wales, Australia is a truly beautiful and mysterious place. You must travel through the Blue Mountains to find a very long, narrow and winding road which takes you down to a hidden natural wonder. When you come to the end of the road you will find a wide, yawning arch which leads you to the mysterious hidden entrance of a multitude of hidden caves with creative names that somehow extends to them a unique character.

A guided tour details the age of the caves, they are limestone caves based in antiquity, some of the oldest discovered caves in Australia. And interestingly enough, one of the first places in Australia to be fitted with electricity for light! How progressive is that? What is back lit by these lights is truly impressive. Hidden below the ground and away from the prying eyes of human beings is a network of architectural wonder. No statue, artwork or human construct can match the impressive display of form and shapes that makes up the stalactites that have been formed by the small and dextrous hands of meandering water over thousands of years. The water has helped to mold jaw-dropping forms that defy description and has aided in the creation of wondrous beauty that needs to be seen with your eyes to be appreciated.

The limestone creates the palette of colours that can be compared in description to the explosion of colours that are seen in the opal stones that are native to the beautiful continent of Australia. No one opal stone is the same, as no one cave is similar to the other at Jenolan.  Australia is truly unique in its compilation of flora, fauna and wildlife. It cannot be matched in the world for unusual character, mystery, wonder and beauty.

Consummatum est. My grad studies have been completed. On September 4th 2008 I walked across the stage of the John Clancy Auditorium at the University of New South Wales to collect my Master of Education degree. It was a long, hard battle to get there, but I was determined to receive the damn thing in my hand. It was a wonderful evening with loved ones present, most notably my Dad who made a Herculean effort to get here from Canada, thank-you Dad. You are forever in my gratitude and I love you very much. He overcame his fears and a diagnosis of early Alzheimer’s to make the trip down under, for that I will be forever grateful.

So, the journey continues. My time in Oz is up and my visa is getting closer to expiry. Next week I will be making my way through Tai Pei on my way back to Vancouver.  What new adventures await?