Now that I’m on WordPress, I am reading what others have to say. Someone says, I like good poetry and I like good art. But I – I can’t make out good art from bad. Other than knowing when it does something to me. Like pushing or pulling. Calling my name or running away. Kissing. Blushing. Opening.
It is a lightning-fast exchange between emotion and thought expressed, and thought and emotion captured on the receiving end. It is a message beyond words which gets into you somehow. Like under your skin. How dare they. Push my buttons. I am outraged. Let’s ban them. Or like an arrow straight through your heart. Moving you to tears. Giving you chills. Triggering memories. Exposing fears. Leaving you changed.
Why do we insist then. On reducing our being. Reducing life. Into dichotomies such as good and bad. Relying on same simplified judgments. Good goes here. Bad over there. And in the process of trying to make life easier, we limit our own potentials. So that we can be done, and rest. But yet, here we are – a restless mess. Knowing that things aren’t as cut and dry. Walking around with an inkling that won’t let us be. That maybe in our clever ways, we have cheated ourselves.
Sometimes in my poems I say that I come from stars. I am there. Present at all times. Throughout the vast expanding universe. Because consciousness – it never dies. I offend someone now because I am stretching myself into territory we’ve reserved strictly for God. We are separatists of the worst kind. So I am not surprised. That I am that same witch who was burnt at the stake for seeing – magic in common herb and dirt. Expressing her knowing. Igniting panic.
Fortunately, we have calmed down a bit. For the most part. Have we. Maybe not. As I am here again in this life to say. You are inextinguishable. Brilliant. Resilient. Consciousness. One of a kind. Your body is quite amazing in itself, but you will leave it behind. And yet – you won’t ever die. And maybe you’ll even come back. To look at starlit skies once again.
The magic of a starry night resonates across cultures and time. Van Gogh’s brush strokes, and swirling stars enchant the heart. Transmitting light which you recognize. It is your sign. A window into your knowing. You are communicating with vast grandness. And you can’t get enough. You have found your own personal universe. All of it. Yours to embrace and adore. Transcending limitation. Melting into timelessness.
Albeit for a moment. You can’t help but be moved. Because you are experiencing an intimate bond. An intuitive exchange. With an aspect of yourself. An instantaneous knowing. Something that no one can take away. Ever again. Well. I don’t know good art from bad. I just have a feeling – that we are participating in some kind of magnificent masterpiece here.
Knowing No Words 