God's Friend Sid

Sid talks to God everyday,

His eye sees only HIS creation,

Daily, in the little things he does,

His mother doesn't know this,

And thinks her son a dreamer,

The father looks at Sid with concern,

And hopes he'll grow out of it soon,

But Sid figures it's cool, I mean,

He does think about it a lot,

' Could I be? Really I mean?'

Is what he asks himself a great deal,

Naaah! he says...OK maybe a personal,

A private idea of God, just by himself,

I mean nothing too serious, not like really!

Just....just a funny thing he was born with.

He walks past a church or synagogue,

And feels a curious relation to it, ritually,

The blonde in class almost understands,

But she appears like its better him than her,

The way she tosses her hair as she leaves.

Sid looks at the world and finds a balance,

In everything that people engage in,

And yet each thinks they come out on top,

In a world in which we play at getting even,

And for Sid that might mean getting a date,

If speaking to women was like speaking to God.

But we're grateful for people like Sid,

There's one, everywhere, we turn to look.

The Garden

It's not unusual to feel that way sometimes,

All the glamor and panache of sexy clamor,

And yet in your mind, you are simply calm,

Like the sea when no wind is blowing,

An observing that we make like a camera,

Detecting motion and clueing ourselves,

With the tiny particulars of issues, excitable,

And yet without the slightest attraction,

To our impulses or our need to respond,

As if watching a machine functioning.

Where such moments are spliced between

The many activities of the day, sometimes,

We come to realize that rare gem of insight,

Into the nature of activity of our lives.

That we experience life in a particular design,

That highlights its contact with our bodily needs,

That reality relies along the way, on our pleasures,

To which we create a clandestine collaboration,

And knowledge is what it is on account of it,

For the mind sees that and creates an acquiescence,

To set aside intelligence on such occasions,

For the body to plan its route on a map,

That best optimization of all of what we want.

To rest in this, we need to define it as real,

Then accept it as a norm in the mind's perceptions.

Like the style of the flower resting on its ovary,

Nondescript, quiet and engaging no ceremony,

Yet is phallus in the garden for all life around.

A Dream Relation

I have an unusual habit that sometimes creates quite a puzzle.

When I sit at a restaurant or cafe, I tend to engage other patrons,

In thought and thoughts, in the way I have thoughts, quite active.

I speak to them in our shared thoughts and they respond,

In my own mind, turning it into issues that I'm facing now,

And in relation to my responses. It takes place in a funny place.

In my constitution, there is a well of ideals that I seldom go to,

I can't, I'll drown in it, its so powerful in terms of the true,

It delves very deep into the nature of things and with regards

To people that I encounter, it goes straight into their natures.

Its the archetypes no doubt. That stable identity of personalities,

In all of us that grew through time and is today a typical such and such,

A father, mother, child, daughter, son, dreamer, idealist and so forth.

Its fun to do it but on the other hand it also reflects back on me.

I stood next to my car today and thought about it and was startled.

The kid in me doesn't relate to the fact that its just me talking,

I caught a sense of him looking at me and then borrowing on that,

That which I engaged in conversation at the cafe and guess what?

He thought it was so cool! Everybody coming together into a union,

In terms of a common understanding, sharing perceptions etc.,

Good heavens! I told myself, that's the world I grew up in my childhood.

How curious that as an adult we come back to view it this way,

Helps me to understand children. I am blessed. I offer my thanks.

Karpagathenium

Love creates a drama, the size of the world

We turn and go to the facts and find a drama bigger.

The Indians said life's a leela and lost the empire

Soddom thought it had the facts and earned God's ire.

A stage of the mind is a place for the bold

Where the passion and reason, in each other's arms enfold.

The Parthenium is a virgin, innocent to all that aspires

Encourages all manner of activities for love's desires.

The Karpaga is the innamorata, immortal for all time

Delights in everything as a wondrous pantomine.

On a stage, in life, death and the tax collector's office

Incessant in all it does, persistent in every cool fantize.

Is a play and yet it's gore, once gone is found no more

Brings on the tears and the laughter with equal amor.

Screams with delight at birth, dances on gravestones gray

One more day and then another. Then we'll rotate each other.

Till, the cows return, no more divisions, all is home.

The Cat and the Fiddle

Hey diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle

                                    The cat is often portrayed as a keen observer who spends the whole day simply watching all that is going on. This finds contact with its passions, where for reasons of survival, its mind conjures expressions of what it sees and its life force simulates an understanding of the nature of life it observes. Where it has come to see enough, its mind is able to form an initiative for action,

                                    Human insight is not very different from that same experience. And it may sometimes progress to a point of being harmonious and rhythmic in its expression. The hearing ear finds something to respond to and comes to adopt the communication of such a person as being their views. As the expression is borrowed and may sometimes become dated, the viewpoint is therefore limited in its usage and would need to be up-dated from time to time.

                                    Human tendencies and the need for stability comes to rely on these views and holds fast to them over an extended period of time. This produces difficulties in  responding to changes later.

                        The cow jumped over the moon

                                    The cow is represented as an animal that divides its views into two opposing  sides and creates a practice of responses to issues and situations that draw on the mind and interest of the doer. It creates a soft comfort of knowing and  understanding issues and attaches itself to that knowledge.

                                    As a result, the doer sometimes find themselves in a situation of over extension and may bite off more than they can chew. The moon is the very epitome of imitation  in the way that it reflects the sunshine and relies on it for light. The reflection is then accepted as real.

                        The little dog laughed to see such sport

                                    The dog as the proverbial enemy of the cat, takes to the opposing view and  observes, unattached, the nature of the actions. In learning from the pitfalls of the cat, it avoids the obvious and takes to striving hard to keep itself unattached and an active participant in life.

                        And the dish ran away with the spoon

                                    In a final illustration of the consequences of wrongful action, the writer of the rhyme, predicts that such a behavior will cause difficulties to the survival of the individual and the breadbasket may well be empty in the future.

 *   *   *

                        It is heartening to note that our societies start at an early age to teach children the virtues of original thinking and making a special effort to question and to know. Even though the child does not at the time understand the true meaning of the rhyme, he/she catches onto the tune and comes to realize it at a later stage.

Amantican

                                 



                                    There's something familiar within

                                    I wish I could know

                                    Like seeing something belligerent

                                    When it was once a cuddly glow

                                    Did I used to eat with chopsticks?

                                    But now with knife and fork

                                    Scale mount Everest with oxygen

                                    Live in the countries of the Occident

                                    Did I paint a vision with brushes?

                                    And speak now the dream with poetic touches

                                    Perform a heart by pass on a patient

                                    Speak from a pulpit with mind that's gracious.

                                    All these things my mind doth sage

                                    For life is lived as an average

                                    Free as a bird to roam the hills

                                    Feasting in a concert as my heart fills

                                    I'll ponder on this till night falls

                                    I know I'm not resisting any clarion call

                                    Couldn't find work as a thespian

                                    So I became an academician.

                                    I need a word to describe this creed

                                    There's none like this in English or Sanskrit

                                    A man still can when he puts his mind to it

                                    That's it then; I'm an Amantican.

The Wit of Wic

Its the hound of the discodever

Tell Holmes to meet me on  the river

Passpartoo and Devi can come too

Its Mariaman's sister, the Merriment.

Apollo has turned his wheel

Requited is he in demendom

The sun rises in the Rheims

For Mary and her fancy whims.

Come and call to your depths

Davy Jones is now an adept

No longer the tower of Babel

At heart now the bile's idol

Stir the pot and grate the bore

Roll with the sow  and pour fore

The hero stands on the rock

The judge is now in the dock.

The maidens now shop at Walton's.

The brew bubbles in them like kittens

Their minds once a prison camp

Struts its wings for a waiting man

Then arises the new light of acamedian

And shines on the storm of intention

No longer the swamp of peril

It teems with life, the wetland's cavil

Drive now the oxen from the hills

Dance to the tune of the heart's gills

Today and tomorrow and the day after

Speak to me of your child's wonder.