2 Poetic Perspectives on Our Perceptions of ultimate reality....
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DOWN HERE WE ONLY START
The sense of inner security by no means proves that the product will be stable enough to withstand the disturbing or hostile influence of the environment...More than once everything one has built will fall to pieces under the impact of reality. -C.G. Jung, in The Survival Papers: Applied Jungian Psychology, Daryl Sharp, Quantum, London, 1989, p.145.
The heart does not break-aortic-
right through the ventricle.
It slowly hardens here and there
with holes for fatigue and fear.
This magic place gets encrusted
by a thousand lashes, whip keeps
coming down, while singing.
The stone and the heart it slowly dies.
Shame coats the heart in glory.
The universe stands still
to hear the little story
of this heart who’s last its golden fill.
But redemption does come slowly.
All things are found in part.
Unity within the heart is joy
and here-down here-we only start.
Ron Price
10 September 1995
THE WORLD WAITS FOR ITS POET
For the experience of each new age requires a new confession and the world seems always waiting for its poet.
-Emerson in What Can I Say?, p.119.
There are more of us these days, Ralph Waldo,
more of everything, yes, a new confession
and about time, as you could see over
a hundred years ago.
The world still waits for its Poet,
with a capital ‘P’, Whose myriad mystic tongues
find utterance in every line and
the world, ripe to overflowing, waits
until the Poet’s words, clad with wings, are
carried fast and far irrecoverably into
the hearts of humankind. Perhaps,
the lesser poet, scarce deserving a mention,
should set himself a key so low
that even the most common things should
delight and the fragrance in the air
that some men breath, should
come through rich and perfumed.
Ron Price
10 September 1995
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SORTING THINGS OUT IN HOT SUMMERS
In the early years of my pioneering life, beginning perhaps as early as 1964, until my second or third year in Ballarat in 1977-8, I read every book written by Eric Fromm. He was a theorist that brought other theories together: Freud, Adler, Horney, Marx. He was part humanist, part Marxist, part Freudian, a large part existentialist. I read at least seven of his books during those years, perhaps more. Trying to connect the Baha’i teachings to the ideas of this eclectic, synthesizing psychologist who argued, among other things, that one’s identity and rootedness came from one’s religion, one’s development as a person came from a religious framework and philosophy, one’s choices not one’s memories block our development, the aim of life is to live it intensely, I read and read this stimulating psychoanalyst. He seemed to be saying so many things that my religion espoused in different ways with different words: the psyche adapts to the dominant sociopolitical structure of society; character is the result of our solution to and resolution of existential needs for survival, relatedness, expression and meaning, character shapes instincts; and we need hope as well as spiritual teachers. -Ron Price with thanks to Michael Maccoby, “The Two Voices of Erich Fromm: The Prophetic and the Analytic,†Society, July/August, 2001, Internet, 25 November 2001, pp. 1-16.
We have the inverse of Chistianity here:
not the individual changing society,
but society changing the individual.
I knew he was on to something;
it was just too good to be true.
The messianic view of history was here;
many words about liberation,
the paradox was kept before our eyes:
that we were the most important thing
in the universe but powerlessness;
humility was our reality before
that Unknowable Essence.
There was a great split between
the ideal and the actual in life,
much of which we had to accept.
There was a dialogue with Fromm,
with the Central Figures of my Faith
for a dozen years in hot Canadian summers
and hotter Australian summers
as I tried to sort out the dynamics,
the intellectual parameters,
the paradigmatic shifts and bases
of a new religion that was emerging
from its chrysalis, from its obscurity,
into the glaring light of public recognition.
Ron Price
26 November 2001
2 Poetic Perspectives on Our Perceptions
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RonPrice
- Posts: 4
- Joined: Mon Apr 17, 2006 1:48 am
- Location: George Town Tasmania Australia
- Contact:
2 Poetic Perspectives on Our Perceptions
married for 47 years, a Baha'i
It seems to me they've modded themselves out of existence for the moment. I can only wonder...MKFaizi wrote:Oh, okay.
Wonder what happened to the moderators.
They're most likely in trapped in Kafka-esque game of Twister. So yes, the evil academic Milton Bradley has taken them away from us. It's only a matter of time before they break free from the feminine and place their left foot and right hand in the white space.MKFaizi wrote:Have they been taken hostage?
I'm sure no one will deprive us of their presence for too long.
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MKFaizi
That surely is a probing question for the resident geniuses to ponder upon.MKFaizi wrote:But does not this thread belong in the -- shudder -- AIEEEEEEE!! -- Brothel?!?
The horror!
Faizi
[What's the difference? They're both hangouts for intellectual whores. I prefer my whoring *with variety* to whoring with insipidity. :^)]
RARAAARARRRARRRARRRAARRR *monster noises*
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David Quinn
- Posts: 5708
- Joined: Sun Sep 09, 2001 6:56 am
- Location: Australia
- Contact:
767 and an F-18
Dogfight at that line between heaven and earth
200 tourists sucking Bloody Marys
Stewardess smile fades into terror
Charlie Businessman thinks about his dollars
Doubting priests re-arrange their collars
Infants cry but they always do
And all I see is you, all I see is you
You, you, you!
Cockroach pillows in a midnight storm
Yesterdays papers to keep me warm
Streetlight moon with the bulb burned out
Trashcan rattle and a frozen shout
I'm about to shatter but I never do
'cause all I see is you -
You, you, you!
Let bygones be bygones
In a minute or two I'll be through
I'll be mercury droplets in a poison stew
I'll carry the dawn in a lead-lined quiver
and shoot bolts of lightning in a boiling river
It's you - I see you, you, you!
Youuuuu . . . . . . . . .
Dogfight at that line between heaven and earth
200 tourists sucking Bloody Marys
Stewardess smile fades into terror
Charlie Businessman thinks about his dollars
Doubting priests re-arrange their collars
Infants cry but they always do
And all I see is you, all I see is you
You, you, you!
Cockroach pillows in a midnight storm
Yesterdays papers to keep me warm
Streetlight moon with the bulb burned out
Trashcan rattle and a frozen shout
I'm about to shatter but I never do
'cause all I see is you -
You, you, you!
Let bygones be bygones
In a minute or two I'll be through
I'll be mercury droplets in a poison stew
I'll carry the dawn in a lead-lined quiver
and shoot bolts of lightning in a boiling river
It's you - I see you, you, you!
Youuuuu . . . . . . . . .