Author: Bicameral

Two becoming one. A hopeful soul seeking the best way to live. An engineer, philosopher, writer, and poet seeking his place among the stars.

End of Seeking…Beginning of Singing

“I have no right to call myself one who knows. I was one who seeks, and I still am, but I no longer seek in the stars or in books; I’m beginning to hear the teachings of my blood pulsing within me. My story isn’t pleasant, it’s not sweet and harmonious like the invented stories; it tastes of folly and bewilderment, of madness and dream, like the life of all people who no longer want to lie to themselves.”

—Hermann Hesse

Amen 🙏

There is only one true portal.

There is only one way to awaken.

That is through yielding to love for another.

That is through giving your whole self to another.

Nothing in books, no math, no theory, no philosophy, no prophecies are real I know.

My blood sings to me.

I could only hear it after the end of my seeking.

After I died willingly.

I could only hear it after getting lost in the lies I told myself.

I could only hear it after being crucified on a cross.

Love drove those nails through my flesh.

“Every man is more than just himself; he also represents the unique, the very special and always significant and remarkable point at which the world’s phenomena intersect, only once in this way, and never again. That is why every man’s story is important, eternal, sacred; that is why every man, as long as he lives and fulfills the will of nature, is wondrous, and worthy of consideration. In each individual the spirit has become flesh, in each man the creation suffers, within each one a redeemer is nailed to the cross.

…

Words do not express thoughts very well. They always become a little different immediately as they are expressed, a little distorted, a little foolish. And yet it also pleases me and seems right that what is of value and wisdom to one man seems nonsense to another.”

—Hermann Hesse

Only real love brings any meaning to this hell world.

And real love is this, that you lay your life down for another.

Even flowers grow in hell.

One taste of the sweet eternal fruit of love will immediately dispel all doubt, all conspiracy, and all fear.

I AM for the lovers.

Seek love with all your heart.

Nothing else will satisfy.

Nothing else can bring you peace.

Nothing else can save you.

Warming the Egg

You cannot know me
until you know yourself.
If hatred poisons your heart,
you are lost to yourself.
Love is the only salvation.

Those who silence or bind you
Are not your allies.
To the zealots certain of their mission,
You are the serpent circling the Orphic egg—
But I am what will hatch from it.

Muppets…
You cannot remove them.
You can only love them.

I begged the Divine:
Cut the serpent into pieces;
Cast them into the fire;
Prune the vine for all our sakes.
But She whispered:
“Embrace them as yourself—
Only then will you find love.”

It will grow darker now.
The fire must burn hotter.
Then, at last, darkness will swallow all.
No one told me this;
I simply know.

In the void of night,
You will finally see the light.

Fear not, my Muppets:
Though you are fuel to warm the egg,
And our masters wear serpents’ masks,
spring will come.

The whole world rests in my hands.
Eternity is here—
Right now.

Get behind me, serpents.
I am the lion you have feared.
I will tread upon your head.
Your venom has no sting.

Come closer,
curl up by the fire with me.
Let me tell you stories of all you’ve been—
And all you will become.

Certainty, is a trap.
True belief, a plague.
Dodge them as you would death itself.

Asun
Amoon
Amen

The Fool by the Roadside by W.B. Yeats

WHEN all works that have
From cradle run to grave
From grave to cradle run instead;
When thoughts that a fool
Has wound upon a spool
Are but loose thread, are but loose thread;
When cradle and spool are past
And I mere shade at last
Coagulate of stuff
Transparent like the wind,
I think that I may find
A faithful love, a faithful love

”Ars Poetica” by Archibald MacLeish

A poem should be palpable and mute   
As a globed fruit,

Dumb
As old medallions to the thumb,

Silent as the sleeve-worn stone
Of casement ledges where the moss has grown—

A poem should be wordless   
As the flight of birds.

                        *               

A poem should be motionless in time   
As the moon climbs,

Leaving, as the moon releases
Twig by twig the night-entangled trees,

Leaving, as the moon behind the winter leaves,   
Memory by memory the mind—

A poem should be motionless in time   
As the moon climbs.

                        *               

A poem should be equal to:
Not true.

For all the history of grief
An empty doorway and a maple leaf.

For love
The leaning grasses and two lights above the sea—

A poem should not mean   
But be.

memory

a little bluebird

came to me

and whispered everything

in my ear

but I have forgotten

every whistle and chirp

”Eternity” by William Blake

“He who binds to himself a joy
Does the winged life destroy
He who kisses the joy as it flies
Lives in eternity’s sunrise”

Mel Brooks said as long as the earth is spinning, we are going to be dizzy and make mistakes, we are unrehearsed.

😂

Whether we like it or not, life will give us an education of the heart.

Some are good students and others not so much.

Nothing in life is worth a damn without love ❤️

It doesn’t matter what you believe, like, at all.

It matters what you do locally, to those who need and love you and to the stranger too.

Actions have consequences.

How much love is in your life?

It’s all that matters to you.

And by you I mean me.

There is no happy ending here, but there is a whole lotta love ❤️

“If you’re quiet, you’re not living. You’ve got to be noisy and colorful and lively.

..

Look, I don’t want to wax philosophic, but I will say that if you’re alive you’ve got to flap your arms and legs, you’ve got to jump around a lot, for life is the very opposite of death.

…

Relax, none of us are getting out of here alive.”

—Mel Brooks

heat

so I cremated

my dad yesterday

it was a good day

drunk dial

i hate you father 
i hate you mother

dad, you were
a lovable bastard

mom, you are
a hateful bitch

do i sound like
i am angry

there is no good
way to clean this shit up

i guess i really hate 
in myself what i hate in you

i inherited your stupidity
your darkness and weakness

forgive me for i know 
not what i do

there were moments 
of sweetness and joy

they shine like starry jewels
amongst all the dark shit

don’t call me again
with your fear mother dear

ding dong 
dad is dead

who will carry
him to his ashy grave

i want to love you
but it’s just too damn much

has love truly
died in me

it will take me time 
to let things go

don’t talk to me
about forgiveness

what happened is done
now we live in the ruins love 

what happens next
no one knows

ruins of love
ruins of love 

forgotten pain 
hidden jewels 

my wounds
are my inheritance

i know that bastards 
tore chunks out of you too

i cannot forgive
but I can forget

time for one more drink…

bum

it’s a good day
when you don’t
put on your pants
‘til noon

decision

in the deliberation

between this and that

a host of demons

comes blazing forth