That Which is to Give Light Must Endure Burning

Some quotes from Viktor Frankl’s “Man’s Search for Meaning” that remind me to endure the 🥵 in life. He lived through the Holocaust. Many on the right want us to forget our ugly history.

No, I won’t forget. I will remember man’s cruelty and hatred towards man. I will not let anger take root in my ❤️ I will vigilantly pull that anger out of myself anytime it sprouts.

I gladly yield to love.

Love is the way, this is beneath that which is occulted, behind and binding everything.

To receive and give love is hardest for those who have suffered most.

They have something to show us about what it is to be a Human Being.

“Love is the only way to grasp another human being in the innermost core of his personality. 

No one can become fully aware of the very essence of another human being unless he loves him.

By his love he is enabled to see the essential traits and features in the beloved person; and even more, he sees that which is potential in him, which is not yet actualized but yet ought to be actualized.

Furthermore, by his love, the loving person enables the beloved person to actualize these potentialities. By making him aware of what he can be and of what he should become, he makes these potentialities come true.”

“Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.” 

“Ultimately, man should not ask what the meaning of his life is, but rather must recognize that it is he who is asked. In a word, each man is questioned by life; and he can only answer to life by answering for his own life; to life he can only respond by being responsible.”

Walt Whitman and William Blake: Madmen, Artists, Mystics

Walt Whitman is a mystic poet, one of my favorites. One can be transported in the incredible words of Whitman in “Leaves of Grass” and the poem contained within, “Song of Myself.” One can see he was seeing the totality of life and is filled with a glowing Light and great power, as in Blake. Whitman saw everyone as an expression of the whole. Each a work of art. He tried to remind people how beautiful they were. A leaf among the grass.

1

“I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.

My tongue, every atom of my blood, form’d from this soil, this air,

I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard,
Nature without check with original energy.”

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45477/song-of-myself-1892-version

Whitman and Blake experienced and saw amazing things in being and themselves as part of the whole. They suffered greatly in life and felt the suffering of others deeply. I could read them forever and barely see where they walked. It is as if the Sun filled them with Light, but also the Shadow clearly speaks through them. Each contains Legion voices. They captured I think what it is to be a Human Being captured between worlds. I am moved deeply by them both.

In “Walt Whitman Speaks,” Whitman says about Blake, “Blake began and ended in Blake.” I researched this and it turns out, Whitman was confounded by and then came to appreciate Blake. Harold Bloom, a great literary critic, felt the two were of the same cloth. The falling of America made Bloom miserable. He would despair about today’s world. I recommend a great book by Bloom who loved Whitman, “The Daemon Knows: Literary Greatness and the American Sublime.” This sublime aspect of Whitman’s time was a presage of our time. Whitman warned us about technology and the age of specialization. Like a hippie version of Ted Kaczynski. Where Ted used real bombs, Whitman used bombs of Love. I love Bloom’s YouTubes. He had a photographic memory and remembered everything he ever read. Amazing to listen to, poetic in his writing and speaking. I highly recommend Bloom.

“Bloom loves Emerson and Whitman but he doesn’t believe them: to him, belatedness is now a permanent condition of man, and there can be no overcoming it—no return, even in America, to an original fullness or freshness or purity of spirit.” —The New Yorker Profile on Bloom – The Prophet of Decline 9/22/02

About Blake, Bloom thought…”The true Romantic, as represented by Shelley and, above all, Blake, looked not to nature—a thing external to the self—to save him but to the world-altering power of his own imagination. Nature was material, and therefore fixed and limiting. Only by struggling to liberate itself from the world entirely—to fill itself with invented mythical forms rather than natural ones—could the imagination be free.” —The New Yorker Profile on Bloom – The Prophet of Decline 9/22/02

The genius of all three of these men drips off their pages and is seen in their art. There is a deep sadness in them all, Bloom the most. Whitman and Blake though saw through the sadness.

Blake invented a form of art combining images with texts, relief etching. The first comics? He had incredible visions. I have a large folio of his work and he strikes me like Jung’s art does in The Red Book. These men have walked through heaven and hell. Whitman wrote, like Blake painted. But Blake’s poetry! My god. Blake was mostly ignored in his time. He said he wrote for his audience in eternity. His visions he felt were real and removed all doubts. Perhaps it was this assurance Whitman didn’t initially like. Blake was a rebel and feared by the establishment. Unlike Swedenborg, Blake spent as much time in the hell of London as the heaven of his soul. For this he has earned my esteem and respect. Whitman felt him dark. But Whitman didn’t like Poe either at first, but in “Walt Whitman Speaks” Whitman comments about writers of his day and confesses he came to like Poe after reading him again and again. He and Blake were so alike, but very different, as Whitman himself wrote.

“Awake! Awake, O sleepers of the land of shadows, wake! expand! I am in you and you in me, mutual in love divine. I am not a God far off, I am a brother and friend; within your own bosoms I reside and you reside in me: Lo! we are one, forgiving all evil, not seeking recompense” (Blake-Jerusalem.,Chp.1,lns.6,18).

Whitman wrote privately after reading Algernon Swinburne’s “William Blake: A Critical Essay”, that while both he and Blake were mystics and “extatics“, the differences between them were vast. I admire Whitman very highly and see in his work a sweet pragmatism that inspires me. How these mystics loved. Whitman took care of civil war wounded and this grew a great compassion in him.

https://www.gutenberg.org/files/35995/35995-h/35995-h.htm

If you are following the call of your deepest pain and love, one must spend time with Whitman and Blake, both truly sublime and profound.

Lightening

Lightening doesn’t mourn
It doesn’t cry
It cracks across the sky

Lightening is always free
It breaks open the earth
It brings new birth

Lightening doesn’t worry
It wins every race
It jumps across time and space

—smelly da 🐐

To Thine Own Self Be True

I have seen the fields of light
I have run with all my might
I have been touched by golden light
I have now taken flight

When they punch my ticket
I’ll go gently into the night
But until then
I shall enjoy my flight

—smelly da 🐐

girl in the car

There were plenty of questions.

But I found there ain’t no right or wrong answers. 

There is just old Uncle Charlie’s bar down by the pier. 

I found my way to the end of the bar one fine orange fall day when all my questions had flown away like a murder of crows.

There I was, sippin a bitter warm beer at the end of the bar.

Old Uncle Charlie sat down beside me, he laughed and clinked his beer against mine, “L’chaim!”

“How’s life so far kid?” he growled in that old wise sandy voice. 

His words were sharp and sank deep. 

Silence hung between us forever it seemed, until we both burst out laughing. 

I shot him a side glance and blurted out, “My favorite part was kissin the girl.” 

“There was something about her that was different.”

“Something that gave me hope.”

“That’s my boy! Love is really never lost!” he shouted as he smacked me on the back.

“What happened?!”

“She’s waitin for me outside.”

“Well hell! Why did you end up here again then at the end of the bar with a groovy girl outside?!”

“I just wanted to say thanks.”

“My pleasure.”

kinky

there is light in us
dim it may be
i know it’s eternal
there is darkness in us
it appears to eat the light
but light can’t die
you can cover the light
but it’s always there
light knows light
light is life
light is forever
stay close to the light
when you travel in dark lands
it knows your knowing
it whispers in your ear
it tickles your ass
it licks your mind
it sticks its tongue in your ear
kinky

Peace Beyond All Understanding

When your life is said and done, it won’t matter anymore what the meaning of it was.

You lived it.

One day I will look back and say, if I am fortunate, I had a fine life, no regrets.

It was filled with wonders and doubt and fear and courage and love.

I spilled ink on the paper.

I left my blood in the dirt.

I made my mark.

Kindness and compassion are the best things in us.

Pray they do not die in thee.

For surely then, you are dead to love.

The worst tragedy a human being can experience.

When no one is looking, can you look at yourself in the mirror?

Did you hurt others?

Surely.

Did you make the best amends you could, hopefully.

Did you find your passion in life?

At the moment of your death, all the passions will be silenced.

No one will ever know when you hit your stride maybe, if you did.

Your life will flash before you.

May it not be an ugly sad ending to your story.

May you have learned, as Scrooge did, to give all the love you can while you can.

It is never too late to fall in love with life.

Don’t live with regret.

Don’t hurt those you love and love you.

Do better now.

I must say about life, it surprises me everyday.

The joy grows deeper now every moment.

As the world appears to be unraveling, it isn’t here.

Things just work out for the best.

There will be a moment, when it is your best time to die.

May that day be far from you.

Once you find love, you want it forever.

It bubbles over inside you sometimes at a mad boil.

Other times it just simmers on low.

It just doesn’t matter what’s happening out there.

Here, in the middle of life, one can find a peace that surpasses understanding.

If you are at the bottom, get up.

I was and did and I’m glad.

I look back on the birth of love within me.

I smile and I am thankful to have known life up and down, inside out.

As the loons rage against those they hate, one can experience peace beyond all understanding.

What a world!

What a life!

Life is inspiring and calls one up and out of their doubt and fear.

Sometimes you can see that hand from nowhere reaching out to you.

Take it.

Offer that hand to the other, and you will realize what love is.

Hold that hand offered to you long enough, until you are steady on your feet.

And then run!

Run like the wind 🌬

Run as far and as long as you can and don’t look back.

Don’t try to understand or explain, you can’t.

And then maybe at the end, nothing will be left to regret.

Peace to you Minerva, my sweet aunt.

You showed me kindness when my own mother couldn’t and wouldn’t.

Much respect ✊️ and love.

RIP

subjectless

clear your mind
heal your heart
meet silence
abandon yourself
face your shit
stick around
write some poetry
feel the flow
enjoy the glow

Standing

Sometimes, well, most times
You are standing here
Looking down
In the place you stand
You may see
Your feet in the mud
Or in water
Or on dry land
Or in a forest
Or on the rocks
Or in the sand
One may feel fear
While another has a beer
Fear not
Standing where you are
Is the beginning
And end of it
Taking a step
Is a whole other matter
Wherever you stand
Know we all stand with you
In the same place
You stand as I stand
You think as I think
You feel as I feel
Billions living the same life
Boggles the mind
Weakens the knees
Listen to the wind blow
Through the trees
Look how the wind
Makes waves in the water
Remember what time
Has forgotten
A tree can only stand
As witness to life
Watching the birds and bees
Perhaps you and I are trees
We sing songs as we feel
The wind blowing through our leaves

🍃 🍁 🍃 🍂

Thunder Perfect Mind

I know both her faces. 

I have met her in the women I have loved.

She was born of the source and she birthed the source in time. 

I have hated and loved her.

I have cursed and praised her. 

She is the wisdom of the Greeks.

She is the knowledge of the Barbarians.

She is the White Buffalo Calf Woman.

She brought the Seven Sacred Rites to the Lakota. 

History is not fact, it is narrative. 

What does she want of us?

She will never let me go.

She echos in my heart and mind. 

She soothes my soul and makes me rage.

Every real man has had to contend with her in time.

Lilith and Eve. 

How to pierce her duality?

When I go to my resting place beyond time, she will meet me there and I will live and not die again. 

My head hurts. 

But I am sober. 

My heart longs to be worthy of her, but I fear her. 

I feel she wants to eat my heart. 

Maybe I have to give it to her willingly.

I would not be here now without her.

The way my wife clings to me, is like how she grasps for me. 

I have always pushed my women away. 

Out of fear of being loved and known and maybe exposed as the weakling I can be. 

But now, I am falling into a black hole.