Wholeness of Sense

A flower which glistens one may dare collect

upon the old winds flowing downward with grace

shining abruptly at the base of its flight

then lingering upward in blinding delight.


Fragments of petals may finally meet

in that single moment where all feels complete

drawing a line amongst them in glow

as meaning embodied in bones starts to flow.


A wholeness of sense then does arrive

where mind in the body may quietly lie

where body is felt like never before

and fragmented pieces are separate no more.


Hovering over what mind can’t conceive

feeling, not thinking, at home there within

as deep from the tissues the hurt does so leave

and a space opens up for us both to weave.



Releasing to Being / Cracking Open

My heart in thorns is entwined

where light like night

in indigo shine

weary, with fright,

the meek and uncertain

away does divide.


My heart is in brightness conceived

(core pulsing

to rhythmic a beat,)

under thick coating beginning to gleam

revealing the true

and releasing to being.


My heart its own breadth now admits

seeping through thorns

sharp rays as it cracks,

open at last

to life’s greatest gift

as eternity in it softly may drift.




A translation of Gallop (Γκάλοπ) by Lena Platonos (Λένα Πλάτωνος)

Dear reader,

I offer here a humble translation of the transcendental closing track of Lena Platonos’ iconic album ‘Gallop‘. I do this to honor the feat of storytelling that many of the pieces on the album represent, as well as the fact she employs imagery which featured in the guided meditation that concluded my very first yoga practice, occurring some eight years ago in Thessaloniki, Greece.

Bisous,
Sia




Now,
just as a little air lifted,
everyone expected these days to be cool.
At least that’s what they all said.

Even the lady at the street pavilion
made mistakes in her transactions
from the excessive heat.

And on the radio
they prepare the winter
with humour and stability,
seriousness,

galloping through
and choosing different answers.

You close your eyes.
You arrange a date.
You close your eyes
and dream of different cities.
Sparsely populated cities in the night
lacking unnecessary sounds
whose light emanates from within the people,
from the walls of the houses.

A door opens.
Someone lifts their hand
and their greeting traces the shape of a star,

mmmm,

or rather a moon.

You reciprocate.
Slowly many gather,
then even more.

They all reciprocate
and their greeting traces the shape of a moon

and as they approach one another
they are united by that same gallop
of the first rain;
by the colour of the moon in their own touch.

Yes, and further down there is a couple
that have only a moon
that they cut in two,
biting the half

and again the half,
until crumbs are left behind.
Until nothingness remains.

But they share even that nothingness
as it appears that nothing doesn’t exist.

Maybe that’s why the light emanates from them so.




Weaving what we can’t conceive

Look not for it and you it shall find

all the same substance,

having no goal

yet brimming with purpose

;

shaping itself to that which

the torrent (below)

wisely evokes.


Do without

attachment to outcome;

abandon comparison

and embrace therefrom

:

the slow, benign (inconspicuous)

and the vastness of meaning

that from it so glows.


Emanating perpetually

and morphing throughout

in events as minute

as their occurrence bizarre

all we must do is listen and watch

as we permit it to weave

the life we could never conceive.



The Vastness

She swims in a vastness which drifts


and within its essence caresses;


in affection of past, foregone, uncovered,


through rhythm and motion and boundless expanse.



So it becomes


(her advance of no mould)


in uncertainty covered and tension released,


as she swims through the vastness


(swallowed by it)


and her fondness softly embraces.



Where nothingness lays

Taking your touch

– what temporal fancy –

for naught in the past

and much less the present

there for us lays.


It lays thereafter

where torrents connective

dimensionless cascade.

There, where emptiness lays

and the disparate in closeness delivers.


Sensing it certain and grasping unable

in there, where nothingness lays.

Ineffable, that void perpetual

where all which is worthy shall seed.


From it and through it,

arriving at once,

the knowledge embodied in madness conceived

by gifts collected from unity’s trees

you touch me and through me are freed.



Feeling Sense

As I began to feel I began to swim through life. Reality was no longer a spectacle of observation, but a feat of sensation; no longer made up of air, but the fluid which binds all existence – past, present and future, faraway and immediately close – into the mesh constituting each moment’s experience. I sense, therefore I am. I take my body with me as I permit it to inform me of concepts thinking alone could never conjure.

The current age of exalted analytical reason had clouded my corporal intelligence for too long. It is no wonder we suffer from mental illness if all we inhabit, if all we are taught is worthy of inhabiting, is the realm of the mind. It is but an imbalance, a healthy part of a rounded whole turned sour in receiving undivided focus at the expense of other organs of sense. To reflect is a great gift, but our ability to feel must consciously envelop our capacity for analytical evaluation should we seek wisdom in a state where we do not abuse one another, or the greater ecological whole we are a part of.

Inhabiting our bodies carries a knowledge whose value is not undermined because it is ineffable; it merely exists in a realm that language, our analytical mind’s primary tool, cannot access. To dismiss its existence based on this failure of representation is foolish; and to access it begs dedicated practice with tools which can. The body is where I begin and as my practice deepens, I peek within my tissues to discover a sensory organ, ubiquitous and intuitive, which processes information much the way my brain does – by receiving endless stimuli and unconsciously transforming them into guidance for my being, as I swim and sway and dance lightly between past, present and future, feeling.

This excerpt is inspired by my readings of Susanne K. Langer’s work on the symbology of music, as well as a love for rhythmic, embodied and undulating movement.

Your Caress Alone / Anticipation

I await your gaze,

your lips and touch and passion’s purpose

upon the skin that glows

for your caress alone.

 

To be lost in me,

rapture seeded in impulsive embrace,

as I fold around and hold you tender

much like fruit in petals spring foresees.

 

For when the body feels of lovers true

so sprouts in gleaming shine,

the yearning, budding,

for your caress alone.

 

This work is dedicated to all the lovers distanced by our current emergency; to the flow of nascent romance that must find its way through patience to maintain its grace.

Do not abandon, love, what was there for you before, as for you thereafter it shall remain.