Idol of the book

 

Konica12506

Lostness   (72)

 

 

 

Saying “No” to so much
yet missing a “Yes” in its place

 

yearning for transcendent events
as life stays drearily normal

 

a spectre haunting modernity
is nihilism

unexorcised
by abundance.

 

 

We lack replacement consolations

while old beliefs survive
on more than truth.

 

Tired from logic
religion can traverse
ghettoes of the inexplicable

where hearing: “God told me to do this”
people don’t ask
how one knew that was him

or beings get defined as existing
in teaching set
against critique.

 

Now
assuming
superior entities
would feel
any need to create

should flaws be excused
such designers

depicted greying with age

when images of a playful child
may fit the role instead?

 

Idolatries
of the book
can occur

certain infallible words
preserving ossified hate
still able to damage

there
though killing transgresses most doctrines
a few might be sought it fulfils.

 

 

Our reaching an end
justifying

leaves only bias
plus faith.

 

 

Meanwhile

sidelined

I persist:

agnostic in intellect
atheist at heart
but usually seeking
escape

from reason’s empty hallway
past humid bathrooms
of metaphysics.

 

Dreaming toward closure

lured around libraries

stacked titles
gleaming
before me

already suggesting
anew

untrodden paths
for
wandering

among
these printed
forests.

 

 

 

 

(2001)

 

 


 

 

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(I try to post each Sunday.)

 

 


 

 

(beauty/books/drawing/life/lostness/mental health/opinions/poem/poetry/thoughts)

 

 

 

Restlessness

Konica10232

 

 

 

Lostness   (67)

 

 

 

This pen, urged across a page
by underlying restlessness…

 

Wrote:

“Is my needing to create, another form of bondage?”

 

If writing springs from lack
one could attempt a floating-free

leave laden bookshelves to the intellect
move through uncluttered psychic space
not chained in data’s thrall
with knowledge indexed and textual
fortified
against mere being.

 

Supposing only heart heals heart
hence words, alone,
fail to suffice

So
fearing the day
we must release
safe grip upon
our guarded selves

yet feeling fully unprepared

missing any surety
to compensate such doubt

 

Here, atheism can spread
an elemental isolation

while believers sense
non-visible observers

risking judgement
via unseen eyes.

 

 

 

(Might it shrink life’s dignity:
providing brief distraction
for imagined deities?)

 

 

 


 

 

 

Does “god” explain
if we cannot explain god?

 

 

Religion correctly identifies
problems of existence
but gives
those certain answers
many struggle to accept

where notions act
as sustaining
cultural glue
absence seems both actual
and conceptual

 

Easily mocked
are stories people tell
helping rouse their tired souls
to try again

How well, then, may
questioning enthuse
or scepticism motivate?

 

 

 

When time is all we have
comes dread at wasting it

Anxiety
about a fruitless search
for purpose

Remembering
some lost interest

(perhaps obsessive,
even held essential)

which led nowhere

now discarded

 

 

Like old things
left broken

that once

were loved.

 

 

 

 

 

(2000)

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(art/beauty/blogging/drawing/lostness/love/mental health/poetry/thoughts)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tortured reason

 

Konica102313

 

 

Lostness   (66)

 

We can torture reason in the name of spirit

 

Once doubt begins to doubt itself.

 

Am I on a path already
or only lost?

Does depression cloud my sight
through defensive negativity?

 

That charge appears unfair
when striving at belief
not for comfort
but for truth

and trying to add beauty
rather than
be a dark
in darkness

 

Yet
after words fall away
what remains, except
this void from letting go
of everything
while lacking faith
in anything

unless, perhaps,
Buddhism
minus rebirth
equals more than emptiness?

 

If religion gives no consolation
why make those efforts
it demands?

 

God is an answer
breeding questions…

 

upon originating origins

whether malign outcomes
excuse a cause

people still worship higher powers
without responsibility
keen to punish weak mortals
over almost universal faults.

 

How often are we willing
to put aside
hard-won convictions

even briefly
sense them teeter
at a brink of chaos

recoiling from imagined shame
before life’s enigma
like cryptographers who
forget their key

 

Doctrine and rationality
might both prefer
leaving flesh behind
one to be pure soul
the other to be pure mind

 

Urges for transcendence
revealing alienation

 

Melancholy
also shown uncertain
noticed by an ebb and flow
where moods change faster than
philosophy

 

just as daylight
now grown brighter
across my room
cuts around these
half-closed blinds

 

so

thinking it was dust

I tried to wipe a sunbeam
from the tablecloth.

 

 

 

 

(2000)

 

 

(Any artwork on the blog is mine: I hope you like it.)

 

(art/beauty/blogging/drawing/life/lostness/mental health/poetry/thoughts/writing)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Underlain by sex

 

Konica12511

 

Lostness   (60)

 

 

I need a metaphysical vacuum cleaner
for the soiled carpet of my soul.

 

Where are higher powers
when you want them?

 

“No lie in the sky!”  sounded one atheist slogan
during unbelieving rage
days upon which, looking at our planet, it seemed
maybe gods should also ask forgiveness
from creatures suffering
subject
to such creation

Here happiness appeared an irrational state
with misery and anger
taking typical positions
behind morality
against onrushing evil tides

Refusing contentment
until situations were put right
thus assuring vexation

(As argument demanding agreement
ensures its own frustration)

Perfectionism
defers living
to search after unreachables

Trying too hard
denying animality
buffoon versus baboon
or remembered child
that messed his pants
shamed before a looming parent
when my arse followed me
like a judgement.

 

There
beneath ethics
lurks aesthetics.
Beauty
underlain by sex
fired through hormones
hence desire overcomes distaste
then other bodies turn
ingestible.

 

 

In the end
at two extremes
we find
those seeing all
as evidence of divine presence
opposing those seeing the same
as showing only
divine absence.

 

Yet
if people who abhor reality
require religion more

what about this particular
isolation…

Might it grow so intense
I’d begin mumbling at deities
(while lacking faith in their actuality)
merely from an urge to complain?

Perhaps
even confessing
I need
a metaphysical vacuum cleaner
for the soiled carpet
of my soul.

 

 

 

(1993)

 

(art/atheism/blogging/drawing/life/lostness/mental health/poetry/thoughts/writing)

 

Apocalyptic gratifications

Lostness   (37)

 

There can be situations so far from beauty they give apocalyptic fantasy an air of gratification.

 

How to know whether I am moving on the path of light or darkness?

 

Are divinities merely hidden; or absent from this world?
Studying nature does little to reassure us about any supposed creator’s kindness.
Would as many desire to worship a transcendent cruelty?
Might higher beings care for us much more than we care for insects?
Imagine our planet a now discarded toy from god’s nursery…

Sceptics could take the view that millennia of effort have failed to produce a fully convincing religion; while disasters are as liable to spring from excessive belief as from doubt.
Certain cults poison perceptions of external society: to ensure that leaving the collective becomes unthinkable. In such ways it is possible to be stunted by faith.

 

Yet will we ever permit deities not to exist?

 

One part of us may mock what another part yearns for.

 

Thus I cultivate my emptiness
while, across fuzzy boundaries
of feeling and recollection,
writing makes play
ideas flap around
seeking coherence
I hold up sentences
by their ragged ends
toward philosophy
in its abattoir of words.

 

 

(1984)

(thoughts/questions/opinions/psychology/lostness/mental health/poetry)

 

 

Build on air

Lostness   (32)

 

“Where are those others, who feel as I do?” mutter castaways of the soul.
When loneliness appears like a destiny. To live, and die, among strangers.

 

My relationship with belief-systems is an inability to fit into any of them.
For thought, faith is a restriction.
Though we cannot build on air. At any starting-point conventions are present. Social animals tend to conformism. Group behaviour and saving face may surmount virtue. Notions of good beyond a categorical imperative, being needed for its use; the formula works inside an ethical frame, rather than generating one.
Zealots could act upon the maxim: “Always obey a divine voice, however terrible its command.” Ancient abuse might be cited in support of the new.
Ideas can coat even immorality with an insulation of sanctity.

 

The lure of a benign universe drives some to extremity.

 

Self seems to dissolve under examination, but so does object.

 

Should I attempt to speak soulfully
of some spirit that is lost
while night cloaks this world
in a profundity
dispelled by dawn?

 

 

(Feb-May 1982)

(philosophy/religion/thoughts/opinions/poetry)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Opening notes

Daily notes  (1)

 

Lostness  (8)

 

Participatory evolution: We reach into our genes to begin playing with ourselves.

 

Loneliness can be exacerbated by human contact.  Some relationships would fracture from honesty.
Yet this hunger remains for a love I have never experienced.  Inside me contend both need for connection and recognition of its improbability.
Isolation is also a defence.                                                                                  (7/12/1978)

 

As armour against compassion winners may assume their status is simply a matter of justice.

Religion is not beyond the sphere of human vanity.

One danger of questions: by casting them in a certain form we are led toward compatible answers. 

 

A flow of perceptions and memory.  Can we extrapolate “Self” from this: like the projectionist in our cranial cinema?  What if we find his room empty except for a turning mechanism?
If I am always becoming, along some stream of present moments, where is a complete self to be found?                                                                                               (14/12/1978)

 

Sensitive sons?

Of a father who appeared so dominant that only by passivity might his rage, at any rival maleness, be avoided.
Yet a father who demanded this intimidated son be strong, active, masculine.
Creating a personality afraid to be assertive, and ashamed of its fear.

I wrote this thinking of Kafka. But perhaps I was describing myself?