the dancing dervish
this poem is still in its infantile state, needs to rot and develop a bit, but for what it's worth, oh, and it might require a wee bit of sufisim research :)...
Exchanged our rusty keys for yet another prison-
unadulterated art- Infinite. through a prism.
whirling clouds gather in dance-
meditative vision jailed by trance
lift. drop. your outstretched palms-
beg. grasp. pollutive alms.
Born in confinement the philosophical Mind-
Escapes to convention where daemons are kind.
Naked white robes- for violent red rags-
destruction of Self induced affliction scabs.
Mystical circle completed by choice
humming. force. hoarse. inner voice.
Memory of a brick unyeilding wall-
Disintegration of consciousness
numb by the Fall.
Forms. Images. Boundaries to repress-
till the shape of shape, returns to the Shapeless.
the expansion. contraction. extraction. of life-
pulse of cyclic order. symbyonic Strife.
inward. outward. flows River of Bliss
Male. Female. embrace to dismiss.
water of Heaven. fire of earth
revisits death, repeats birth.
a web of contradition, a kaleidescope of acts-
brilliant light. lost night. creator. craft.
smoke curls. whirls. wildly fans
spoils of battle. sacrifice of man.
Exchanged our rusty keys for yet another prison-
unadulterated art- Infinite. through a prism.
whirling clouds gather in dance-
meditative vision jailed by trance
lift. drop. your outstretched palms-
beg. grasp. pollutive alms.
Born in confinement the philosophical Mind-
Escapes to convention where daemons are kind.
Naked white robes- for violent red rags-
destruction of Self induced affliction scabs.
Mystical circle completed by choice
humming. force. hoarse. inner voice.
Memory of a brick unyeilding wall-
Disintegration of consciousness
numb by the Fall.
Forms. Images. Boundaries to repress-
till the shape of shape, returns to the Shapeless.
the expansion. contraction. extraction. of life-
pulse of cyclic order. symbyonic Strife.
inward. outward. flows River of Bliss
Male. Female. embrace to dismiss.
water of Heaven. fire of earth
revisits death, repeats birth.
a web of contradition, a kaleidescope of acts-
brilliant light. lost night. creator. craft.
smoke curls. whirls. wildly fans
spoils of battle. sacrifice of man.
posted by HindiK at 7:53 PM
2 Comments:
My dearest fellow dancer, upon ruminating on the circumstance and position of the dancer, or whirling dirvish, and the parallel we've created with our own state-of-being, i've come to conclude that being these white dancers is not a postition one should loathe but rather one we should embrace. the dancer, one palm towards the heavens, the other, facing earth, serves as a conduit between the lofty and the earthly, creating a synthesis between the two realms within our physical bodies. this place of fusion has the potential for much confusion if the elements are not harmonized. The task is clear. Fusion, baby. Until then, there is rumination, ha ha. And dancing, of course. Whirling to incredible, sexy, techno music. Tous le deux! L.
MAIS OUI!! but of course, what are we if not the purpose...if not the ultimate synthesis...we are all that is in the act of becoming...
yes, it's all about fusion darlin' :)
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