Thursday 21 March 2013

The Journey to Merely Clear

Primal urgification rocks & roars @ 21 beats per line, lines in groups of three to shake the pole to drink the wind to harvest thunder before the end of the movie & shout.

A hundred hand waves lining streets to point at the sky to jab at clouds to groove with the picts & snack on paintings, shake weapons of creation hurl balls of bosonic stretch mark through windows of war illusion.

Dancing & stamping & blowing through tubes shooting coloured streamers into the drains, eating rain soaked loaves of disbelief & fainting in shock when we discovered that we were all actually pooing out rainbows.

Having seen how secular trust
Is based on illusion;
Humans have always thrown their rubbish
Over the wall
& kept an eye out
For opportune-vulnerability;
Having seen how
Our efforts to
Be virtuous lack good roots
We decided to leave you;
To make a journey
To Merely Clear.
We are not young
We are not old
We need not succeed
We cannot fail
We looked you in the eye
& we smiled
To see
How afraid you are
That such things
Might be
& that asking the question
Could set us free.

Merely Clear means that no-one saw it but a vista of radiant possibility came out to sense's infinite system, the wide open door, the toppled prison wall, the road ahead confounding all doubt.

Merely Clear means finding freedom, no safe havens, love songs, medals, epaulettes, or badges, no privacy, no property, no privilege, no petrol to throw on the fire to light the map-cobble of maze strength's illusion.

No-one knows where to find it but sick of sitting in your interview room, our songs & rooftop shouts, our secret dancing cascade of drum beat commitment has raised your roof scattering tile-flashed lies all on the ground.

Library letters
Clatter chatter of
Black monkey marks
Scratched tallies
Of wisdom
& folly
The five thousand year burden
Of orthodoxy & belief
Apocalyptically set free as
The energy that dances within-hidden
& its bright & empty Nature
All present & correct.
Name's delusions
Weight-righted name
Written on the surface
Of a mountain stream
Lope-looped over the
High mossed heath
Singing sand-light over the page
Of ancient powers
To name, be named
Escape naming,
To be un-nameable
As if that were important.

Fossil root young green spark of bird cry-out the thorn bush, dandelion swing & sway-wind drove us over league tables of century sutra the lists the lists the lists, the lusts the lusts the lusts,  lust for results.

Old song sounds fresh yet, the Invincible Three shine forth over the pistil-seat, word pistol shot to head of the matter of day-night Winter light Summer dim assembly point for confusion-time karma, matter came second place in the face-race.

No kind of self consciousness congratulation fed the potency of day-stars' tornado track out back in the channel some kind of pink luminous circulation of events & meanings lost to the rag-tattered vagrancy of non-news from telescope city's fever dream tapestry.

We went everywhere
Seeking to hold
The hidden hand
But the hand cannot hold itself
Fist grab fails to hold
No-one has wings
There must be some other kind
Of way out
Out of the
Dining car
Of the Trans-Samsaric Express.
Light ray shout
At black mountains
Prehistoric trumpet chorus
Dorje Chang
The sixth of five
Justified Presence
Merely Clear
Floats above us
But does not
Can not darken the sky
Transparent as a rainbow
Sun blaze eye.

Dorje Chang
Merely Clear is a not place-person but a way of being simple gesture made with the mind a song the heart sings a last sigh a shout of shock a blood-bond illumination of timeless ineffable necessity when everything & nothing reach their climax together.

Space-blue, bell ringing, big as Cardiff Cathedral, big as Bodhanath Stupa, mountain big feather light lotus seat at about twenty feet, head a hundred a thousand a million a storm cloud filled with lightning in the state of Great Perfection.

Some people saw a mother ship, some a figure from an early medieval soap-opera, some saw their father their mother a queen or a king or a celestial rock star finally ejaculating the ultimate riff into the womb of space-time where we all imagined we existed as apes.

In the Pure Land
The love of
All existences
Is made plain
In every moment
As heritage innocence
The first & simplest
Made clear
Merely laughs
So gentle.
The rucksack
Was set down
Wind & river floods took it
He remained naked
On a Welsh hillside
For five hundred years
No-one could see
Or hear him
Because they
Went back

Thursday 7 March 2013

The Art of Conversation with the Genius Loci

Good news! The revised second edition of The Art of Conversation with the Genius Loci is now available from Capall Bann Publications price £13.95.

I have corrected some errors & edited some of the chapters, appendices & contact information. I have also added a new foreword entitled Ten Years On. Thanks to Jon & Julia for supporting my work!

See the page link above for more information. 

NB Capall Bann say that overseas customers can also order the book from their web page.

Remember that as of today, 7th March, the new edition is hot from the printers - you'll get the old, first edition, even a second hand one elsewhere.