Visiting Day

PicassoChild

Child with a Dove

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When  we walk inside the broken place
Your hair, your eyes, the broken way you smile

The broken door that hurt your hand
Your fingers broken, one memory at a time

When we walk inside the broken place
A ghost of skin and broken strands of hair

Your mouth a broken O
Your dreams bereft of skin

We call your name
It echoes

Our mouth forms O
Our mouth says U

Your hair, your eyes, the broken way you smile
All come into view

Becoming

“…truth is a pathless land…”
Jiddu Krishnamurti

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

A Philosophy of Becoming: Part 1

Fragments of early childhood memory
continuously emerge as sensations
and attempt an integration

If we open to the “chaos”
of these emergent sensations
we can integrate them
and shed our identity

Our identity is the armor
that developed in early childhood
to ward off intolerable sensations

Identity protected us
from the overwhelming, unbearable chaos,
the fractures and torments
of painful childhood sensations

In order to give birth to ourselves,
in order to integrate at the level of Self,
we must directly experience and “hold”
the chaos, fractures and torments
of childhood sensations
without dissociation and without repression,
that is, with consciousness

Consciousness is not I
Consciousness does not identify with itself
as a thing called I

Consciousness is a process,
the direct unarmored experience of sensation
without the blinders of identity

Consciousness is a hologram
continuously changing shape
like water or sound

Consciousness seems to exist as an entity
yet is constantly in motion,
in change, in process

Consciousness is always in a state of Becoming

Consciousness has as its intention
the direct, unarmored experience
of the world

When our consciousness begins
to directly experience
unarmored childhood sensation
we no longer have a need
for identity, for “I”

When consciousness experiences childhood sensation
without armor, without identity,
the original sensations of childhood
that were too painful, too overwhelming,
can now be integrated

Tolerating the discomfort
of the original childhood sensations
as they arise each day
leads to the expansion of consciousness,
eliminates the need for identity,
and initiates the birth process
of the Self

In The Beginning Was The Word

“War can kill victims but it cannot kill memory of survivors.”
Hak Kim: “Alive”

Guernica Child
The worms of death
pickled with incongruous silence
founded a nation of drones
dropping their bombs
in the middle of cities

The children who sing
with the language of concrete
bodies draped across enemies

Withered stalks of skin
adhere to lost continents,
limbs cry out for lonely trains
on platforms
where we used to live
singing love songs
of inscrutable hindsight

The sound of grandma
in her 1 bedroom apartment
on Kossuth Avenue,
three windows looking down
on pavements of children
limping across apocalyptic memory

A hospital memory before time,
its thumping heart sounds,
its broken windows,
its eyes of dogs shining
with incandescent radiation

An extremity of thought
along a hallway corridor
in a hospital wing
with glazed windows
filtering the late morning light
as it yellows across the plastic floor

Prior to the loss of time,
prior to the frozen-faced
armor that cloaks memory,
prior to sensation as hopeless rage

Beneath a frozen shell called “armor”
devising its own inhibitions,
dictating strategies for evading reality,
is the birth