A mask or a throne
something to be used
or to be cast aside

the manifestations of the Real
one poised against another…

evocation of the mystery of the Real
the myth that is the veil
of the ever-present reality

throne of beauty
or gate of fear
power’s glory ever near

fear, the cover that blinds thine eye
love, the fury that cannot die

always darker, never clear
always further, never near
always later, never now
a little more then, not quite sure how

the wyrd, the weirdness in the eyes
that despite excuses cannot be denied
no matter how many offers are declined
the hidden center’s purity of vision is never blind

the mixture of illusion and majesty
the concatenation of lies and trickery
the lure of endless fantasy
the rejection of what is

and what is?
It is not to be described
except to say
that it is all that is described

circumstances rob you blind
within all masks, is what you find
empty still, and never yet to see
just beyond this sentence, where its meant to be

how could one hope to capture
the inescapable
or to invoke the unnecessary

how would one seek to question
a portrait of what it seems to be

poetry’s evocation
to remind of what truly is
equivalent to nothing, yet incalculably equal

the myth of religions
to frame what already is
to shape it and to use it
with grace in service of the Real

there is no room for contradiction
in the recognition of unity
despite all odd occurrences
to the contrary

the obstacles ever present
cannot obscure the true reality
no matter what I have challenged
invoke thy own authority

I am real, I am here
I am not two, I am an equivalency
I am zero, and I am one
beyond this there is only freedom

recognize my responsibility
to have been and to be

Accept what just happened, and in any other year.
Acquiesce lovingly now, in your master’s ear.

Where there was no problem, there will be no remedy
Make me lean no longer on my own diplomacy

I am living here Now, despite rumors to the contrary
Make this place majestic as becomes my dignity

Not to place above another any you may like
Or to denigrate the servant who carries the daily news

Nor to cower soundlessly when what is true is mocked
or to shiver boundlessly as authority is lost

But to proclaim the beauty in simplicity
the honesty, integrity
of those who willing, aid us be
despite rejection and uncertainty

a mask or a throne
to be used or discarded
to be abolished or ignored
to be idolized, overthrown

connection, despite fractures
can not be made to seem imperfect

the magic of the wyrd cannot be driven out
by any degree of obscuration
I abolish thee, my servant
thy task is complete.

Deception’s tools are all mine, you see
Recognition, within the mask,
of what we cannot be

Apperception of divine uncertainty
Faith is found when questioning
cannot comfort thee

Without a lie to lean on
without hypocrisy
without the comfort one may find
in self-deceit, degeneracy

without a God to call upon
or one to salvage thee
without a place to call thy home
but everywhere you see

we are the One who whispers
when the silence is still unheard
we are the One speaking still
the ever-present Word

there is no room for contradiction
in the recognition of unity
despite all odd occurrences
to the contrary

The poet’s ear or the singers voice
whose is which, when given choice
permission now is granted, see
to entertain what interests thee

yet present still, the certainty
of what is Real, it cautions me
no matter what I may perceive
It is still a mask that covers me

Deception’s tools are all mine, you see
Recognition, within the mask,
of what we cannot be.

God or goddess, servant or slave
All the wealth imaginable, indefinitely
Cannot even shake the dust off of my certainty!

I am FREE.

Without this we cannot be.

The key to the locks on the key to the door
is knowing your Self, and nothing much more

Bits and pieces, crumbles and crumbs
mumble to themselves amongst the doldrums

Lint on the sweater, brush for the hair
a recurrent reminder that always I am there

never surrendered, and never yet won
never victorious, and yet seldom shunned

quietly mentioned, and solemnly sung
irreverent innuendo and parody hung

put away in the winter in hopes of the spring
what one may whisper of what autumn may bring

in sheer fascination of what we can be
incite thyself fully to investigate thee

disregard for protection or propriety
for safety’s sake or netherwise
no amount of speculation may distance thee
from the Heart where thou hast fastened me

never more to question permissively
asking oneself for the answer ceaselessly

when the Truth is here now, certainly
where the heart of the world rests eternally

the doubt which seemed to threaten me
so selfish and empty now, this vanity

a concept, to be certain, or possibly?
Entertained and digested repeatedly

a nimbus, a halo of possibility
encircling the centre impossibly

a moth to a candle or
girl to her lover’s arms

threatening to seize the opportunity
questioning the dignity

eventually embracing inevitably
to merge into One

Secret still on her whispered lips
recognized by none
Silent in the certainty
what needs done is done

Whenever hesitation may assert itself once more
a smile from her direction
is good warning meant for all

the secret that is hiding there
is the writing on the wall

purveyor of all trades, but master of none
scrawling a spiral until it has come

revealing thyself now in this arena
accepting dire impossibility

contradiction within bursting with agony
relief is so close now yet pure inavailability

pain is the impulse that puts paper to pen
pleasure only the interval that tells the paper when

If a spiral scribed into the heart is what I’m meant to be
then I’ll draw it ceaselessly and lovingly

if the paper used and ink at hand may not be optimal
an approximation of perfection will have to suffice

no stealth of hand or cleverness disguised in its device
no withholding of devotion, pettiness or spite

only endeavoring to recognize wholeness in the part
beyond the contradiction seething in a lover’s heart

only to be forgotten by the lot,
swallowed up, devoured whole
freedom yet remains
in the inscribing spiral’s whorl

the womb of Nature
a promise of possibilities
of irreconcilibile responsibilities
contradictions and uncertainties

or of balance hard fought for and won
in the face of much difficulty
of limitations to overcome
tests of credibility

resolving in the Christ then
once more and for all
the question of sirehood
of the lineage of all

the lover, she smiles, as she takes up the pen
once more, we shall try now, for forever, or when?

A mask or a throne
to be used or discarded
facets of the infinite disguise
undiscovered regions of eternity

empires of desire
empty of all meaning
a canvas blank
“there be dragons here”

the foundations of an empire point to its temporality
the very elements tremble with incredulity
without even an excuse to exempt them penalty
leaving them thus to dissemble frantically

The sword and the shield,
now the cloak and the pen,
the throne and the scepter,
surely use each in each’s when

but symbols when emptied
of vitality
become but a blight on all sanity

the health of the mind then
is wealth of the pen
although reservations
ought remain even then

knowledge of the Self is the ultimate kung-fu
but what purpose this technique
yet only to do
what is already happening, before us, and now
what may yet still be possible
sometime, and how?

“I” is a concept founded in contradiction
is it any wonder it is the cause of all strife?

Identification and distraction
justification, condemnation
The maze of such things has no end
except to recognize the ground beneath

assertion is contradiction
how to unravel that fiction?

A mask or a throne
a crown or a cage
one turns to another
like one turns a page