But words are things, and a small drop of ink,
Falling, like dew, upon a thought, produces
That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.
Truth and love are the only things worth living for and the only things worth dying for.
(Rebecca Ann Talcott)
No one was ever yet a great poet, without being at the same time a profound philosopher. For poetry is the blossom and the fragrancy of all human knowledge, human thoughts, human passions, emotions, language. (Samuel Taylor Coleridge)
.for no matter what dull clay we seemed to be before, we are every one of us a poet when we are in love. (Plato)
For we soon reap the fruits of literature in life, and prolonged indulgence in any form of literature in life leaves its mark on the moral nature of man, affecting not only the mind but physical poise and intonation. (Plato)
.. the great charm of poetry consists in lively pictures of the sublime passions, magnanimity, courage, disdain of fortune; or those of the tender affections, love and friendship; which warm the heart, and diffuse over it similar sentiments and emotions. (David Hume)
This website is a collection of original creative writing from Karene Howie and Geoff Haselhurst combined with some beautiful quotes from other philosophers and poets.
Geoff and I fell in love (a love of like minds!) writing to one another over several years. Included in this collection are some of our personal emails that express this love and passion for each other. Geoff also writes on the love he feels for his children.
We share the principle that ultimately what makes Art great is the Truth that it contains, as Coleridge writes, No one was ever yet a great poet, without being at the same time a profound philosopher.
Our work is founded on the Metaphysics of Space and Motion and the Wave Structure of Matter (WSM), which explains how matter (and thus Humans) exist in Space and are interconnected (sharing waves) with other Matter in the Space around us. This new understanding of our connection to the Universe provides Art with new metaphysical foundations of Space and Motion rather than Space and Time.
This web page is devoted to encouraging creative writers and poets of the present and future to re-consider their connection to the universe, and to read on the Wave Structure of Matter.
We hope you enjoy this webpage and that it stimulates your mind to creative thoughts!
Geoff Haselhurst, Karene Howie
We have a most wonderful subject to work with, sublime, tempestuous, truth. Truth no more no less. Eternal truth, absolutely, profoundly, important.
By Geoff Haselhurst
Truth! oh wondrous subject oft forbidden.
What dark latent power lays subtly hidden.
Yea! Truth, my master, lead me forward,
and slay those lies with reasoned word.
For falsity thrives (and drives me wild),
Poisoning the mind of innocent child.
By Karene Howie
My stormy love for thee
dark drifting clouds of troubled torment
come crashing down
windswept hair lashes my face
water falls from crazy eyes
and blinds me to your beauty
dragged down by a heavy heart
in a sad sea of terrible tears
my conscience shivers
and finally disappears
By Geoff Haselhurst
He had been angry.
But then he laughed, and there was madness in his eyes, like magical swirling stars, spiraling through space.
He smiled more kindly, and calmness pervaded.
She had been lost in the darkness, dancing to the musical sound of Nature, aroused by its sensual beauty. But then the music had stopped, the energy was gone, and now there was nothing but her heavy breathing.
"I was watching you dance" he smiled again, more gently, but she could tell, though divine madness touched his soul, that he was amused.
His eyes seems to penetrate hers, and she felt his gaze turn to her body. She felt his eyes on the exposed curve of her neck and her rounded breast and suddenly through her mind flickered the image of the man, his hand taking the tight coloured cloth of her top and tearing it to one side to expose her curved breast, his mouth touching her swollen nipple - she shuddered and blinked, breathing heavily, breaking his mesmerising stare.
He smiled again and she sensed, as their eyes touched, that he knew she lusted for his strange tender touch.
"Shall we walk by the stars and stare lazily at the sky, for I am told it is a most grand sight, and I must tell you a short sad story" he thus spoke
And she nodded without voice, for his madness had touched her, stolen her words and replaced them with breathless space.
So they escaped together into the darkness of the night, and she felt the comfort of this strange man's hand in hers as they walked together through the devil's dark space. Until they entered a path into a plantation of pines, and though the trees disturbed him, still they were silent sentinels standing tall in the night, calling them, come to me, come to me, come to humanity ...
"Let us lay in soft scented pine leaves and watch the cosmos dance" he spoke seriously and she sensed that he was somehow disturbed by his knowledge.
"For you know that thy stars have made thee of their essence, and their burning beauty resides within" he said softly, and he sensed the shimmering stars in her eyes.
"But now I must tell you a story of this space, this nature that you love. For while these trees have beauty, they do not belong" And she sensed the heaviness of his voice, and the burden that he did carry
"For once, long ago, people like you came to this place, and they danced and celebrated in nature's beauty, and they thought it was theirs to consume for their pleasure."
"And so they did consume, without thought for the future and knowledge of the past, in joyful blissful ignorance did they consume, until at last there was nothing left."
"And then they left, and the machines came, and the plantations came, the noise of factories, until nature finally died" and tears blurred his stars, distorting the world he now saw so clearly.
"So it is true, as you say, my once startling cape of kindness and gentleness and compassion is full of holes and torn at the shoulder. For I can no longer live with those who consume without thought, who destroy with their ignorance, and dare chide me to cling to my broken humour"
And the man then quoted his friend to her, and briefly anger flared in his eyes as he did thus speak;
"O Sancta Simplicitus! What strange simplification and falsification mankind lives in! One can never cease to marvel once one has acquired eyes for this marvel! How we have made every thing around us bright and free and easy and simple!"
"I must leave you now, for I have serious work to do, dangerous in a sense and requiring a brutal mind. It is not work for one so young who wishes only pleasure and lightness, without consequent or thought"
"Perhaps one day you will come too, follow to begin, and learn and help, and one day lead. I cannot say. But it is no longer a game to me, for the world I love is dying"
And he cried as he walked through the darkness of night, but still his eyes burned brightly, watching the stars, his lonely friends, in their endless cosmic dance ...
By Karene Howie
her mouth blooming out of the quiet vase of her body like a bud of a rose
she was climbing up those branches
this way and that
laying hands on one flower and then another
I enter the ballroom wearing a black eye-slit mask
through long heavy curtains
Many faceless bodies writhe in frenzy about me
like buzzing insects swarming up to the light
desperately full of desire
wondering why it is so dark in their light
The swarm picks me up and makes my body move
in foreign, awkward ways
it is intoxicating, delicious.. to be a puppet
I am drugged by their pretty illusions
delirious with each sweet sip of myth that i taste from a goblet
I am lost in their madness, a whirl of falsehoods and triviality.
My eyes shut behind the mask to try to escape into blackness
the sound seeps into my mind like poison
and distracts me from emptiness
I struggle to open mine eyes again, for I am scared of that prevailing echo
Through sticky eyes (for clever silken threads do they weave)
I watch a Man who moves slowly
holding a red rose against the white of his shirt
a blood spill a torn twisted heart
his movements are gentle and languid
so different against the thronging dancers
the din of the orchestra subsides
and is forgotten
"What a beautiful rose" I murmured to the stranger
"What a beautiful rose" he repeated looking up and down my body wrapped in tight silken cloth
He then took my body and whirled me around in space
holding me close and firm
there i could not escape, nor did i want to
as he whispered truths into my ear
the boundaries of the ballroom disappeared with my black mask
of preconceived meaning, identity and body
we existed everywhere and all at once! The Man, the Woman and The Rose.
together we danced huge and monstrous in the cosmos
the focal point, our two bodies
waves rippling through us and out beyond
meshing us together this wondrous fabric of space
The Universe is intelligent and breathed to infinity
that the truth of the rose was
the beauty of the rose
and the rose was me
'that which your eyes see are many separate waves, but that which you know is that all are one, each wave extending from every other wave'
I felt far removed from the illusory beauty of my senses
once True Beauty illuminated me, to knowing.
I now know cause, while others who sense are only aware of effects which they can never know
Such that is Truth, that is Beauty.
It is something to make a few objects beautiful
but far more glorious to carve and paint the very atmosphere and medium through which we look
to understand what it actually is
and how we see it
that is the highest of all arts.
Thus I feel an obsession can be more beautiful than a rose, if such an obsession allows one to view the rose from a true perspective.
By Geoff Haselhurst(in response to Karene emailing him quotations from Herman Hesse, Steppenwolf)
He tried to open the door,
but the heavy old latch would not stir.
"please god, let it open"
the atheist within smiled sadly
please let me in
for I am cold
and alone I shiver
But no, it is OK
I do not need the crowd inside
the bustling noise and warmth
safety in crowds
he knew he would be alone inside too
he would be there but not there
always alone in space
His thoughts echo
down dark corridors of his mind.
FOR MADMEN ONLY!
The Steppenwolf stood entirely outside the world of convention. He felt
himself to be single and alone, whether as a queer fellow and a morbid
hermit, or as a person removed from the common run of men by the prerogative
of talents that had something of genius in them. Deliberately, he looked
down upon the ordinary man and was proud he was not one. (Herman Hesse)
By Geoff Haselhurst
The old buildings of Fremantle give me pleasure, forgotten times, artistry
over industry. Two excited/frightened children, their soft slender hands
tight in mine, the streets teeming with human life, many faces, many lives
“Hey you two, a bookshop, the New Edition bookshop to be precise, shall we check it out.”
Princess Serena gives me a regal nod of her head, while Sir Roger pulls my hand towards the shop door.
“P-U-S-H” I spell the letters.
“Push” Roger cries triumphantly.
“Well come on then, do as it says”
Roger leans into the old wooden door, which rewards him by opening into a quiet haven of books and culture. We leave the rushing world behind us.
I bend, whisper. “Shhh, Remember we’re in a bookstore. You’ve got ten minutes to check out some kids books, and you’ve gotta be quiet - OK.”
Children are curious, they settle to their books.
Living in the country, bookshops are a treat. Precious time to myself, I quickly scan the shelves.
Jung’s silver book reflects my face, startling me. The Undiscovered Self.
“Ultimately everything depends on the quality of the individual, but the fatally short-sighted habit of our age is to think only in terms of large numbers and mass organisations.”
I look up, outside, the many faces continue to rush by.
Upon the floor, Serena and Roger sit, engrossed in a large colourful book.
A dragon glides towards a medieval castle surrounded by dark forest. In the distance the land rises to a rocky mountain. Upon a ledge, Sir Roger the brave knight sits, surveying the land below. His purpose, to save the enchanting Princess Serena of course. Fear and excitement leave his mouth dry, it is easier to be heroic in a beautiful world though, where good always triumphs.
Nearby the kind though slightly sad face of Einstein catches my eye. Ideas and Opinions
An old friend, I gently hold the book, caress his face, turn to my favorite words. They are still there, reassuring certainty in an impersonal world.
“The ideals which have lighted my way, and time after time have given me new courage to face life cheerfully, have been Kindness, Beauty, and Truth”
As a world we have failed, but there are many still trying, striving for high ideals.
My mind, lost in thoughts, immersed in the ideas of others. Books collect in a pile at my feet.
So much knowledge, wisdom, human culture.
A persistent tugging of my fingers, the world again intrudes.
“Serena, did you find some good books?” I inquire politely.
She stares at me, her three year old mind sparkling in pretty blue eyes. She knows I am watching, she nods once.
I kneel to her, hold her, crush her tiny body to mine. “I love you Serena”
Paying for the books, content, I notice a writing competition. The Fremantle
Herald. I assume this is a local newspaper and think this is a nice way
to advertise. I put the entry form with my books.
“Come on Sir Roger, Princess Serena, it’s time to go.”
I pull the door open, and step back into the world. I feel two soft slender hands reach up and hold mine tightly.
By Geoff Haselhurst
The kangaroo track lost
a torch turns white light
upon a canopy of branches,
"What is my fear?" his mind lost in thought.
He walks along the track, (he had cut parts himself) which leads to a
tiny sandy cove.
In front is the girl.
she walks through space
her black female shape
silhouetted by bright lit bush
the torch sways to her steps.
"This is my place, I feel comfortable, safe, away from humans."
He watches the motion of the girl's body for a while, lost in her
weaving walking shadow.
"What do I want, does she want? Why do we do the things we do? Is it
all simply meaningless, driven by pleasure and pain?" his mind wanders
"I am excited by her, her mind is elusive, artful. But I do not
understand her, nor myself properly."
This last thought causes him to smile
as he walks thinking
watching her dark shadow weaving
orbits the space about the man and women
rising amber, aged, immortal
as slowly spins the earth
she is hiding
then she stops to stare
to the east the moon rising
I hear her breathing
and I see the world
The ocean is dark silver
in the west two islands
stand as dark sentinels to the sea
and an ancient cliff of layered limestone
"It is the human mind which is the most interesting and complex
structure of the universe" he thinks, as he gazes at his world.
A world that is now very different
for though he has this view burned upon his mind
there is now a women in his space
he can see her mind thinking
and the moon softens her eyes
He is struck by her strange alluring beauty, and the world feels
beautiful .. alive ..
he is thinking
By Geoff Haselhurst
writing, the words burn into my mind as i read them.
I have created them.
They are immortal.
how has reality changed you
that I see the world in the space around me
i see this world with a little girl, gorgeous Serena
holding with terrified delight to my aged hands
"Whizzy Dizzy" she cries laughing
spinning swirling space
"Again again" she stumbles smiling
But I had to let go
By Geoff Haselhurst
Close thy eyes gentle princess
darken thy world to my words
as I gaze in wonder
oh god! her beauty dizzies
soft hidden smile
Yay sweet princess
do breath my gentle thoughts
of mingled breath
and sensual word
of lips to mouth
that crush thy passioned pleas
By Karene Howie
how foolish to wear oneself out in vain longing for lovers warmth!
solitude is independence.
It has been my wish and now i have attained it. It is cold.
Oh, cold enough!
But it is also still, wonderfully still and vast like the cold stillness of
space in which the stars revolve.
i read by night above the springy moss
the cloud-script of the drifting mist
i reflect the whole world in miniature
on its rainbow surface
that softly bursts
Oh! if i had you in my little house
dreaming by candlelight
with a violin lying ready in your hand!
how i would slip up noiselessly beside you
and then with talk and music hold a heavenly festival throughout the night!
By Karene Howie
Somewhere between seeing and speaking
Somewhere between our soiled and greasy currency of words
and the first star, the great moths fluttering
and the ghosts of flowers,
Lies the clear place where I, no longer I,
And listening to the wind, remember too
That other night,
Sleepless, with death beside me in the dark.
Mine, mine, all mine, mine inescapably;
But I, no longer I,
In the clear space between my thoughts and silence
see all i had and lost, anguish and joy,
glowing like poppies
red, unpossessed and open.
I am All.
A work of creative philosophy by Geoff Haselhurst
A man, of curious nature, one day set out upon a most difficult journey, for he had heard of the path of truth, and that it led to a place where all could be clearly seen. A view of the world about us, it was said, that was so startling and beautiful, that those who saw it, were forever changed.
The man quickly discovered that this path of truth was insidiously deceptive, and rarely traversed. It was only by the slow groping of logical argument based upon what he observed, that he was able to have any confidence at all that his path remained true. (Logical Empiricism)
His fundamental truth, of what he sensed of the world, was the existence of three-dimensional space.
Certainly, he reasoned, this path I travel, this path upon which my feet uncertainly tread, lays before me in a three dimensional space. I will assume this empirical truth, and be guided by its logical implications.
(Part One, Family and Children. Part Two, Reality. yet to be written.)
I wish to describe a strange discovery the man made while exploring, and which greatly effected his life and thinking. For he discovered a most interesting object, which led to a most interesting discovery about himself!
Allow me to explain.
The man carried amongst other essentials, three books of great weight and substance. At times their load angered and frustrated him, for he made many mistakes on this long and confusing path, and doubt gnawed at his mind, aided by weary feet, an aching body.
Tired of this thought, the man sat and took the books from his pack and placed them before him, to look upon them for their thoughts. Their names stood bold and beautiful, the books of their life.
He gazed upon each in turn, thinking of them, of times together. He felt sad and alone, and wished for their vibrant aliveness.
He had decided, for he had become weary and ruthless, that he would find a good place upon the path, where he would leave the three books, and hence lighten his load such that he may explore more diversely, the world about him, for he had discovered many interesting paths, whose destination were mysterious and strangely alluring to him.
It is moments like these, when feeling forlorn, and with an angst inside which causes one to look outward in discontent, at these times do we make great discoveries. It was no different for the man. As he gazed about, he saw, slightly hidden, in a small path to one side, a very rough looking stone, though it had a certain elegant structure which suggested potential value. Curious, as any man would be who has ventured so far, he walked to this awkward looking object, wanting to examine it more closely.
Now there is a very easy way to examine a stone for its value. We simply chip away at it with a fine taps from a sharp instrument. (Logical Empiricism.)
Now often, with stones of no great value, you chip away, and ultimately you are left only with crumbled bits of no inherent value. Every now and then though, gemstones of great value are found. The difference can be quite startling.
As the man knelt closely to the stone, giving it his full attention, he swung his sharp instrument in a gentle curve, and tapped the stone softly. A spark flew flying into space, briefly dazzling the man, and he fell back in surprise.
“Wow! What was that.”
He spoke aloud, startled by the stone, and then further, by his own voice. He had been alone and had not spoken for many days, and the sound of his own voice seemed strange to him.
He could not resist, he got up, walked about this odd object , then knelt, watching closely, he tapped again. And again, a bright blue spark burned briefly, illuminating the mans smile, and excited eyes, for at heart he was a curious explorer, no more no less, and he felt that he had made a great discovery.
He did not know what it was, only that it greatly interested him….
He had not noticed, in his newfound passion, that he had left behind his three most treasured books. Already his mind was upon this new puzzle, for as he slowly chipped away, an elegant structure, which lay hidden beneath the harsh exterior, slowly, almost reluctantly, began to emerge.
While the man had great determination, this could not be said for his patience.
“Why do you cling so stubbornly to your rough exterior, when I simply wish to expose you in all your elegant beauty.” the man mused as he chipped away, day after day, week after week, and it almost seemed that with each tap, the bright blue sparks would temporarily blind him to the world about. It seems that he became trapped to exploring this strange object of fleeting beauty, oblivious to the world about him……
It was not until much later, that he became aware of the consequences of his actions. Initially, his excitement had overwhelmed all else.
He had finally remembered his three books, and yet when he went back to find them, the path seemed further, more lonely, and when eventually he arrived, they had gone, and only sad memories remained. He felt scared for the first time, for he was alone, and there was no meaning, and the path now appeared cruel and heartless, and it began to mock him.
“Leave me alone world, I will survive, I am determined.”
He returned silently, deep in thought, back to the stone. He was angry and frustrated at his own foolishness. In frustration he raised the stone above his head, and with a mighty heave, he cast the stone through space, only to see it fall broken to the ground.
It was then, only then that he began to understood, for he saw the many parts now exposed, fragile, not yet formed by life and knowledge. He thought he saw also sadness and despair, and he wished to help. For surely the man’s greatest discovery was simply to know how awesome is life and awareness. How beautiful and strange and alluring is the world about us, as it has complexly evolved in the space about us.
He began to realise though, that all his probing had been wrong, for the structure was not yet fully formed. It was a crystal of beauty, a wilful creativity and potential, of this he was sure, but it was young and it still had much to develop before it could be fully exposed to the world.
He gently bound the parts and set the stone softly back upon its true path, its own path. Next to this he placed two books.
With this, he stood up, and turned and walked slowly away, for truth beckoned him and he had rested long.
He believed, that in time, his path would open up to others, and they would follow him to the place where the world could be truly seen and understood. For now, he did not fit the world, he felt he must journey alone.
And so, with kindness beauty and truth as his awkward guides, the man stepped uncertainly forward, his mind lost deep in thought, as he explored the world about him…..
By Karene Howie
my unswept gardens thick
with miscellaneous garland of wild flower
though the breeze blow not
the flower of the heart will change it's hue
blues sky gathers around two fists
blue air claps on scribbled red
my cheeks wet slapping
i've always been a child of draughts
of moving air
maybe i'm just a fading cartoon now lets see if you
can find something
productive in this tangle of starts
By Karene Howie
When life shifts and you tread air
It is a matter of what you hold onto
Books are good they have weight
Music resonates / discordant
Nay with harmony
and planting seeds in a space of needy earth
reminds you that things do go on
people can be anchors
unless of course, they are shifting too.
where night is onyx cold
footprints craze mud
strung tree to tree
ghost the air
she inhales the stars
until she is light filled
wishing to sing through gills and talk like rain
how quiet during this autumnal axis
I hold my every breath
and each step a careless gesture
By Geoff Haselhurst
'I got lost in your eyes for a moment'
Sweet girl, flesh bound of ring and chain
Your look, I capture without disdain
The world be quiet,
time stay still I hold your gaze,
your mind I feel
A gaze that lingers long and slow
Neither wanting to let us go
Yes, I got lost for a moment.
In dark hell, of cruel desire green eyes,
burn your strange fire alive alert,
green emerald eyes, deep green pools do disguise
What Karene? So cool serene!
I got lost in your eyes for a moment ...
The Journey of the Man with High Ideals, in a Ship of his own Logical Construction, upon the Dark and Restless Sea
By Geoff Haselhurst - Work in Progress
His journey had begun from a city called normal.
A city like many others, loitering, littering our world.
His vessel was of his own construction.
A work of many logical pieces, each piece carefully collected and crafted from great minds.
The man had ventured upon the sea before,
He had learned its subtlety, its treachery
The hidden rocks of deception and pretence.
He had been thorough with his construction, each piece carefully fitting those about it.
A structure so solid, immune to the angry cries of doubt and ridicule
Immune to arrogant ego, aggressive will
Slave only to logic, to truth, he set forth two weeks before his 39th birthday.
Excited, scared, lonely, but confident of his belief in truth.
Older, wiser, he went like a child, with awe and wonder at the teeming world.
Written upon his construction, the words of his gentle friend Albert Einstein.
The ideals which have lighted my way, and time after time have given me new courage to face life cheerfully, have been Kindness, Beauty, and Truth.
A work of such magnitude, that it effects were to ripple, to resonate the world over.
He remembered sitting with his wife.
Awkwardly telling the truth
That truth can be cruel and brutal, unkind
He had hidden in the shadows
Telling her that he must set forth again
Dragons to slay, he had said lightly, gently, softly
“I’m sorry I hurt you,
In my own way, I love you, but I must be free.”
He cried, a pent anguish, wet tears burned his cheek, blinded his eyes.
They sat silently in the dark, held one another.
Sir Roger, Princess Serena, unsettled
Grey sky hung heavy, anticipation, foreboding
The gods are angry
If only there could be gods, fate so easy
He was bound by his ideals of kindness beauty truth.
Free will not fate
Foolish, taunting, discontented free will led him to board his vessel
To set sail into the sullen brooding storm
Two lonely figures, his children, stood upon the safe shores, silently watching, eyes wondering
The distance between the father and his children grows
“I love you, I shall return”
He had held two small children to him
His body jolted by anguish, raw nerves burned their senses upon him
He stood, turned, walked away
He could not look back
He was crying
There was a time when this house was by way of being prosperous and respectable.
…”Tell me honestly who you are and where you come from. “
“I will tell you everything honestly.”
She listened in silence to his song. She was never dealt a heavier blow. “Give me no more of your present song. It is too sad. It wrings my heart. I urge you to find some way of ridding the house of these sirens.”
“Why grudge the right to be entertained as the spirit moves me?
Surely is not I, the poet, who is responsible for what happens
But instinct who deals with each man on earth as it sees fit.
I cannot be blamed if I choose to sing this fate for it is always the latest song that an audience applauds the most.
You must be brave and nerve yourself to listen.
Making decisions must be men’s concern, and mine in particular, for I am master in this house.”
She went upstairs and there she wept for her beloved husband.
Meanwhile, in the shadows, suitors burst into uproar, and each man voiced a prayer that he might sleep with her.
“Gentlemen, “ he cried, “from you who court my wife this is sheer insolence.
You can feast yourselves somewhere else.
I intend to be master of my own house.”
He had procured her when she was still a girl.
He had treated her in his home with all the respect due to a loyal wife, though for fear of his wife’s displeasure he had not slept with her.
But all night long, under his woolen blanket, he lay planning in his mind the journey.
And, when dawn appeared, although he had a daughter and a son and worked steadily, the journey was always in his mind.
“I would willingly fight if I had the strength.
But I tell you the things she writes are past all bearing.
I plead not guilty. It is she who is the culprit.
She has been leading me on and giving me grounds for hope in her private messages.
In my house she has set up a great web and began weaving a large and delicate piece of work.”
“Do not urge on this marriage till I have done this work, “ she said,” so that the threads I have spun may not be wasted. Don’t waste any more of your life on that island, for I am ready with all my heart to help you leave it.”
(She is aware of her skill in fine handicraft, her excellent brain and that genius she has for getting her way. In that respect she has no equal.)
“It is quite impossible for me to cast her out, against her will.
If you feel angry about this then quit my palace.”
Then with their talons they clawed at each other’s cheeks and neck.
People stared in amazement and asked themselves what was to come of it.
A great calamity was about to engulf them.
He is not going to be parted from his friend much longer.
At this very moment, he is sowing the seeds of a bloody doom which means disaster to many others.
Let us plan to stop it, before it happens.
Or rather, won’t he stop of his own accord?
- which would be the better course?
I am not skilled in prophecy.
It would be most unseemly for a woman to compete with a goddess in form and face.
He knows his wife’s looks and stature are insignificant compared with hers.
For his wife is mortal while she has immortality and unfading youth.
So, naked as he was, he made a move towards the girl with the dark eyes; necessity compelled him.
He considered whether he should throw his arms around the beautiful girl’s knees or just keep his distance and beg her.
In the end, his address was both courteous and full of subtlety.
“He is the most blessed of them all who with his gifts can win you and take you home.
I am overcome with awe as I look at you.
A fresh, young tree shooting up.”
The goddess smiled and stroked him with her hand.
“What a rogue you are to say such a thing. It shows the crafty way your mind works.”
She welcomed him with open arms; she tended him and offered to make him ageless.
And he who had undertook to set himself up as judge in the field of truth and knowledge, was shipwrecked by the laughter of the goddess.
His wife begged that he listen to the words of wisdom from Einstein:
“The most beautiful experience we can have is the mysterious. The true value of a human being is determined primarily by the measure and the sense in which he has attained liberation from the self.”
Only the individual can think, and thereby create new values for society, nay, even set up new moral standards to which the life of the community conforms.
It is easy to say that the individual cannot be held responsible for acts carried out under irresistible compulsion, because the individual is fully dependent upon the society in which he is living ….But the very formulation of this idea makes it obvious to what extent such a concept contradicts our sense of justice…. External compulsion can, to a certain extent, reduce but never cancel the responsibility of the individual….An effort to arouse and strengthen this sense of responsibility of the individual is an important service to mankind.
The ideals concerning the conduct of men toward each other and the desirable structure of the community have been conceived and taught by enlightened individuals in the course of history. Those ideals and convictions which resulted from historical experience, from the craving for beauty and harmony, have been readily accepted in theory by man – and at all times, have been trampled under the pressure of their animal instincts.
There is nothing divine about morality; it is purely a human affair. The scientist’s religious feeling takes the form of a rapturous amazement at the harmony of natural law, which reveals an intelligence of such superiority that, compared with it, all the systematic thinking and acting of human beings is an utterly insignificant reflection. This feeling is the guiding principle of his life and work, in so far as he succeeds in keeping himself from the shackles of selfish desire.
The man has been upon the restless sea of doubt and many faces for eternity
He is tired and lonely
His thoughts mock him as he sits within this world of his own construction
Battered by the sea about, he simply survives, unsure, frightened.
He knows the allure of the sea of doubt and many faces
Sirens appearing, vanishing, tormenting
The Odyssey - Homer
“Your next encounter will be with the Sirens, who bewitch everybody who approaches them. There is no homecoming for the man who draws near them unawares and hears the Siren’s voices; no welcome from his wife, no little children brightening at their fathers return. For with their high clear song the Sirens bewitch him, as they sit there in a meadow piled high with the moldering skeletons of men, whose withered skin still hangs upon their bones.”
“If you wish to listen yourself, make them bind you hand and foot, with the rope’s ends lashed to the mast itself. This will allow you to listen with enjoyment to the Siren’s voices.”
He knew this, he was forewarned with knowledge.
But he wished to flee the chains and bindings of the world
He wished to hear the Siren’s song unconstrained, free will, free fucking will
Such was the man’s desire, his arrogance, his foolishness
And as his mind wandered to thoughts of pleasure, the chanting began
Over the restless dark sea, he could hear in the still night
He could hear the distant rhythmic chanting
He felt the heatness of cicadas.
He stands upon the edge of his logical construction and looks across the dark sea
He smiles briefly, bravely to himself
Takes a deep breath, closes his eyes
Dives down deep
Deep into the dark shifting faces.
They reach for him, pulling him down
Down dark deep.
The man lies tranquil on the soft sand beach
Restless waves, hungry waves, bite and lick the sensual shore
In darkness, he lies upon his back and gazes at the world above
A billion stars scattered shimmering upon a black dark world.
“I know you, I understand what you are, you are my friends, my certainty, my guiding lights as I journey upon this slippery sea of doubt and many faces.”
“You are my friends, hear me.”
“You are my friends”
He repeats, he demands, but there is no answer
He is alone
His thoughts, lost in dark space, sense the heat, succumb to the heat.
The rhythmic chanting heat
The heatness of cicadas
He sits, silent, breathless, listening
The rhythmic chanting ebbs and flows from the forest
The deep dark forest of the unknown, a place of fear and uncertainty
He is under the sway of the chanting though.
He has no fear, his mind is engaged
he follows the rhythm of the dark unknown
The rhythmic chanting heatness has given him wild imaginings
Eternal swirling blackness
“Open your eyes,” a voice in his head reassures
“Open your eyes, you are safe, trust me.”
He opens his eyes
All about is blackness, save the light of a lone candle
It burns silently, slowly dancing upon an old oak table
A shimmered pool of molten gold
A table top from wood so old
Golden statue, women, sits gently
Upon the wood slender arm rests lightly
Incense, thin trails of heavy scent, spiral upwards, pervade the man’s mind
Memories, instincts intrude his thoughts.
Time to be, to feel, to sense.
A wine glass sits upon the table.
Beautiful, dark red wine within
He stares at the glass, it's shadow, slave to the candle's will, weaves an erotic dance.
Watching, captured by soft movement
lulled, deceived, seduced
He is thirsty. He is hungry
He takes the dark red wine and drinks deeply.
The blood red taste of wine upon his tongue.
Rich complex flavours, drink deep, devour pleasure.
She turns her head deliberately, to stare, to challenge.
Excited/fearful, the man looks upon the women,
Beauty binds his gaze, powerless he watches
Her eyes are cool and dark, darkness, he falls, senses lost.
He closes his eyes.
Her hand instinctively touches him, she speaks,
her soft beautiful voice intrudes, and briefly overwhelms the rhythm, the cicadas.
“Open your eyes, you are safe, trust me”
Her voice is kind and gentle, soothing.
“You are tired and have come far to see me. I am flattered. Please, stay and rest, there is no need to hurry, there is no need to be afraid.”
The man sits by the table, takes the wanted wine, and drinks deeply again. His mind is alive
“I have come as you say, for I am curious as to your allure, but first, please, tell me why it is that you have sent for me, why do you want me so?”
Her voice chides the man, she laughs
“I have sent for you, you say. This is not so, you come of your own free will. I shall take no blame for your weakness.”
Her words shock and disturb.
“This is not so, I am upon an urgent journey, of great importance to the world. I have no time for the weakness of the flesh, and I am more noble than this for I am a slave to matters of the mind. I know what is real.”
He says the words, wanting to believe in them, seeking comfort
But she mocks him, for she understands him.
“You may rightly know the truth of matter, your knowledge is complex. But man is more complex again than this matter from which he is made. You know your self no more than a child, so enjoy your pleasures as you find them, without doubt and concern, for I am like a child also.”
The man watches her as she speaks, captivated by the alluring charm of simple logic, of warm red wine, of beauty pure simple.
Her hand, slender burnished arm, resonating, moves in space.
Violent shadows flee to darkness.
Her delicate fingers reach for, take the wine.
Dry lips touch the hard cold edge, she drinks deeply.
The heat has raised a sweat upon her skin.
The man imagines the taste of salt sweat upon her skin.
The heat surrounds him, torments him,
he shivers, down dark deep within.
She is lost in thought, staring at the night.
The soft line of her cheek is exposed to golden light
I want to caress, to feel soft skin, one burning touch
to be close, to not be alone.
A moth is flapping about the candle
it too has hunger for the beauty of the light
knowing brief ecstasy, dark despair, death ..
The lone candle burned golden
The flapping moth, one time to close, lay sadly dying.
He watched, wondering if it felt pain.
Shadows danced and weaved, enticing
her body in soft spangled space
It is dark, late, we are alone in a room
moonlight softens the night
Safety in shadows
You stand beautiful against the wall.
Soft light from a small window
cuts across the the room, the wall, your hips
Your face is dark in shade.
Deep dark shade
Childlike and vulnerable, confident, excited.
delicate against the wall
your hands, arms, deliberate at your side
You stand there, a soft etching
art and beauty in life
I want to kiss you softly
kind and sensual
Our lips touching feeling life.
To show the hunger.
Your hands at your side
your mind with mine
Good Morning Karene,
It is still outside, 6.00 am, I feel the world around me
tinged with pink horizons,
these grand old trees
briefly dancing on dew grass
then flapping frantically away
I can hear their chatter in this space around me
and I smile to myself
For I am all this
and this is all me
i write with an emphatic alchemy of misery and splendour .
The bed frightens me.
It is a ship bearing me away, a giddiness.
I am moving out, out from the slippery dark bank,
close to someone who talks and smiles,
whose features vanish from the surface of the water as I plunge into it;
I plunge and glide,
moving away and out to nowhere,
on the bed, carried by the stream,
by the flowing hours of darkness.
I wish I could sleep and sleep and open my eyes to the morning whenst you return.
This malaise is abounded in the most piquant of landscapes
She, impetuous creature, abdicates her ancillary being
from mountain tops and crashing seas
She conjures the sky to wild storms and heavy clouds
losing herself in the cold wind
that whips and bites
Destroy! Rage! Whirl! Spit!
She, is exultant and tumultuous Nature! Beware her
Fury and Power! How quickly she changes and becomes!
Does one trust these changing moods of Nature?
Her imminent despise for Man?
She dances in the Flux
from Chaos to Serenity
and when all is still
he is dropped mercilessly from her mind in the most
craven of manner
From where, then, was he absent?
his loss affected the whole of her world.
I have found that missing a person physically is not a mere matter of nostalgia, but an actual pain.
(You like this, don't you - to cause me pain ...)
From the roots of my hair to the soles of my feet
a poisoned fabric is woven across my body.
I hate suffering
I hate the thought that this
suffering is born of my blood,
that I was involved in it;
I even go so far to hate the very pulsing
of blood through my veins.
(I hate that you like me to suffer).
Gradually the poisoned fabric dissolves, and I feel
the fresh morning air caressing my closed eyelids.
But by nightfall my obsession would rouse itself once more,
and thousands of ants would crawl across my lips;
the mirror showed me bursting with health,
but a hidden disease was rotting the marrow in my very bones.
I wonder what sort of alien has Karene become?
My face sometimes looks so vacant, so expressionless.
At times all my endeavours seem vanity,
becomes a false lure, and the world wears a
mocking, illusory mask of Nothingness.
Misfortune and misery has erupted into the world,
philosophy and literature have become as essential to
me as the very air I breathe.
..yours with love and rancour
ENTRANCE NOT FOR EVERYBODY
I tried to open the door, but the heavy old latch would not stir. The display too was over. It had suddenly ceased, sadly convinced of its uselessness. I took a few steps back, landing deep in mud, but no more letters came. The display was over. For a long time I stood waiting in the mud, but in vain. Then, when I had given up and gone back to the sidewalk, a few coloured letters were dropped here and there, reflected on the asphalt in front of me. I read:
FOR MADMEN ONLY!
My feet were wet and I was chilled to the bone. Nevertheless, I stood waiting. Nothing more. But while i waited, thinking how prettily the letters had danced in their ghostly fashion over the damp wall and the black sheen of the asphalt, a fragment of my former thoughts came suddenly to my mind; the similarity to the track of shining gold which suddenly vanishes and cannot be found. I was freezing and walked on following that track in my dreams, full of longing for that doorway to an enchanted theatre, which was for madmen only. In truth, I had little cause to wish to continue in that way which led on into ever thinner air, like the smoke in Nietzsche's autumn song.
The Steppenwolf stood entirely outside the world of convention. He felt himself to be single and alone, whether as a queer fellow and a morbid hermit, or as a person removed from the common run of men by the prerogative of talents that had something of genius in them. Deliberately, he looked down upon the ordinary man and was proud he was not one.
' whoever wants to live and enjoy life today must not be like you and me. Whoever wants music instead of noise, joy instead of pleasure, soul instead of gold, creative work instead of business, passion instead of foolery, finds no home in this trivial world of ours - Do you think i can't understand your horror of the foxtrot, your dislike of bars and nightclubs, your loathing of jazz and the rest of it? I understand it only to well, and your dislike of politics as well, your despondence over
the chatter and irresponsible antics of the parties and the press, your despair over the war, the one that has been, now is and is to be, over all that people nowadays think, believe, read and build, over the music they play, and celebrations they hold, the education they carry on.
you are right steppenwolf, right a thousand times over, and yet you perish'.
(Plato, Republic) 'It is not only to the poets therefore that we must issue orders requiring them to represent good character in their poems or not to write at all; we must issue similar orders to all artists and prevent them from portraying bad character, ill discipline, meanness, or ugliness in painting, sculpture, architecture, or any work of art, and if they are unable to comply they must be forbidden to practice their art. We shall thus prevent our guardians being brought up among representations of what is evil, and so day by day and little by little, by feeding as it were in an unhealthy pasture, insensibly doing themselves grave psychological damage. Our artists and craftsmen must be capable of perceiving the real nature of what is beautiful, and then our young men, living as it were in a good climate, will benefit because all the works of art they see and hear influence them for good, like the breezes from some healthy country with what is rational and right.'
'That would indeed be the best way to bring them up.'
'And that, my dear Glaucon,' I said,' is why this stage of education is crucial. For rhythm and harmony penetrate deeply into the mind and have a most powerful effect on it, and if education is good, bring balance and fairness, if it is bad, the reverse.
'The Gift of Truth Excels all Other Gifts.' (Buddha)
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