Beyond His Lashes

Haiku Happenings

His eyes bewitched mine

in heaps of cotton unbound.

Take my breath, to live!

© 2015 DNKG Beyond His Lashes

Thunderous Echo upon Vacant Heavens

Echo and Echo...

it Echoes

You knew all this

before

You knew all this

as if

condescension 

somehow aids,

pacifies.

Heartache

stifles the fire

that burns and turns

and turns,

that viciously

and aggressively is

stepped upon, extinguished.

With an entrance, with a smell,

with a look, with a touch.

Push through with

Charlatan's smile.

The Phoenix

bathed in cinders

stranger to Rebirth.

Fire, from whence it drew life,

now suffocating, relentlessly

Choking.

A prisoner to its myth,

to the pages of its Creation.

All eyes watch.

All eyes cast Judgment.

All eyes turn away.

Gasping, now wingless,

Mighty Phoenix,

stifled by the clutches

of its own doing

Of the Echo and Echo

that Echoes

You knew all this

Before

You knew all this

But did you, in your innocence,

count on this?

© 2012 Philip Pryke

2014 © DNKG Thunderous Echo upon Vacant Heavens

Canyons and Chasms: Facing the Unknown

As I gazed out of my trapezoid casement windows, I noticed a tiny red-throated finch sitting alone in the laurel tree. It flitted from branch to branch struggling to master the art of flying. I judged the bird; after all, birds are innate flyers my mind mocked. It flapped and flailed from the windowsill to the branch, to a leaf and back to the windowsill. It came to the highest eave, fluffed its plumage, and burrowed its head to rest.

This beautiful creature reminded me of an important spiritual bridge: embracing the unknown. When the finch rose this morning, it did not know whether or not it would return to the nest a successful flyer. It did not know whether it would taste the air of freedom or remain a prisoner to its current predicament. All it knew was its present moment.

We are all consumed with moments of unknowing. Intrinsically hidden and tucked out of sight, at the base of the unknown, is fear. For our finch, we imagine the fears it may feel. Perhaps it is a fear of falling, of being damaged, or even of not knowing where to go should it succeed.

Life’s journeys are demanding. As humans striving for acceptance and love, we place additional pressures upon ourselves to perform better and stronger than ever before. We push ourselves to cross into the unknown before we even have a chance to slow down and explore what that unknown is. We leap into chasms and canyons without bottom and are filled with dread when we realize how deep we are in.

As I ponder this, a gentle peck upon the window pulls me back into the present. I smile and realize that even from our chasms, when faith is hanging dangerously by a thread, the Creator is always present. It is in these tiny moments where cultivating gratefulness triggers a spark of hope. Like the path the finch traverses, crossing those unknown paths means simply reaffirming our faith in that spiritual Source which is greater than ourselves.

DNKG Unknown © 2014

Let Creation Set You Free: Poetry

Untitled

Vision of the past
swell inside her heart
the shadow of a broken dream
a life shattered,
imagined to have been perfection

a quivering lip and shaky hand
are the only visible signs
of scars left unspoken
perhaps its the revenge
that keeps her questioning
or perhaps its the atonement
that keeps her cold,
a poisonous house
in which none could grow.

standing alone in the dark lot
staring at the lights, enter the rain
her mind returns to that night
when eternity changed for her
she waits anxiously in the cab
legs shaking so rapidly
the rhythm annoyed

waiting, aching, scared, petrified
dark, dark and disgraced, she disappeared
the whispering glow and painted graffiti
were witness to her opprobrium;
shadows encroach on her
laugh at her doom
laugh at her future now destroyed
laugh at the choices she must make

Sullied was the fibrous essence
tainted in the Dogma of 2000 years
confused, conflicted by instinct
she sits on the curb
juggling...

emotions, thoughts, corporeal responses
he, in all his love for her, he
stoops along her side; embrace.
"Everything is going to be okay"
he whispers unassuredly
she lies, "I know"

weeks pass, the fatigue noticeable
her advisors and associates remark
performance is poor, "you're not yourself"
she witnesses change, he can see it to.
Afraid of excommunication, terrified of execution
paralyzed by the Present;
FROZEN
with no time to waste

Snow falls upon the roof. The world is quiet.
In her silence she waits
In his arms does she seek refuge
only to pull away
writhing on the floor, hiding her face from the pain
tears of self-loafing, relief, and despair fall in the carpet
her hands the only bloody witnesses to existence that withers away from her

Decades pass. Lives press forward. Recollections Fade. All but one.
In the recesses of the shadows of her lies a memory
branded on the most damaged part of her soul.
Shame. Embarrasment. Hate.
Years of guilt that cannot be unbound
She cannot save herself.
She is trapped in a cesspool, dying and re-dying everyday

Vision of the past
Bondage of time, being set free
meditations on the heart and mind
heal the clouds that darken the day
pink heart in hand with "love" it is written
a simple sigh and a tender phrase
repaired the damage from eons ago.

Death, demise, execution- Perish
She saved him
only to have him
save her
so that she could save him
again with her last dying breath.

He utters,
"Warrior Mother.
Never change your colors.
Until our next lifetime.
I love you"

DNKG

Untitled © 2014

Existentialism: A look into the terror of one's Agency.

Here.
I sit amongst the sounds of nature: perverse, immature, doomed.
Here.
I sit listening to the wispy breaths and gentle taps of the clarinet.
Here.
I sit drowning the thoughts of incompetence and meaninglessness.
Here.

Swollen by innate "virtues" of egos. Swollen by the thoughts of a meaning of something more
Devastated by the hypocrisy of It, of it all.
Distracted by the feelings that, maybe one day, someday, It'll all matter.
Overwhelmed by the reality that It never will.
Tears.

Work. Car. Office. Degree. Marriage. Babies. Friends. Handbags. Shoes. Houses. Work. Work. Work
Definitions of meaning in life: without ever asking why this defines Life? "The Dream" of a perfect house, perfect spouse, perfect job, perfect Life.



Life (n): _________________________________



The stark naked cold realism of the existential world,
Surrounded by people. But yet never really there. Somehow always alone.
"This is my life's greatest calling" they say,
yet when the Great Equalizer comes, what was it for?
That desk in the big office, with windows overlooking the skyline? Words on that business card?

Words. Simple markings that somehow have developed into a system of Greater Meaning. Words.

Silly words that fill the page that fill the mind, that fill the heart
what do THEY even matter?
Determination to fill, to read, to think, to pursue, to motivate, to repeat, to use and feel those words, those indiscriminate markings
Its a masochistic endeavor,
tethered by the mere thought of "Yes" and "No"
For even that, after I have seen my last light
and breathed my last breath, what were THEY for?

Freedom begets a structure within which to confine, that begets isolation and the alarming truth of being Pervasively and utterly Alone, within which one can only see IT all was and is meaningless.

"I think, therefore I am" solidifying the perpetual state of the Great Equalizer
of Freedom, of Isolation, of Meaninglessness
In fact, why have any words
s
 p
  i
   l
    l
         onto
                    this
                               page?

Attunement

Breathing...

Fumbling for the right song on the iPhone that now functions as an iPod

Balancing the erratic dance I'm forced into by a four-legged partner

Clicking...Searching...Song...Blaring...

Arrogantly I trot around, meandering south towards the Forest floor

ignoring Life that surrounds me

She beckons, "Let go"

I laugh aloud and retort, "I have"

She asks, "Can you please listen to what..."

I raise the volume..."I love this John Mayer song!"

Guitar riffs and cymbals clash

Head bobbing, singing

Dog sniffing every branch, rock, bush, and stump

as if he would be filled with regret if one inch of Forest were missed

"Its so nice to get away and be alone!"

The music of Modernity attempts to drown out, block, numb me to the reality I avoid seeing myself in

I pass the ghostly hollows of the old oak

the lifeless limbs that hang overhead, eerily reaching towards me

as if trying to pluck me up out of the monotony

I stop dead, rigid on the path,

dust consuming me

...Pause Button...

Eyes open, ears open, heart open

Crows Caa, Bees Buzz, Hawks Screech, Squirrels Bark

I suddenly realize, I'm not alone. 

I pause myself. I look around. Present.

The dangers of the green and red leaves scattered along the water's shoulder

are hypnotic in their dance with the wind

Dry branches are devoured by the silky green foliage of the twisted vines

A canopy above me, filled with life in the changing season

Foot prints

Animal Tracks

Bicycle Wheels

hidden, beneath the dirt encrusted around my shoes

KNOCKING. TRICKLE. CHIRPING.

I hear the brook and see that it twists and turns throughout the floor, 

as though begging not to be swallowed up by the Forest herself.

The maze of Oaks, elaborate and dense, cause me to ponder the similarities

between its weaving patterns

and the intricacies of Life, the complexity of being Human, and

one's constant struggle to push towards Acceptance. 

Amidst my quiet solitude and intense reflection

a Doe

symbol of gentleness, listening, grace, balance, freshness, new awakenings

crosses my path.

I acknowledge aloud her presence and feel grateful for the messenger of Light.

I reflect on how many times this day, this week, this month, this year

how easily I took advantage of life's simple pleasures

rather than admiring, respecting, and thanking.

I began to see my life, unfold in front of me, in this natural wonder

The dirt continues to flail around my face

Dog panting as I take in the spiritual awakenings being given

I stop in my track...

Pulled towards the towering Eucalyptus Tree 

that stands naked, vulnerable before me.

I ponder on its current state, as though I were in an art gallery.

I smell its fragrance...intoxicating.

Shards of bark lie twisted, broken, and shattered all around its stong stump

I notice the pale white skin under the warped and weathered rind

I remark, "You're being reborn. Stronger. More beautiful"

Imaging that somehow, hearing my voice

would allow him to gather the strength necessary

to suffer through the Winter

Two steps forward...then two back.

I face my comrade and realize that he and I are on the same path

Compelled that I too must prepare for a rebirth, reawakening, rediscovery

Fear

"I can't do this alone"

Arrogance

"You are not that special. Change is the only constant"

Realization

"The trees change, its leaves change, the brooks course changes, winds change, life changes"

Acceptance

I feel roused by the accutely loud lullaby of the crickets hidden beneath the brush

Their song is comforting in that moment.

I press forward...

The sound seems to follow me. Maybe I'm following the sound. 

The symphony of thought is created by the rise and fall of my chest, the pounding of my heart, the shuffle of my feet, the cling of dog tags, and natures orchestra accompanying me.

Stirred

"Be the woman you've imagined yourself being"

Open

"Be humble, be kinder, ask for forgiveness, give forgiveness, be kind to yourself, love deeper"

Acceptance

"I can do this. I choose to do this"

Attunement

The seasons are changing, the first rain is approaching, cool air, winter's frigid snow

Life is changing, Life's healing rain will fall, broken, wounded, choosing to stand in the downpour

We are at one with each other

Together we change, Together we struggle, Unison

I ignored

But the Forest reminded me

That WE are one

...Press Play...