The Revelation of
Enso
(Five Poems)
1
Knave
Weird and black in the light,
Hidden without shadow, bright black
Glowing, humming, and razor-sharp,
Heavy-beaked, keen-eyed and impudent,
Half-maker watches the unguarded roads
As the day is born, the day-star rising
Transforming darkness to virginal white,
Street-born refugee, smudge-faced and beautiful
Crosses in her eyes, singing the light
The devil vanishing in transformation to love
The Knave, strange and awake,
Asks his way in a land where he knows no one,
Their minds opaque, murky and dark
Bright black, weird in the light
The Half-maker's folk, shadows in the vapor
Still he seeks that other country,
Where Knave becomes Knight, all his wounds in front
Clad in violet, conversing with the dark
Pleading in the hope of a shift
When such a man Awakens to the Cup
--
2
Unspoken
Some things are better unspoken
Like the dying cries of a God
Or the whimpering pleas of a beaten monster
Bloodletting and assignations with demons
It was never a matter of pain
Hatred in its reddest forms
The wet sounds of beatings
It was never a matter of harm
The death of Love was the object
Eating the heart of Man
Pushing despair into the remaining cavity
Eternal suffering, distance from light
The subtle first caress, innocent and gentle
The first one is free
Endless slavery, thereafter
And no hope of light
This was the object, indeed
And none would stand before it
Hope the pining of the damned
Gray the eternal outlook
Indifferent the masses
Inchoate the initiates
Unformed any hope of resistance
Unborn all thought of life
But, there must be a King
And there must be a Queen in Heaven
Else the universe may not stand
And what is oblivion without being?
-Typhon
--
3
Christmas, 2008
Icons speak fire through gold.
Awake! Awake! Be not taken in by the world!
The King came and went, and still you sleep,
leaden and unknowing.
The Divine Spark sputters,
but does not go out, tended by unseen hands,
the luminous Yes, just beyond reach.
Alas! the devil is no more,
But He who tests his own,
still He breathes beneath all things,
ancient and terrible, dazzling,
But His light is only a candle,
Next to the light the icons whisper.
Our blind eyes cannot see,
And must be burnt away.
Awake! Awake! The King has come and gone.
--
4
Soul and Feather
Compare the weight of the soul to a feather
Yours or mine matters little
We are only human
It is the fate of man to suffer, as the Buddha told us
All life is just that
But where does that lead us?
To the truth, some would say
To Unknowing, others
Perhaps suffering is nothing more than itself
Perhaps it is unwise to agonize over the destruction of monuments to our past
Or the future of our unborn generations who have no say
Perhaps it is only a burning forest or a new highway
Tara will disappear along with our trees and nothing will be the same
But nothing is ever the same
And there is nothing new under the sun
Only manʼs suffering over the loss of his past and his future
Can influence the weight of his heart against the feather of Truth
It is that suffering that can alter the balance
--
5
“...they know not what they do...”
In the five places
Wretched hovels of understanding
Foundering on the cliffs of unknowable seas
The mocking creatures
Incensed and unaware
Fail to see the truth of life
And the nineteen saints forgive them
“For they know not what they do”
Yet there are some
Those who are unsatisfied
Crowned with the ideas of the unarmored warrior
Seeing the bricks of the sacred house
The shining tiles of its roof
And God covering it in offal
Leave it for the swollen masses
And climb the mountain
--
