The *real* easter spirit

The lovely folks over at JT Stockroom are holding an ester egg hunt, and I've got to say they have the true spirit of the season  (for more on the egg hunt contest head over to http://www.stockroom.com/sale/easter-egg-hunt/ ).  You see your current sunday deviled egg and candy fun is sponsored by traditional pre-christian fertility celebrations held in Europe.  These festivals were dedicated to the goddess Ester (rough translation) who has been associated with both the rabbit and eggs (classic period symbols of renewal, growth and fertility).  So as you celebrate the holiday this season remember, it's about spring, renewal, the coming of life into a new cycle of growth, and of course sex :)
so enjoy your weekend (and each other) and check out the contest link above if you'd like a chance at some free swag to spice things up :)


Cheers,
~Sol

Patriotism

Those who know me socially would likely find my getting all teary eyed over some archaic letter talking of patriotism about as probable as my joining a University Frat and doing keg-stands in an attempt to impress my female counter-parts "next door". I am not a "joiner" as it were, I don't belong to many things. I don't make the sort of commitments that bind me to a group, affiliation, or location. I find it muddles things, creates crossed loyalties and generally is a distortion of those concepts and aspects that really count. You see I'm a creature of principles and ideals. I believe that being able to live with yourself throughout the whole of your life is of more merit than being able to live your life longer. Belief is a weak word in this case, I breath this, I'd starve for it, it is my life and more because without it everything else I hold dear is at a loss. Knowing this about me perhaps you will further grasp why it is that I am unabashed when I say that the letter below, written as it was many years ago and to someone not myself, brought me to tears. Indeed it has done so more than once for I am grateful to every single soul who's ever drawn even a moments breath that is of this caliber and sentiment. I could spend many posts (and indeed to some measure I have already done so) expounding on what relevance liberty has to me. And this assuredly shall not be the last I mention her ringing name. For now through, let me simply leave you with the words who gave moment to this posting.
Sol

Patrick Henry, March 23, 1775.

No man thinks more highly than I do of the patriotism, as well as abilities, of the very worthy gentlemen who have just addressed the House. But different men often see the same subject in different lights; and, therefore, I hope it will not be thought disrespectful to those gentlemen if, entertaining as I do opinions of a character very opposite to theirs, I shall speak forth my sentiments freely and without reserve. This is no time for ceremony. The questing before the House is one of awful moment to this country. For my own part, I consider it as nothing less than a question of freedom or slavery; and in proportion to the magnitude of the subject ought to be the freedom of the debate. It is only in this way that we can hope to arrive at truth, and fulfill the great responsibility which we hold to God and our country. Should I keep back my opinions at such a time, through fear of giving offense, I should consider myself as guilty of treason towards my country, and of an act of disloyalty toward the Majesty of Heaven, which I revere above all earthly kings.

Mr. President, it is natural to man to indulge in the illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth, and listen to the song of that siren till she transforms us into beasts. Is this the part of wise men, engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty? Are we disposed to be of the number of those who, having eyes, see not, and, having ears, hear not, the things which so nearly concern their temporal salvation? For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the whole truth; to know the worst, and to provide for it.

I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided, and that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging of the future but by the past. And judging by the past, I wish to know what there has been in the conduct of the British ministry for the last ten years to justify those hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves and the House. Is it that insidious smile with which our petition has been lately received? Trust it not, sir; it will prove a snare to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our petition comports with those warlike preparations which cover our waters and darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled that force must be called in to win back our love? Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the implements of war and subjugation; the last arguments to which kings resort. I ask gentlemen, sir, what means this martial array, if its purpose be not to force us to submission? Can gentlemen assign any other possible motive for it? Has Great Britain any enemy, in this quarter of the world, to call for all this accumulation of navies and armies? No, sir, she has none. They are meant for us: they can be meant for no other. They are sent over to bind and rivet upon us those chains which the British ministry have been so long forging. And what have we to oppose to them? Shall we try argument? Sir, we have been trying that for the last ten years. Have we anything new to offer upon the subject? Nothing. We have held the subject up in every light of which it is capable; but it has been all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication? What terms shall we find which have not been already exhausted? Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves. Sir, we have done everything that could be done to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned; we have remonstrated; we have supplicated; we have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have implored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and Parliament. Our petitions have been slighted; our remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult; our supplications have been disregarded; and we have been spurned, with contempt, from the foot of the throne! In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any room for hope. If we wish to be free-- if we mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges for which we have been so long contending--if we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained--we must fight! I repeat it, sir, we must fight! An appeal to arms and to the God of hosts is all that is left us!

They tell us, sir, that we are weak; unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on our backs and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot? Sir, we are not weak if we make a proper use of those means which the God of nature hath placed in our power. The millions of people, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess, are invincible by any force which our enemy can send against us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles alone. There is a just God who presides over the destinies of nations, and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but in submission and slavery! Our chains are forged! Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston! The war is inevitable--and let it come! I repeat it, sir, let it come.

It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, Peace, Peace-- but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!

Mr. Henry, Patrick, sir I salute you.

Phantom light, True illumination

Fluorescent raindrops ride on the wind, ask me if they’ll ever be free again
neon laughter bleeds from their heart and my vision flickers from the rivers source
truth becomes me so mighty well that during times virtue there’re no lies to tell
careful then with what I mean do for we’re all living lives that are true

Serenity walks down a dusty road, where fancy resounds through stories untold
Corvus song through the whispering air gives voice to the riddles I’ve not answered here
Come again dragons with bat-wings of night, framed by the sky alive with moon light
a puzzle awaits us, how does the wood fold? Yet the puzzle of puzzles is from where this one flowed

Half-truths and hear-say their clamor ingrained, try to remind us we ‘ought be restrained’
but wanderlust beckons and throughout where I’ve trod, truth is the only thing real I’ve held.
Truths not a cold one, nor happy, nor sad, it runs through all currents so let us be glad
that it’s really our choice which truths that we have.

Darklight

A question of inverse hope. Feelings almost like seeking to fall, false hopes calling golden to shards of crisis. Seeking what I believe I should think I want in denial of what I seek. Galling my own thirsts for the sake of ‘acceptable’ or ‘attainable’. Once again the Phoenix embraces the ashes with longing for the coming fire. Again I am reborn in the realization that there’s nothing to lose by risking for to live without the risk of exultation is to live with less than nothing and even oblivion calls sweet clamoring when this becomes our case. To be hones in the face of desire and unflinching is a rare quality. I claim more of it and yet can choke on apprehension falling short of honest clarity. Compromise is not a grail but a degradement. Who so ever loves us will wish us well and our hungers come to be, and who so ever does not is unworthy of regard. Enlightened Self-interest; described by my hands as the search for those who shall accomplish my goals through finding their own soft and savage joys.
Seduction is after all the art of allowing someone to see how accomplishing your goals accomplishes their own, and you can be seductive about so much more than sex or romance.
Though there is something sensual in the practice of the art of seduction, the intimacy implicit in sharing personal exultation with another. Unfolding like the shadows of flame saturating the night, freedom is the only choice for it seeds all others and the choice to be less than, or un-free is a null of the choice it’s self and so choice is used to block choice and thus comes to naught. Like seeds planted and caused to rot the actions take place with the shadow consciousness draped over them like a rotting fog.
The whispered grace of night used to stifle, the glittering clarity of day used to blind.
When we feel something, when we know a truth or experience a catalytic questioning why is natural and good but should not be a hold on our choices to act. For even if we are rash in such actions they will show us now to be less so in future. Where if we chouse to avoid them all together we are burdened by their unaddressed presence from that point onward, like leaving an unwelcome guest waiting in another room of our house, we may not see or hear them but we still know they’re there and that presence changes things until we change (rather than merely ignore or avoid) that presence.
There is no price to pay too high for freedom, for what we pay if we surrender it is the virtue and eventually substance of every other thing we touch.

A statement I’m sure I will revisit many times.
Sol

The Silence of Fear

The Silence of Fear

Fear is just a sense of awareness that somethings not right

so of course I'm afraid, so of course I fight

striving, to live every moment without it

It is not that I hate the messenger,

fear it's self,

indeed I am grateful for these repeated and timely warnings of mindfulness

like it's cousin Pain I honor fear for the truth spoken, but I do not want to live beneath those words.

Pain may murmur sweet syllables, so long as they are small,

but fear and I agree,

its most beautiful moments

are silent.

My heart, in Spades

My heart, in Spades

Aches of unspent never worlds resonate through the buzzing composed of words and thoughts that sound to me like the panting breath of Bukowski's Tiger, echoes back smiles to sobs of all my unspent tears minted in some lost currency

Reflective, only the night is my mirror for I can pretend it's empty as I pretend to be full

hearing Jung speak in tongues of shadows and knowing where finally I've hidden truth in the petals of a Rose

face so beautiful it hurts and my clinched fists bleed down her thorns letting my veins cry for me

I speak to strangers hoping to never know them well enough for deception all the while seeking intimacy

Pangs of longing masquerades loss beneath the fissures of my hops untempered.

The words are my air, to die is to live as I reach for everything I've ever cared about, la petite mort a little taste of death to inoculate me against complacency the vulnerability of truth my balm to savvy self-fulfilling cynicism

caught off guard by my own passionate paradox

refusing to die without truly having lived, refusing to live only for a time to die

love is honesty with another person in mind

and my heart bursts with it

If only I could find the words...

Omertà

Whoever appeals to the law against his fellow man is either a fool or a coward.
Whoever cannot take care of them self without that law is both.
For a wounded man shall say to his assailant,
'If I live, I will kill you. If I die, You are forgiven.'
Such is the rule of honor.

A few words from Ikkyu Sojun

I Hate Incense

A master’s handiwork cannot be measured

But still priests wag their tongues explaining the “Way” and babbling about “Zen.”

This old monk has never cared for false piety

And my nose wrinkles at the dark smell of incense before the Buddha.

A Meal of Fresh Octopus

Lots of arms, just like Kannon the Goddess;

Sacrificed for me, garnished with citron, I revere it so!

The taste of the sea, just divine!

Sorry, Buddha, this is another precept I just cannot keep.

From Wild Ways: Zen Poems of Ikkyu

Ikkyu (1394-1481) Master of Red Thread Zen, one of the most significant figures of Zen history , Abbot of Daitofuji temple in his later years. Ikkyu wrote a poem after his first realisation experience: From the world of passions returning to the world of passions: There is a moments pause. If it rains, let it rain; if the wind blows, let it blow His words are now sacred scripture ,Known as a Heretic and a Saint as well as the point origin of Red Thread Zen, He share's much with the Venerable Yogini (female yogi) Tse Yogal on many levels within Buddhism This approach was closely related to Tantric Buddhism. He is as well a folk hero of Japanese children even yet in our time! Oh I forgot to mention a small fact........... his Father was Emperor of Japan.

I ask what is the Red Thread that ties all the Buddha's, ourselves and life together????

I came across this on Ancient Worlds so credit goes to the origonal poster, but even tho' it is not my practice here to re-publish things I think the words of the Zen priest Ikkyu Sojun are a sound exception to this trend.

http://www.ancientworlds.net/aw/Post/243250

-Sol