~
thought hovers
is this thought mine?
~
I watch the few words
just there
I look askance to see if they move
do they move of their own volition?
no
they hover
simultaneously
we’re moving through walls
what does this mean?
~
I once could hear through walls
I’d lost my skin
rendered immobile
I heard nuclear indifference
red lights green lights
flying metal and a dying jesus
I wet myself
although the bed stayed dry
~
I looked for what was left
at the time
I was empty
much later I understood
this was the right place to start
~
it takes awhile
starting from nothing
to un-know everything
~
we hover
not knowing
we move through walls
~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Acrylic on paper….j. h. white
Poetry of Light 
This reminds me of Sufi poetry and your words and image depict the complications of knowing too much and the desire to be reborn and to begin to practice re-learning in peace and love. Oh, and the first two lines – what an intro into this wonderful piece.
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Well thank you Mark…that’s quite a compliment.The poem comes from a bit of stream of consciousness following seeing some words I couldn’t read for a few days “hovering” there. The only thing I could tell is they were traveling through walls. The poem is quite literal.
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Re: verse Osmosis?
Perhaps the process of unknowing the false is just that – a Via Negativa, Neti-neti i.e. ‘not this, not this’?
P.S. Love the artwork – the colour combinations in particular.
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You know, I wondered about the title. I should have consulted you!
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Hey Hariod…I had to sleep on this one. Again, it is that leap into not having to define. So for me it is less about ‘not this, not this’ than being without definition in relationship as it is happening. Not as an observer but participating and taking my clues on how to respond, how to be in this relationship, from the relationship generated….which also doesn’t need to be defined so that it can continually grow, morph, expand, contract, leap, burrow, enter, exit…. 🙂
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But perhaps this is what you are saying too? I’m not familiar with these terms Hariod…the ‘Via Negative’. I’ll do a little research! 🙂
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the design and colors of the artwork pull me in. your interrogatives propel the poem to the last stanza which gave me the chills when i read it.
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It was a rather interesting experience Michael, writing this piece. A bit eerie but I’m used to that. Sometimes you just have to go with it!
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Beautifully engaging, Jana. I read your poetry thinking “yes…she knows what it’s all about.” Enlightening.
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Trust you Bonnie, to catch the drift here….!
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Love it
This is the kind you can read and
Hearing something different every time
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Blink Sheldon, and it all changes…Thanks!
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Jana, so very moving. Beautiful and moving. Puzzling and beautiful. I like the energy of the artwork. Like energies complimenting the thoughts or stages of thought or levels of thought.
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I admire Aboriginal art Steven and like to try my hand at the “style” but it’s so much more than a style. It’s about representing energy in all kinds of relationship. Fascinating right? Yes…the poem is a puzzle. Or was presented as one. I just followed where it led.
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Great poem Jana. Great imagery with those hovering thoughts- collective conscious?
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Thank you and good question…I don’t see it as the collective unconscious though, because that would be only human. Right? I feel “mind” or conscious thought or whatever I haven’t even imagined yet must include everything, everyone, but most probably what I’m in proximity or relationship with at any particular moment. I leave it open…I think this poem stems from this reaching out to this unknown knowing…relationship has a definite “feel” to it. I’m babbling here but that was a good question to try and answer…! 🙂
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Jana, It’s taken me a few return visits to feel I have enough words to speak. The art is easy for me. These are designs I see behind eyes as I drift, it’s the blanket that hangs in the doorway to dream world…your rich patterns. Reading the poem continues… a circular stroll through a landscape of glimpsed images and whispers of what may be… magical mystery tour…thanks for the ride…
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Ah-huh…coming from my favorite magician. You’re welcome!
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after our son died
my wife would cry softly
thin apartment walls
neighbours making love
~
hovering sobs
insertion aria
hearts spilling
tragic opera
~
thoughts hover
is this pain mine?
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The boundaries of skin
the definition of ‘self’ in space lost
it all becomes one
pain has no favorites
but then
neither does love
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