Merry Christmas...and remember Gnosis

Happy Holidays...Merry Christmas to all.

This Christmas I want people to try and put something above all else. Gnosis...this is Greek for knowledge, and depending on the translation, insight.

Remember when you are listening to the opinions of others to use insight, and I don't mean in the way you are thinking. I mean for you to "shut-up," listen, and take in (seriously) what that person has to say. Don't be upset if their opinion differs. Use your insight to understand why and where this person is coming from. True insight comes from your ability to listen and not to judge.

Understand that there is no "right" way to live life. It's not your way...or his...or hers. It's our way. No person is worth less than any other. Doesn't matter where you are from, or what you believe in.

I love all my readers.

~The Man in the Cave

Poured (poem)

Poured

Tell me about the time you took your hands out of your pockets?

I thought I would pour myself out,
and into every minute
and fill all the empty time.

And I did. And it hurt.

I told her:
I love you like the moon loves water.

I did.

And now my hands suffocate again.

Sincerely (poem)

I was asked today, by a child today--
I was asked to abstain from thoughts of suicide.
You're a writer you're a writer...don't be like Hemingway
Or like Plath. Blown or fried or gassed, or any other way
I can become dead fast.
Don't worry, don't worry.
Ok ok, she said. I believe you Mr. Chris.
And I said, may I have your permission to start class?--
I have some more I want you to do before I can contemplate
pushing up the grass.

A Comedy and Degree (poems)

Above

You sir, are not Dante.
-Jeffrey

It's upsetting to speak of heaven.

Why is it so upsetting?

Well, out of the three heavens--

Out of the three heavens
the one I have the hardest time talking about
is writing.
Even when I write a poem I eventually don't like
I'm glad I wrote it.
So far that's all I know.

Then there is heaven unseen.
The marvel of clouded images and gilded things,
I think this heaven leads most people Below.

What is the third heaven?

This room, right now.
Then, my walk home
and all that is outside is In Between
and Below.
Tomorrow I'll know more.


In Between

My landscape is blemished.
Transgressions are piles
of cairns--testimonials--
silent in their reproach.

Perhaps I'm in between
honesty and deceit,
I'm stagnation
and it's inescapable.

Climb a mountain, but
feel cratered like carcass
embedded in earth
all the while living.


Below

A small blade of moonlight slices open my eyes
and rests smooth like sand on my arm.
Everyone looks pale under this illumination;
but, my hand is half ghost.

I do not see the architect of post-Troy.
No lions, leopards, wolves--
Just a white room. Brought clear through fluorescent bulbs,
the worst kind of brightness.

The wind outside catches me in cold,
blows the foliage in fervent cyclones of fire.
Beyond those, the man in tattered blue sweats,
and the hunch,
scribbles Praise Him on guard rails again.
As I approach, church bells sound noon.

They rot without falling.
I am rot. I fell here.

Process (poem)

Not ready after all, but, I keep typing:

leaves leaving trees
falling to death and darkness.

A smoke-colored cat chases her tail
and I bend down to say,
Do you think you're a dog?
She looks confused,
like the person she is not.

I'm not going anywhere with this,

unless I go with you, because I love you
like something the ocean does; and, I think
I'll stick with this matter. Keeping beat,
persistent--until my words cause me to choke
on the syllables of obsession.

Look at me wield weepy fingers to make these words.
And attention, attention, attention, until,
I am the most unbearable person.
But,
Still--