At such times I glean
That I have been in my turn;
Brood mare, blade of grass,
Stone on the shore, floating cloud-
The boundaries are porous
Between this & that
The self can become other
In the merest blink
Of an eyelid adjusting
To the flicker of neon.
I could worship you My beautiful negation Stripped down bare bride-like Veil rent asunder, parting; Pierced: complete bliss-emptiness.
At dusk, In the meticulously planned, exquisitely crafted geometric gardens Extending from the far distant boundary wall to the crest of the hill On which perched the Summer Palace of His Holiness the Emperor, The waters of the cascading fountains would settle into a limpid stillness, The clockwork birds winding down would cease their song, No longer cooing lilting endearments in mystical language to their beloved: Silence would reign Bestowing a sense of pregnant expectation upon the Emperor At last, he thought, I’m on the brink of revelation Both the Map of the Stars & of the Sewers of Prague Would be deciphered & yield their mysteries To the astrologers, alchemists, philosophers, scientists on my payroll Both the knowledge of the secrets of the natural world & the Divine Will Would finally be mine, Along with all the gold adorning a thousand Tenochtitlan's & yet more again The silence was broken As he approached the statues lining the borders, Which were either ingenious mechanical automata Or truly possessed by the Gods of the Ancient Egyptians If you were to believe their designer The heretical Nolan, the Black Magician Giordano Bruno That master of memory & follower of infinity; For the stone sculptures begin to sing In pure soprano, mezzo, alto, tenor, baritone & bass tones If you knew, You would know: The truth is sensuous, sharp & subtle More fragrant than death As profound as a child’s game All encompassing The center is everywhere Circumference is nowhere It is here & there But if you seek You will not find Are there none more blind Than those who stare Into the sun? The feeling of being on the verge of great discoveries Deserted the Emperor as he listened to the mocking words of the statuary; Overcome with melancholia he retired to his chambers To contemplate his Cabinet of Curiosities.
Beatific, baleful
Black Sun absorbing all light-
Casting no shadow.
I stared & I stare long seeking
To see beneath & beyond the surface
Of this opaque obsidian shew-stone,
Smoking mirror of sorcerous Tezcatlipoca,
God of the Night Sky in Golden Tenochtitlan,
Across the water & waves of the Atlantic.
For the Doctor believes that below the depths
Of the glistening black gem glass
Lies a clarity of a Celestial Origin
A pattern of play replicating perfection
A massed Angelic Host ready to reveal
Speaking in tongues a language thought lost:
The Mother of All Mysteries
The Secret of the Sacred
The Quintessence of the Quincunx
If I can behold I become free
Make of what pleases the most,
Do what I Will.
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