For the third time on these pages I post this poem with hope and a prayer that nonviolence will replace violence, that deep self will replace ego. I share the poem today in response to the possibility of yet another war in the Middle East.
Photo Credit for flags: wikepedia.org
Collusion
The day after
the Shame
the expanse of sometimes blue sky
is speckled with thick, sooty elephant-skin clouds
That bleed disdain on Lady Liberty
who holds vigil in the harbor
of the land of the free and the home of the brave.
The Shame
shrieks, reeks inhumanity, holding us hostage
until we dare say it out loud:
Racist.
Brothers and sisters, forgive us,
for we know exactly what we do.
© Rita H Kowats 1-12-18
Photo Credit: Getty
In light of the American news stream these days, I give you a sequel to yesterday’s post, “Tap Dance Dodge or Truth Tango.” “It’s all a circus, kid. A three ring circus.” Billy Flynn has morphed into another character in 2017, but the message is the same fifteen years later.
“Razzle Dazzle” from the film musical “Chicago” 2002
BAILIFF(Spoken)
Mr. Flynn, his honor is here
BILLY(Spoken)
Thank you. Just a moment.
You ready?
ROXIE(Spoken)
Oh Billy, I’m really scared.
BILLY(Spoken)
Roxie, you got nothing to worry about.
It’s all a circus, kid. A three ring circus.
These trials- the wholeworld- all show business.
But kid, you’re working with a star, the biggest!
(Singing)
Give ’em the old razzle dazzle
Razzle Dazzle ’em
Give ’em an act with lots of flash in it
And the reaction will be passionate
Give ’em the old hocus pocus
Bead and feather ’em
How can they see with sequins in their eyes?
What if your hinges all are rusting?
What if, in fact, you’re just disgusting?
Razzle dazzle ’em
And they’ll never catch wise!
Read more: Chicago The Musical – Razzle Dazzle Lyrics | MetroLyrics
Having completed my morning wade through the daily swamp of American news I leave it to place this question before us:
Can we make America great again this way:
Or this way:
Truth Tango
That old familiar tune
Strikes up in the recesses of my soul
Heralding the familiar promenade of pretense.
I cast off layers of deceit
To the tattoo-tune of the Holy Stripper
And the raucous pleadings of my victims,
“Take it off! Take it all off!”
The bright white bones of truth
Step out of their camouflage
To dance La Cumparsita with wild abandonment
Until the familiar tune calls me back
To the stage of my humanity.
© Rita H Kowats June 3, 2017
6:00 p.m. And the hits just keep on coming. TapDanc
And the hits just keep on coming. Tap Dance ad nauseum:
Photo Credit: Truth is Beauty pictured at Burning Man. The 55-foot tall sculpture is part of ‘The Bliss Project’ by Marco Cochrane, and she currently resides at the San Leandro Tech Center, across the street from BART. Photo courtesy of marcocochranesculpture.net.
“. . .in August in Mississippi there’s a few days somewhere about the middle of the month when suddenly there’s a foretaste of fall, it’s cool, there’s a lambence, a soft, a luminous quality to the light, as though it came not from just today but from back in the old classic times. It might have fauns and satyrs and the gods and—from Greece, from Olympus in it somewhere. It lasts just for a day or two, then it’s gone. . .the title reminded me of that time, of a luminosity older than our Christian civilization.”
― William Faulkner
photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/50879678@N03/12796147483″>Dahlia, Walled Garden, parc de Culzean Castle, Maybole, South Ayrshire, Ecosse, Grande-Bretagne, Royaume-Uni.</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/2.0/”>(license)</a>
The Washington Post accompanied by a cup of Joe these days can cast an aura of noxious negativity that permeates one’s day; spiritual work must balance this practice of staying informed. I put my Post aside and settle in for meditation. The sun escapes a thick bank of clouds momentarily blinding me. I close my eyes and follow my breath. It draws me into an extraordinary lucid dream.
The brilliant orange orb pulsates behind my eyelids, approaching and withdrawing, approaching and withdrawing, morphing into a red crab whose legs gyrate aimlessly in elusive air, while iridescent green claws pull it forward by stabbing furtively into earth. Exit stage right.
Enter: an eye moving slowly across the horizon of my inner eye. It is shut tightly and encircled by a wreath of rich long lashes. The eye moves in closer as if pulled by an invisible but powerful magnet. Enlarging as it moves, it opens and closes in some predetermined rhythm until the horizon swallows it and spits it out as a bright white light.
From this light two inchoate inhabitants, a naked woman and man, tumble out and spin rapidly downward leaving a trail of brilliant sparks in their path.
A new aura of peace replaces the noxious aura of negativity.
“I will build a great wall- and nobody builds walls better than me-“
On and on the vitriol violates
Ensnaring the unsuspecting
In a net of noxious fumes.
I escape
To the womb of Light
Until Sight returns me
To my Self,
Light from Light.
© rita h kowats December 23, 2015
Photo Credit: Rita H Kowats; aurora borealis from:
<a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/48503330@N08/8751278074″>Moon and Aurora</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/”>(license)</a>
Spirituality Without Borders: Reflections on Spiritual Practice 