Poetry and Music to Soothe the Savage Breast

Dear Subscriber,

Sober “hump days” are like whistling in the wind. Your tones can’t escape the chaos of the middle of the week, but your brain enjoys the lighthearted music of the moment.
 
With that in mind, here’s my trite wisdom for the Eternal Now:
The past is just like a wake in your stern, as your Viking boat keeps sailing in the eternal present. We can remember what we need to stay positive about what we plan for the next day. The rest we can burn or use as a sacrifice to help others who need it.

 

Hump Day

 

Speaking of “hump day,” here’s my story about a Wednesday that will (fingers, toes, and eyes crossed) appear in an upcoming anthology about horror stories and songs that are discovered in an abandoned mine. Kokopelli is Damned required a lot of research on my part, but I enjoyed writing it, as it channeled my great-great grandmother’s aboriginal delight!. If you need it translated, then just got to “Tools” in Google Docs and choose the language of your specific tongue.

Before I show you my poems, I wanted to show you a link to a very talented young man and musician who’s the son of a friend who lives in Wales, U.K., Katharine Louise Frost Hemingway, a visual artist of profound and exceptional talents. To me, I know we sang before we talked and then wrote our language symbols. Symbols point to reality but can never be reality. Just as when I write fiction, I know I’ll never be able to capture the profundity and tragic ignorance of actual humanity.

But here are some poems, which are better than fiction and stories, because they come from the heart/mind/soul of one’s being. Please take what you need and leave the rest behind for others.

NO MIND
 
I have no mind when I am sane.
How? Look at it the insane way:
I think, therefore I am.
But my eyes are not my mind.
They see only light around me.
What is the magic that happens?
When the light changes into forms.
No science has ever explained it.
Take all my senses, and all the subtle senses in
Consciousness, sleep, and deep sleep.
They are all products of the mind.
These forms are not real.
Why? Because they don’t exist without my mind.
They don’t exist without opposites or duality.
Life and death. Good and evil. Joy and pain.
The only reality we’ve ever known, right?
Wrong.
No mind also exists behind the Samsara of opposites.
Behind the insane forms created by the individual mind.
Existence, consciousness, bliss is all there really is.
The eternity behind the illusion.
The theater behind the forms.
Our deluded mind believes it ends. We think we control the show.
No. The show controls us, so I can release it all.
This keeps me sane.
No duality. All One.
No selfish mind. Just One Mind.
Which continues forever.
As Krishna said,
“We seem to die, we seem to disappear, we seem to change.”
We do not.
Om, shanti, shanti, shanti.
From the unreal to the real.
From darkness to the light.
From death to immortality.
 
2023 by J. Musgrave
Admiral Butterfly
 
SENTIENT
 
Energy and waves.
Particles and atoms.
All is sentient.
Cytoplasm is human consciousness.
A sperm racing toward its goal. Fails.
Hangs its head in shame.
The Olympic athlete races on ice.
Crashes into the wall. Millions of twitters erupt in dismay.
Human sperm bows to the egg no more.
The butterfly is not harbored in the Texas reservation.
The right-wing sentients don’t like the owner’s politics.
The butterflies roam free anyway.
Each level of sentience believes its in its own universe.
A human awareness, striving toward a goal, failing.
Winning means nothing, as all is relative.
Circle of sentience is all that matters.
It goes beyond human understanding.
It wipes out history and future forever.
Stand still. Breathe. Look up.
It’s all there.
Sentience eternal.
Never goodbye. Abiento!
 
Copyright 2022 by James Musgrave
SENTIENT
 
HORRIBLY SAFE
 
When I got her message, I flashed back.
To those moments with my wife, when she couldn’t talk.
When her disease had ravaged her brain to the point of being dumb.
Not dumb! My own mind shouted into the morning sunlight
Which played on her smile. She’s not Terri Shiavo. She’s my Ellen.
My bride, and the brides all over the world, who are, hidden.
Sleeping Beauties. Just use your heart mind instead of your senses.
But this woman is young, 47, and she’s full of creativity.
We shared our childhood woes of sex traumas, rapes, parental ignorance.
We two geniuses, golden children, hiding in the dark caverns of fright.
She only sends me 11 seconds of her beloved country today.
The river, the greenery, the violet blossoms, the hard rocks.
Just the sound of the river can be heard.
It’s enough. So, I cry. Again.
I’m not afraid of tears today. Let them come.
Prepares me for the future losses, the pains, the tragic feelings.
Men need to be soft, caring, and complicit in beautiful things.
The End is always coming, monstrous, just over that ridge,
Down in that valley where we think it’s safe.
It is. It’s just horribly safe.
 
Copyright 2022 by James Musgrave
Ellen at rest
 
So, that’s about it for Wednesday. Stay well, keep track of your thoughts, and follow your dreams, both conscious and unconscious.
 
Kind Regards,
James Musgrave
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