A PRIORI:
An Experiment In Poetic Metaphysics:
Experiment I
by Valerie Lynn Stephens
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©2013 Valerie Lynn Stephens
ISBN #: 978-1-300-67240-1
DREAMPLATE
Evoking the evocative silence of red balloons billowing across a blindingly white landscape, Eternity whisps on a tangent down the rough-strewn alley of Apathy, boisterous and looking for a riot-”Shhhh! Quiet! the lazy, creeping haze commands, for Mona Lisa is nearby perched atop a priest's velvet red box, ready not for a confession, but a Kodak moment.
A red light sun resurrects the Ultimate Psychiatrist from a huge pile of spent cigar ashes-he does a perfect 360°, vomiting Jungian dream theory and Nietzsche's anamnesis all over his ill-fitted suit and three-thousand dollar Moroccan carpet, which undulates like the North sea, screaming envy at the moon.
I remain transfixed and utterly enthralled by the keen lucidity of the so-called Absurd, and at the countless souls who commit themselves instead to that sanctified insanity which masquerades as “sanity”, a diagnosis whose prognosis leads one only into the true Madness of systematic de-sanctification.
It now rains fire & brimstone, igniting within me the revelation of Primordial Percipience, a searing heat which creeps deep into the desiccated scales of that creeping old lizard the Amygdala, as I awaken to discover myself marrowing into the bones of the exquisite Architecture of Katharis, a Divine Order, both immaculately Implicate & Explicate.
AWOKEN BY SLUMBER
Dreamtime is when the conscience screams asserts its need and right to be heard our dreams, our ally keeping us purified keeping us straight never sparing our soul their introspective rod bringing us up in the admonition of inner truth and outer justice.
I rise, kiss and embrace the newfound consciousness of the day-will I stray? When again down I lay Dreamtime will tell as I attend the masses of sweet somnolence confessing it all to my subliminal priest who keeps watch within the mind’s abysmal well where the water is so bitter and cold lucidity grips me time and time again and I always discover unconsciousness to be truly an illusory theory finding instead I am truly and always have been, fully awake...
LAUGH THEN BE STILL
The bigger the leaf lost,
the higher the tree’s grief cost.
Now drudging?
How begrudging?
Is thy Fate being to thee?
Move still. Rest nil.
Turn your season of all or none pain,
Into laughter’s reason to thrall or shun bane.
The more the mind thinks, the less the heart hears.
For as your blind soul blinks,
Unrest, with glee, will impart fears.
How obnoxious?
Now toxious?
Are thy thoughts being to thee?
Be in riot, of quiet.
Turn the voice
of violent illusion’s demented fruition,
Into the choice of silent fusion’s cemented intuition.
METAPHYSIC IV
I could get lost in an eagle’s eye, for the reflection of his mastery and divinity lulls me into a blissful slumber of selflessness.
He seduces me with his majestic wiles and the image of beauty, grace and superiority henceforth eludes any congruency with my being and I weep.
I weep for the ignorance I have spoken, the promises I have broken for the eagle always feeds her young, always finds a home.
And thus have I, within the eagle’s eye as it soars down to the jagged ranges, carrying aloft, a lone tear.
VEHICLE
The Angels still gather every morning, at my feet. I feel their leaden promises of buoyant liberation weighing heavily upon my battered heart.
They lift up their voices, so silverish and benign, but I do not hear anything, seeing only closed captioning pouring out from lips whose utterances can’t possibly be read, only recalled.
I now walk faster, drawing faithfully upon the satirical determinants of the Mind-Body's super-encumbering purpose, to deceive the consciousness supramundane, with that of the mundane, which always bites at the heels, to maintain the illusion of pragmatic initiative, an actual antonym to true Life.
And yet I am also brought to a merciful halt, at this raucous intersection of pedestrian walkway, as bold adjudicating white lines assault a masterfully subservient Earth, in clear delineation. Perhaps today, I won't teleport.
LUCIDITY OF THE SOUL'S EYE
Just for once, to throw caution to the wind, to let the heart beat, at its own true pace-thundering and allegrissimo!
Just for once, to cut myself open at the deepest & truest core, bloodletting myself into the portals of every sea and every universe!
Just for once, to guide the mind, most masterfully beyond all bounds, being tamed not even by the snares of Fear’s vast wilderness, as they clinch the Achilles’ heel of the vagabond soul in gripping, merciless tenacity.
If only Virtue and Joy could more often merge with Rage, Fear and Grief, then would the heart perhaps alas know the ways to both secure and quell them, and the mortal soul, finally meet its noblest cause-that indefinable thing which keeps it tied to the earth and its false promises of transcendence.
Yes, perhaps then, we could finally see what transcendence truly is and has been, all along: Being fully grounded, right here and right now.
THE EMINENCE OF IMPERMANENCE
Lying here, letting sweet silence mend my Soul's ear,
I attune instead, to the subtler sonancies
of Joy without Fear,
For the prospect of Lost,
Comes at no cost,
When nothing so fleeting
is held so near, so dear,
Yet Felicity's fervour,
'Tis also quite fleeting,
For the fickle human heart,
And its erratic, bereaved beating,
Yet we may instead learn to take heed,
Of the eminence of Impermanence as we so need.
THE HONORABLE FAITH PRESIDING
Shall eternity be thicker than time,
Why must we feel so betrayed?
Day by wearisome day,
The not quite moot,
Maternity and Paternity suit,
The plaintiff, the materially evidenced presented,
The defendant, the theoreticals underrepresented.
Now the dire disunity of the jury,
Yet all is ruled with a much higher impunity,
The verdict is in, no further need for fury,
The case is dismissed, gavel and wood colliding,
By the hand of the honorable Faith, forevermore presiding.
THE PHILOSOPHER'S VERSE
I mean nothing that I say,
And everything that I do,
This is the philosophy of a Philosopher true.
AND ALL THEY GIVE YOU IS THE DAMN ANSWER
The lines of fragmented ardour pierce as crazy rays this way and that and I am left bereft of much to say but anything that will bring this geometrically inept mind to incalculate understanding.
Yet it all keeps coming to 360 degrees, a full circle of transience, quite moot in its points, configurations and convictions. For the variables may alternate but the solution is always the same, one which never ceases to elude your figuring as to how you got there.
So you go to the back of the book, and all they give you is the damn answer, on a 'why' axis, such an elusive coordinate, this life's mapping and the living of it.
A TRAGIC SABBATICAL
What do I fear of this life? The life that kindles like a potential funeral pyre within me?
My soul pulsates erratically to the indefatigable rhythms of Fate unsubstantiated. My dreams seduce me with whispers of their chronic latency of waking, lulling me time & again into a mind-state of Platonic over-indulgence.
Sometimes I fear I will never sleep again. I dread that, should I succumb to the fiery womb without-cut away from the symbiotic enmeshment of spurious masquerades of phantasy unactualized, that, a metamorphosis, encumbered shall remain by the incurable hypochondria of a Destiny which day by day grows tired of this inertia and negligence.
And yet still, it perches itself thereupon the infinite wing-span of the time-space continuum, knowing full-well, that it will always fall short of the mark.
Yet these empirical studies in the realm of Hamartiology still can never fully know, that there is no such thing as earthly transcendence, as it repeatedly crashes to the ground, a feeble twit, never truly able to apply its learning until it submits its mortal vessel to the schooling of the sovereign-most Headmaster.
Until such time, the ground will split wide open and we just might someday tumble to the depths of such grandiose longings in Infinite perpetuity, Eternity, never to see the light again, as it is just now, soft on the eyes. Home sweet home. The lights are on but is anybody really home? Sooner or later the thieves will catch on that I am on extended vacation, a sabbatical with interminable implications.
A WINNING FILIBUSTER
A ravenous desire,
And a broken will,
Walking on barbed wire,
Another vetoed Bill,
In the House where discretion
caddy-corners the Senate of the Id,
I fall over the edge,
a dream within a dream
within a dream,
awakening to the maniacal laughter
of the spin-doctor to the politician of Pain,
And it is, a winning filibuster.
CIRCUIT BREAKER
It floods in and I turn it off, afraid that if left undammed, unguarded, that it won’t ever stop, and I will seep with a vibrant joy and endless, indomitable Love until the end of my days.
For it just cannot be ordinary, and hence, safe, to feel such unheeded warmth and weightlessness, in a realm of such substantiality, tangibility and gravity.
That we can live like this-Is it perhaps possible?
Impossible?
I’m possible.
How do we know if we cannot live like this?
Has anyone ever really tried it?
Put it to the old scientific test?
Perhaps I will lend my body to science, as it is now-a live specimen, the first experiment of its kind hopefully to be successful.
And if it is not? At least I will have died truly living.
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