Thursday, March 5, 2009

The Rose, Pneumonia

At the end of a good day, all done with work, just a quick poem before I go home.

If you are pure, you fall in a different direction, not down to earth but toward God. I hesitate to say up. God is not up. In this frame, up is another form of down. Falling toward God is often invisible on the planet. You might experience it, and I would never notice unless I was really sensitive.

It is certain that God has divine gravity that draws one out, but it is really hard for a material body to respond. One has to free one’s soul and drift away. That’s a song :) Gimme the music that can free my soul, I wanna get lost in your rock and roll and drift away. That drifting is God’s gravity, and that song definitely reminds me of what happens to a pure soul with the body knots untied by love, forgiveness, compassion. I bet the double meaning was known to somebody involved in producing that music. It was too well done for that double meaning to be accidental.

The Rose

The petals of time
Open before dawn
In the world of God's high dreams.

That is where the rose appears
And calls the sun to come forth.

In sunrise petals
Drop one by one, freed
To fall to God and be pure.


Here is another true story poem. When I was a small boy I was vicious sick with chronic lung disease. There were a few years I couldn't even take the stress of running, because just breathing hard would start an attack. This asthma was created by allergies. I had many allergies. But eventually it turned out that the keystone allergies were to certain foods. Primary was potatoes, which sounds strange to many people but is not that uncommon as a food allergy. What is uncommon is to have a doctor clever enough to find it. So I was eating potatoes as a staple food in my diet, and it was actually what I called my favorite vegetable. That constant ingesting of what is poisonous to me, depressed my immune system to other allergens.

Note to self: One real good reason not to go to jail, I can’t eat the effing food.

The story is too long and tedious. For the point of this poem, though, I knew about breathing difficulties as a very small child, and finally got some relief after the food allergy was discovered and finally desensitizing the other allergies worked. I was in my teen years then and this success lasted until just a few years ago when “old age” allergies began and gave me back my trouble in a different way, but still not good. Now I suffer from allergies to molds, mildews and fungi, which never bothered me even as a child.


The pain in my chest
Staggers me, lays me down, out.
I get so tired now
Trying hard to breathe.
Sometimes I think I could stop,
Just quit, just like that.
You come in and check.
I know you're there but don't care.
You love me, I know.

I still want to live.


  1. Falling into God -- I like that. Falling ill again? No, no, no.

  2. Good morning to you both. I hope your day is going well enough.

  3. Hmm, I love the rose petals.

    My son is allergic to potatoes too, oddly enough, and he too was drawn towards what was making him sick. His father was feeding him potatoes once, often twice daily. It was the rash on his face that led me to the discovery.

  4. Rachel, what happened to me is pretty common. If the food is a staple, and you eat it every day, like milk, wheat, potatoes, then sometimes there will be no sign from this food. Your system gets used to handling it, but the work your system does to handle it uses up those resources and other issues cannot be defended against. So you might get real sick but it looks like it might be caused by something else. I have some other food allergies, but they are not staples. My body has never built up tolerance and I know they are bad for me right now if I eat them by accident. If I eat even a little bit of potato now, I react, a little slower but just as nasty. I figure something around a quarter of a baking potato would actually put me in the hospital.

  5. Good work on the food allergies. I can relate and strive to avoid wheat and gluten which causes a great deal of physical problems for me.

    I love the rose petal poem. I couldn't help thinking of ee cummings poem, somewhere I have never traveled,
    you open always petal by petal myself as spring opens.
    And that poem, tho a romantic love poem on one hand, is an ecstatic poem on the other if you're willing to read it that way, which it sounds like you are.

    The gravity pulls me
    into I know not where
    some place I was led
    by secret paths into
    dark forests and moons
    through light and shadows
    I emerge
    Finding myself standing
    in a vast open meadow
    under clear skies
    I look and there you are
    holding a golden key
    as I fall to my knees
    spilling rose petals
    at your feet.

  6. I like that...fall towards god....yes indeed.

  7. Falling toward God. Rose petals. Potatoes. Breathing. There just is so much going on here:).

    Reading the prose, the poems, the is hard to comment on it all -- but since Catvibe mentioned the ee cummings poem and I love that one, I will paste a link here :)

    somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond

  8. Cat, what a good poem. Thank you for the e.e. cummings reference. I take it that the poem you left is yours :) Did you already have it or is that a sample of your poesy improv? Most of my poems are improvisations, though sometimes with a second small session to clean them up. I shall not take it personal, or at least I hope not because I lost that damn key a couple lives back :)
    Here goes:

    I Keep Losing Things

    I see you coming
    my way out of the forest,
    that place that the moons
    of this world visit,
    nestling in the trees.
    You hold a basket of rose
    petals and I know
    you are going to
    give me a shower of them,
    expecting that I
    hold the golden key.
    I'm sorry, but I lost that
    key two lives ago.

    I am very happy I am not allergic to wheat and gluten. I think that is more common than potatoes actually, although potatoes is more common than many people think. Milk is fairly common too, usually milk sugar if I understand right.

  9. Michelle, I am glad you showed up. Yes, falling toward God. I think we traditionally have it backwards, that the issue is self centeredness and is energetic. It is a climb, using that energy, that takes us away from God. The original deal for us is not a fall at all, or rather what we call the fall is way prior to man's arrival and in any case was God doing the necessary to fulfill the requirements of whatever this place is to Him.

    That is why all the work of "returning to God" is relaxing, stopping, ceasing, releasing, meditating and all of it. The work is difficult for us but ends in the open hands and heart that e.e. cummings wrote about. Then after all the work it is a simple fall into the heart of God.

  10. Faith, thank you for the link and I went there to reread that favorite poem. I mean it makes my heart leap every time I get reacquainted with it. It may not be a surprise to find out that he is one of my favorite poets, though I feel I am patterning my practice after a Persian ecstatic named Hafiz. At least one poem a day.

    I couldn't really write at e.e. cummings' elevation if my life depended on it. I don't think I could hope to aspire to his freedom. But I do believe I have my own, perfectly suited to my own destiny.

  11. Christopher and Faith, I hope you will enjoy my musical improv of ee cummings poem somewhere...

    It has long been my favorite poem ever.

    In regards to the poem here, yes, I made up that one right here on the spot. I like your answer too, funny! Of course I meant mine for that One that is unseen but Known. But you knew that ;-)

  12. the fragrant yellow rose
    growing wild at heart
    roots run deep into the earth
    as she seeks a deep connection to all


  13. Cherie! What a delight!

    In The Hole

    The gopher digging
    his way past the tangled roots
    of the rose above,
    wondering what's next
    and why he should encounter
    the hint of fragrance,
    the sign of sharp thorns.
    It's dark in his hole, but life
    glows, lights his dim thought.


The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.

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