Date: Wed, 06 Jun 2001 06:04:45 -0400
Subject: One Got Through    



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From: "Sterling Hart" <pravritti-AT-home.com>
To: <sa-cyborgs-AT-lists.village.virginia.edu>
Subject: One Got Through
Date: Wed, 6 Jun 2001 02:02:07 -0500
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One Got Through

One got through
Past the dark mirrored surface of the water
Standing luminous
A projection of the dead.
The words of the ancient
Tongue sounded in the technical
Constructions of the age.
The Old still remembered Greek fragments
Recently discovered.
Scientific emotions had flooded the area
With scoffing doubt and accusations
That belittled the thirst for prestige.
Unrecieving hardness felt sarcasm
Felt the passion of denial,
But not change
Until the foundation cracked open.
A priori
The assumptions caught the ideas and rounded them down.

Mental refuse rusted and silted in a great ocean of time's consequence.
Small worlds were hurled like shells
The incoming bursts landing across the field.
Unable to cover the open terrain
They ran and escaped.
In short bursts of decisions they returned fire.
A narrow band of environmental triggers
The emotions resounded in the imagination as
A box with a window stood before the schoolmaster.

Romantic images drifted up and caught by a breeze jerked their strings
Tied to furniture.
One was a crimson foil near the canopy.
It lifted up with artistic identities.
It caught fixations with an emblem or a bar's name.
The sentiments enjoyed and flowed in the music
As the worlds danced away the vibabhichari bhavas.

The small lower center of consciousness
Universalized to struggle
In the timeless patterns of interaction and connection.
Monkeys no longer wandered in the trees.
Horses roamed free once reintroduced.

Dawning the heart opened to the divine truth behind.
The surface became darkened as it shadowed out the light.
Another wave of expression caught up in the lower movements.
Beauty became desire's courtesan.
Music became staged light and erotic.
Real people brought a broader range of possibilities.
It was not refined into white bread
And then fortified with special effects.
The real presence was living and in the worlds
That came between their fullness.

Lost to the ancient world,
The agapi of the peoples' struggled
To maintain their homes and identity.
The blood that ran through their skin
>From the cuts and punctures
Of forgotten masqueraids stained the earth.
They were swallowed by nature's ambivalence
As it settled.
On a thousand fields I perished and was carried
In the memories of the lived comrades
Who stood with broken hearts
At their failure to instill their sons with the same love
Of their brother in the war.

>From the purity of origin rose the great harmonies.
The bony knobs and razor claws of the vital order stayed
In the season of the womb.
People minds lived with abundant force of will.
They carved and shaped their greatness
Into vehicles that carried historied peoples.

Mingled and lost new waves washed ashore.
It was an age of greatness
As some rose in the tide of necessity.
The suffering of family patterns,
The fallen history of the present formations.
The need to suffer for a living identity.

She confessed in an apoligic memory.
Her attraction for foreign men,
Strains of the primal urge that tore
Into the romantic imagination of her anubhava.

It fell in on them even as they had living examples.
Their ancient suns marked the sky in words.
Sacred songs shone from their hearts
Filled their atmosphere
Projecting environment beyond the flame reach.

The wanderers before the fire
With
Adam receiving the apple gave voice to no people.

They carried the Oracles of the Dead stone by stone.
Time expanded to the unimaginable magnitudes of change.
The grief responded through the occult filters
Into the emotional charge
Of vivid subtle lightning in the core.

The desert sands of ginger bread men
Clung barely able to move.
Deeper planes of subtle physical reality
Brought an oasis where mirages danced the sky.
In the ancient caravans of time
They traded dancers to the king
And in emotional transformation the long arm of power.
Her bhakti changed the royal sight of God
More precious than gold.
In my call you return.

Sterling Hart