There is something we were never told, and this is that there is a tradition of no tradition.
A tradition of Wild Mystics or Wild Gnostics, that don’t fit into any theological or academic classification: A tradition of spiritual nomads that would not be shackled to any system or scripture; that would write their own myths and stories with the blood of their own experiences, which source can be found within their own entrails, within the marrow of their bones; within the dust of the grave, beyond what can be called experience, but that comes within their every breath.
These mystics recognize and borrow everything that speaks true to the reality of their bones without binding themselves to the rest of their traditions, but most of all, they speak with their own voice. Their voice cannot be classified or pegged to any known tradition.
tradition is violence
As soon as a scholar thinks he or she has found their source, another scholar finds that they were mistaken; for scholars, as St. John of the Cross said, argue long but never leave the ground.
Scholars speak of Gnosis and of dualism and try to explain Gnostic writings without ever having experienced gnosis, and therefore, gnosis remains unfamiliar to them and to their poor mislead readers.
Their arguments are filled only with words and a reasoning that can make a case, but that fails the source and has no substance. That is a tragedy, for they not only don’t know, they don’t even know what they don’t know, and that they don’t know.
she’ll never forget how as her heart was breaking he went to see a foreign film in the suburbs with his family the next day, he proceeded to inform her about Korean film and K-pop — like an old man who was just hearing about it for the first time in 2022, like someone who never knew anyone and who traveled to Korea, for a semester abroad or to teach English, or anything, despite his worldliness and AAdvantages, like someone who never heard of BTS, their Map of The Soul, or Carl Jung’s it was then she realized how ignorant and insular, and Lechter-like he was
he collected things and ate people to feed his ego,
drove past the new plasma store they’re buying, not selling do you need to know more?
old cars fill up the vast parking lots that pristinely fresh concrete, marred by oil and brake fluid spots
this is a tale-of-two-river-cities, white kids don’t sell platelets here/ this is no college town this place was known for Black boys, kidnapped and drowned
this fucking joint, is it never empty/ how many times can they draw blood per person, per month/ is it just two times – or twenty?
Freedom Plasma: there’s still Black blood to be drained! 24-7 audacity and not ONE DROP of shame
We don’t decide to become Gnostics, but we discover that’s what we were all along. We don’t adhere to beliefs or views imposed from the outside, but our worldview comes from our inner experience. Sometimes that experience comes with the sound of cannons. Most of the time it happens quietly and gently but nevertheless is life altering, even though most external observers won’t notice the difference. We are un-made and remade from the inside out rather than from the outside in.
The exclusively self-knowable inner landscape encompassing the psychic and pneumatic terrain of a person;
the complex of inner consciousness, metacognition, and intimate, private and transcendental experience that comprises the deep self of an individual; a human being’s interiority as distinguished from one’s outward persona, personality, biography or physical identity — and as distinct from the familial, professional, interpersonal, or social psychological evaluations, analyses, perceptions or stereotypes rendered, imposed or held by others.
Your amscape is the “you” that only you can explore, traverse and know.
This neologism is inspired in part by the late, Irish poet, philosopher and once-priest +John O’Donohue+ , who himself was inspired by the 13/14th century German mystic Meister Eckhart, speaking in his final appearance and in one of his last interviews ever, on On Being with Krista Tippet, before his untimely death in 2008. It is a compelling, life-affecting and -affirming conversation.
“Neither propaganda nor exhibitionist confessions are needed.
If the archetype, which is universal, i.e., identical with itself always and anywhere, is properly dealt with in one place only, it is influenced as a whole, i.e. simultaneously and everywhere.
Thus an old alchemist gave the following consolation to one of his disciples:
“No matter how isolated you are and how lonely you feel, if you do your work truly and conscientiously, unknown friends will come and seek you.”
It seems to me that nothing essential has ever been lost, because the matrix is ever present within us and from this it can and will be reproduced if needed.
But only those can recover it who have learned the art of averting their eyes from the blinding light of current opinion, and close their ears to the noise of ephemeral slogans.”
collateral advantage: publicly posting or publishing while specifically aiming for the [positive] attention, feedback, or benefit of a specific person or audience — yet anyone/everyone else who encounters the post or content may receive a collateral advantage //
what remains: gulls converge in a chasmic rain-filled pothole in the parking lot of an abandoned mall
An ephemeral asphalt pond after heavy rains in the parking lot of an abandoned mall, long-infested with gulls, as testimony – not merely to the inorganic evolution of consumerism, but of the intersection of NAFTA and other free-trade agreements, American soft segregation and hard apartheid, and the inherent discriminatory and predatory migration of US and Western global capitalism.
“He said that a man had to escape to the country to see the world whole and that he wished he lived in a desolate place like this where he could see the sun go down every evening like god made it to do.”
this poem was inspired by and derived from a dream that occurred during the morning of March 2, 2023
some of us are there to say our goodbyes/ and after all these years apart, i’m still jealous, i always wanted to be your nearest, dearest, to be your favorite, it’s still true.
you weigh all of 80 pounds — less, maybe/ how much do the bones of an adult human female weigh?
your hair’s gone your long, beautiful, gleaming fountain of chestnut hair, your crowning glory all tender scalp with patchy fuzz, now // all the vanity’s gone from you, honey, and you have never been more beautiful
what happened? lungs, lungs, lungs, you cough and vomit, several times as if to prove it /// [to me] i thought the treatment was working, hindsight out of sight, 2021
the limineen | earthling, poet & crone 