Photo - Adi Da Samraj

Transcendental poetry originates in the heart of the seer-poet and awakens in the heart of the reader. Therefore, transcendental poetry is not for thinkers. It attempts to silence the thinker so the heart’s yearning, the heart’s call, can be heard and felt at the same time.

The seer-poet communicates the past, the present and the future simultaneously. Each word penned to paper is a living entity, an expression of freshly released energy, a bolt of enlightening life-force if you wish, linking the Divine, the seer-poet, his words, and the reader together in a light-stringed web of understanding, passion and love.

The seer-poet knows he cannot beat his own heart, so he shares his energy (life-force) using verse, describing every event and circumstance that make up his humble existence. He lives in love and gratitude  and forever praises the Light that lives him. In return,  as Grace would have it, each vowel and consonant becomes a bolt of Light Supreme that draws the reader to the word. That is the nature of the Light-Giving Cycle. It’s like using a lit candle to light another one, and so on, and so forth.

To the seer-poet then, his work is neither epic, tragic, or comedic; it’s simply ECSTATIC! Although his poems do imitate life, they also imitate the Divine, Da (the Giver). How can the reader be captivated by mere words, void of Life Supreme, no matter how cleverly they may rhyme, are metered, or are in tune with the flute of the shadow goddess. If the heart is not touched, the reader may as well cast a blind eye to the page.

Transcendental poetry attracts those who are vulnerable, those who are suffering a total positive disillusionment with conditional existence. To the seer-poet, his work is not to make the reader feel good, or  bad; it’s intended purely to make the heart feel without limitation. True Ecstasy transcends limitation, therefore transcendental poetry transcends mere words.

Always in Love – KozRon

Sweet, sweet children

Of Africa, beautiful Africa

Breathed down from above

Living light

Danced down with Love

Dance down the Light…

Listen, hear

As the soulful bones

Of your ancestors

Drum on the living skin

Of the wild antelope

With thunderous frenzy

Dance down the Light…

Repaint the scorched landscape

Of the mighty Sudan

With the brush strokes

Of your ivory smiles

Birth your freedom, dance

Savour the gifts

Of the Great Nile

Dance down the Light…

Sweet, sweet children

Of Africa, beautiful Africa

Your dance is the key

Feel the wonder, the mystery

So DANCE!

Earth made flesh in the mind of man
As Bright Light flickers,
Then crashes in pounding waves
Upon the dusty shores of lake narcissus,
That vaporous mirror on which the drama of life
Is observed and eventually understood
As the play of Bright Light itself.

Light-stringed puppets reflected
Against a dark canvas,
Domain of she, the goddess of night supreme,
Cloaked in the guise of Love,
Bright Light’s eternal consort in this play of ‘other’.

Her brush breathes life into
The seed of every yielding fruit,
Every savoury herb, here,
Amid the sweet grasses of Eden
Lying asunder under her fertile sky of dark.

And so it is that Bright Light, being without form,
Gathers the dust of the earth
And shapes man, womb-man,
The apple and the serpent
From His shapeless void – birthing souls;
Souls lured by the rhythm of Love’s four winds,
Their hearts being danced upon by the
Bright Light that summoned them.

And Bright Light,
Being prior to the mind of mortal man,
Seeing only Itself reflected
Upon the surface of her moist canvas,
Sees that it’s all good.

Now, a great flood of desire is made to stir
In the immaculate womb of the night goddess,
There, under space’s firmament of sensual longing
Drawing Bright Light within herself
And weaving into form every thoughtless feeling
Impressed upon her by the mind of man,
Thus swelling her with child.

With time, in apparent space, the newborn is seen, praised,
And loved; and the newborn grows to see, and praise,
And love – a gesture of re-warding the very Life-Force
That sprouted its being from the pod of darkness.

It is said that this cycle can never be broken,
And it never has. It is the sacred dance of
Bright Light in the realm of the goddess;
Motionless Light in the domain of Love.
Timelessness in the realm of space.

Where is the illusion then, that death is inevitable?
Is it not founded in the perception of time itself?
The perception that creates a wound so deep in
The lover, who feels that the object
Of his love will eventually die?
Perceived time is nothing more than a longing in space.
In Truth, neither Bright Light, nor Love, long
While drifting in the kingdom of eternity.

Love is what vanishes time and space
In the mind of man.
Light is a gift of vision within apparent space, true seeing,
Ablaze by the sheer force of a thoughtless feeling;
That bright spark in the heart of every man,
Allowing, by Grace, the heart of man to really see
That Bright Light walks a narrow path,
And that all paths gather at one central point.
That point is Love.

Nevertheless, the mind of man is always on edge,
Wandering on the periphery of Bright Light and Love.
It is in the mind that all storms gather;
Causing waves upon the waters
Which are then swallowed whole by the famished sea-mother
Who delights in devouring her young.

Yes, the vast ocean of apparent time-space
Is the edible realm, you see;
Where every one and every thing preys
On some form or other,
Where every one and every thing consumes
Or is being consumed
Amid great fear and objection.

Have you not noticed this?
Death, then, appears real, therefore inevitable.
Before death one must relinquish
This impulse to fall from Love,
And to dance down the Bright Light,
Now, and now, and now.

There is no need to bring
The children forth out of Egypt
Nor part the sea leading into Israel.
Freedom is not elsewhere.
Simple awareness of bondage
Is the truth that sets one free.
Truth is being conscious of what is,
Not what will apparently be the case
At some point in time.
One cannot move from bondage
Into everlasting Freedom.
Be (heart-fully) mindful of what is binding you
And the hand that parts the sea
Frees you in that very moment.

There is really no time, and no space,
No distance at all between bondage and Freedom.
What is reflected against the misty lake of Narcissus
Is simply the refusal to be happy.
Doesn’t the sun sit still behind shifting clouds?
Where is darkness when the Greater Light
Swallows all and All?

Darkness is an error in the mind of man,
Spinning thoughts in egocentric fashion;
Not unlike planet earth in its motion around the sun,
Hence the shadow world.
Objects do not vanish by going somewhere else.
Objects vanish when they’re outshined by Bright Light Itself.
Therefore, when objects have disappeared, where are the shadows?

Always In Love – KozRon