Tag Archives: poem

I began…

I began traveling at the speed of thought
my body weary my consciousness fraught,
with the realization that we are more
than stardust at our very core.

I began thinking at the speed of thought
as my memory searched for which I sought,
the whole is greater than the sum of its’ parts
it was there I chose to make a start.

My thoughts moving faster than the speed of sound
mere atoms and particles could not be found.
The matter of mind though visible in light
was not what I sought, not now, not quite.

I began thinking at the speed of light
beyond the boundaries of mere sight,
searching for what is at the core
I looked inside the open door.

I began pondering thought itself
not material in nature, I thought to myself.
If matter were all and everything we are,
an evolution to consciousness from a mere star?

I began to see with a spiritual sight
materiality at last, having lost the fight.
Bringing to mind that we are certainly more
than stardust at our very core!

Gene Simia*

At the Speed of God

*Who is Gene Simia? I haven’t the faintest idea, I never met him and I probably never will. All I know is that he is an American from Ohio whose “interests include: Study of history, science, mathematics, music and the humanities (…) writing poetry, small stories(for children), pianist, singer and percussionist.”

Be Still My Soul (In You I Rest).

O dark dark dark. They all go into the dark,
The vacant interstellar spaces, the vacant into the vacant,
The captains, merchant bankers, eminent men of letters,
The generous patrons of art, the statesmen and the rulers,
Distinguished civil servants, chairmen of many committees,
Industrial lords and petty contractors, all go into the dark,
And dark the Sun and Moon, and the Almanach de Gotha
And the Stock Exchange Gazette, the Directory of Directors,
And cold the sense and lost the motive of action.
And we all go with them, into the silent funeral,
Nobody’s funeral, for there is no one to bury.
I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you
Which shall be the darkness of God. As, in a theatre,
The lights are extinguished, for the scene to be changed
With a hollow rumble of wings, with a movement of darkness on darkness,
And we know that the hills and the trees, the distant panorama
And the bold imposing facade are all being rolled away—
Or as, when an underground train, in the tube, stops too long between stations
And the conversation rises and slowly fades into silence
And you see behind every face the mental emptiness deepen
Leaving only the growing terror of nothing to think about;
Or when, under ether, the mind is conscious but conscious of nothing—
I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.
Whisper of running streams, and winter lightning.
The wild thyme unseen and the wild strawberry,
The laughter in the garden, echoed ecstasy
Not lost, but requiring, pointing to the agony
Of death and birth.
(excerpt of the poem East Coker by T. S. Elliot)

Caminhada.(3)
Publicado em 30 Agosto 2011