The Art of Psychedelic (The Midlife Melodrama of Wit Warrior)

The Art of Psychedelic (The Midlife Melodrama of Wit Warrior)

My name is Wit Warrior,
83 years, 13 months, and 32 days old
The world doesn’t seem any older to me,
Than it did, when I decided that I was bored with it
The many myriad images,
Of desolate forests and broken souls of flowers,
Are but a tiny flickering to me,
In the endless expanse of space that I access

I broke the boundaries with old friends,
All those many years ago
We, like kids in a candy store,
Having a go at every molecule we found colored,
With even a tiny ounce of rebellion
I’ve seen things, heard, loved, and hated,
Opened avenues within me that,
Only the skies can know the true nature of
That sweet word, REALITY
I stitched the fragrance of it fibrously onto,
The deserted canvas of my imagination
And how I’ve danced with its many meanings,
Throughout my years

I’ve seen so many children in the sunshine,
Making choices, that broke them, that made them
To live on omelettes, chai, and rolled cigarettes
To scale the soft cushion covers in high penthouses,
Drinking bourgeoisie wine and making love,
To plastic dolls and rubber toys
Men drift too much to the east, and sometimes the west,
Some choose principle, honor, patriotism
The others choose love, madness, dancing, and rum
The few choose polished shoes and trimmed beards,
The many choose daytime jobs and evening whisky
Men choose too much, but me,
I’ve been as clueless as the sea waving blindly,
With open eyes, at the sky

There is a dimension to living,
That my way of mind has opened to me
It is, a kind of secret door in the psyche
There are two intelligences
One made of numbers, analysis,
Endless counting, metallic, perfect
But the other, is mine
It is untouched, yet entirely felt,
Ungrasped, yet so tangible
There is a kind of style in this way of life,
To groove on the edges, of risk,
And yet stay unbitten, unsmitten,
By it all
To notice the leaves dancing in fall’s death rhyme,
Is one aperture for human eyes
But to see, the sweet untold songs of death,
Being sung in the silence of red and yellow leaves,
To see the sweetness of death’s ugly feminine touch,
To waltz along with the absolute meaninglessness of existence,
That is the other aperture
Through which all men find a strange,
Lasting peace

The language of poetry only creates walls,
Around the sting of life’s true touch
But all men must write, for it is the only medium,
Through which our thirsting aches for expression,
Find fruitful waters

When I watch the news,
Have a little conversation at the grocery store
I cannot help but perceive,
The separation of my soul from the rest of it all
It is not, that I loathe it,
Or that I wish it was otherwise
Perhaps it was meant to be;
The flavorless tunes of loneliness,
The dull vibrancy of a settled happy life,
The absolute security of a lovely damsel,
And the cherishment of fresh, beady-eyed children
I construe this universe to be a great chaos,
Through my melodic explorations into the endless psyche,
With molecules, shortened breaths, and simple silences
I have seen this chaos, and the choice to find melody in it
Men are too lost in choices,
Our confusion is too great to truly communicate
You see me? I walk the middle, the inside path
I am neither this, nor that
I have no principles, I am bound by no reason
But I am reason

I watch the dabbling noisy ocean of humanity,
Striving to induce meaning,
Into their words, their treaties, their theories
So many men who are so convinced,
So sure, that death can be avoided,
By chasing some great dream
I saw it the day I opened my eyes,
With the molecule, without it
It didn’t matter, my eyes were open
I was looking at an old friend,
Death, dissolution, end, finale,
And it felt good.
All men must die, that is what they are born to achieve
There are some things, however,
That last forever
Like questions, born from old answers,
What is man? Who dies? What dies?

“The seeking must stop!”
We’ve heard that before

And all those many years,
As I swayed into those dangerous realms,
Of clear tangible beauty,
And little sweet droplets of tormenting wisdom
I felt it for the first time,
I felt the weight of being alive
And it released me,
Into a blissful corridor of absolute delight
And I saw the origin of this entire cosmos,
It came from, why ‘ME!’

There is an art in life that too few men find the time,
To discover and master;
This art is ancient, so ancient,
And yet so timeless
That drives us to live with magic,
Crawling and battling at ease,
To birth ecstasy in the concrete manors of mundanity
And find fullfilment in the smaller perspectives of movement

We set ourselves goals so high,
And parameters too unreal to be tuned into our realities
Men live with such delightful theories,
Of perfection
It is not that we need change in this world,
You see,
As it is; this cosmos is splendid
This little earth with its little germs,
Creating war, endless murder,
The perpetual social catastrophes in our communities
Lovers appreciating intricate architecture,
Thieves and rapists, terrorists, and masked bombers,
Milkmen and prostitutes,
Drunks and drug addicts, conmen,
The children of midnight doing business at dawn,
The machine maker, the code cracker,
The marketing maniac, the suited salesman,
The suicidal, the ambitious, the artistic, the calculative
I see them all as one creative movement,
One explosion of life
Ah the several aspects of living,
The numerous creaks through which we find expression
These are the lovely little acts of living,
Are sweet scenes in a delightful drama,
And it makes no meaning,
To proclaim the elements of this drama,
Within the drama itself!

But well, that is the folly every poet must turn to,
Every artist, artisan, and engineer of innovative living,
To proclaim the drama, within the great act

We must, so that a few men,
Might wake up to see,
That life after all,
Is quite an intricate thing
Quite a complex thing
And, is quite worth living
Whether entrenched in meaning,
Or abandoned to oblivion

It is not, my friend, that these things,
Might come to your understanding,
One great eventual day
Most of these things are left to die,
Without finding the halls of universities,
And worse, the hearts of living sentient beings
But, what drama is there in understanding alone?
What adventure will we find in complete revelation?
What joy will we discover in eternal clarity?

The dance is in the chaos,
And the truth in the laughter,
That erupt from our untouchable innocence
My friend, it is sweet when we look at the colors of living,
The delectable opportunity for eternal exploration,
Answering the mating calls of the unknown
And yelling, “That’s fucking psychedelic, man!”

artwork: Archan Nair – Alchemy Resonance

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Music from the Void

Music from the Void

I often think that the nature of love, or perhaps it would be better to say that the nature of the concept of love that is used in our society is based entirely on the understanding of self-desire and self-fullness. While most of us are unaware of this simple fact, the operation of love, and the perception of it are propelled by self-fullness.

When we say to someone, it would be great if you would do this, and we propose that idea justifying it by our conviction that we propose it because we feel it is best for the beloved, we forget that is only in our self-interests that we make such propositions.

We find very few instances in our society in which people set aside their selves in order to commit an action. If we remove the sentimental quality we associate with love, we see that we are free to love more genuinely and in ways that are more original and effective. The sentimental quality associated with love is what deteriorates the understanding and expression of it. Sentiment is a kind of gravity that aims to alter the external experience of life in order to make it fall in line with the inner desires for experience.

The initiation of understanding is in the acceptance of our innate selfishness. In compliance with the moral code of society in general, it is considered to be a rather distasteful thing to be selfish or self-full. If we bring ourselves down to the very bindings of nature, we see that selfishness is an encoded aspect of behavior that is necessary to the survival of the organism. We denied this very basic aspect of survival and created a delusional opposite called selflessness through which the principle of selfishness has been unconsciously propagated, fuelled, and made to thrive.

Every human being or most human beings prefer to fall in line with the norms of the social family. As a result, we see cues and cues of individuals striving permanently to destroy their individuality and arrive at a situation in which they can be a cog or a simple screw in the vast matrix of social structure. On further observation, we come to observe a very simple but paradoxical aspect of human behavior. We strive for social acceptance in order to understand our roles as individuals but in doing so we burn and destroy the energy that actually supports our individuality. You’ll come across very few ‘individuals’ in this world. Most folk walking around are collected chunks of ideas who happen to breathe and move.

Returning to love, or let’s call that thing love for now. I’ve seen that though children have no idea of what love is, they seem to be the only folks capable of it in the world. Does this mean that the idealization or the objectification of love is what distances us from it? What if we’ve always been in love? And there came along this day when we were told that it is a good thing to love and we began to strive for it and in doing so distanced ourselves from it? You see when I say love you must burn the entire sentimentality that is associated with it. People avoid love talk because they hate sentiment. They also fail to understand that sentiment has nothing to do with love. Words carry great power, and power goes both toward the light and the darkness, understanding and ignorance. Love is just a word, if you can find out what it points to you might see more for yourself. Let’s say for now that love is that thing which is the most innate desire of every individual.

When you ask a man what he desires, you get very simple answers, answers such as a new job, or a fantastic college education, or a woman, or some delusional idea of spiritual gratification which is nothing but an idea. Nobody knows what they want. Nobody understands what want is in the first place. Have you ever really asked yourself what you really desire? If you do, it would be really hard to nail it down to the one thing you really want in life. If you’re really honest with yourself, I don’t know if you’ll find anything that you really want. It’s funny how we spend most of our lives chasing pleasures and when we sit down to find what we really want, honestly, we find nothing at all. You might choose to tell yourself that what you really want is money, that that is your most honest answer. Whether we say it’s materialistic or a low desire or anything of that sort, you say that’s the most honest answer you’ve got. And then you spend your years, in honesty, chasing this desire and bringing it to fruition on a regular basis. You might probably stumble upon this day when you meet an even more honest answer, boredom. You’ve gotten all the money in the world possible and expressed that wealth in the most fantastical ways imaginable and then you meet this moment in which you feel you’re done with money. What next? I don’t know.

The human mind is an operation that thrives on excuses to escape momentary perceptions of reality. It loves to project the alchemy of energies into scales of time, and time is dream stuff. Alchemy of energy here means the transformation of raw will into material manifestations, or subtle movements in energy fields. Whatever it is, it basically is the manifestation of will into the perceptible world. Why do we have dreams? We have dreams because we block this manifestation and allow it to remain swirling about in a very low energy plane. We do not allow the will to move through to higher dimensions of manifestation. And hence, we end up living lives of repression, spitefulness, confusion, and dread. Most of our lives are lived in dream and if you deny that very simple fact, you’re either from a different species or blatantly cheating yourself. The human story is complex dream stuff.

So getting down to the crux of this very un-cosmic issue, we see that resistance to life movement is basically nothing but us. The fact that we think we exist. There is a paradoxical idea that lives in human society. It would be a paradox to say it itself. There is an idea that lives in the human mind, an idea that the mind itself exists and the understanding of this idea destroys the idea itself. Mind is dream stuff. When you ask me why I say so, I wouldn’t have an answer for you. You and I operate within a dream. And it becomes very difficult for a dream to become aware of itself, for that simply means the dream would end, and we don’t want ourselves to end.

Always in the logical universe, we say that to every problem there should be a solution. There is no solution to a problem such as this. We are thoughts that move about in a universal matrix. These thoughts are constructed with energy and they change on a regular basis. Change is perceived by each thought as its own death and each thought is unaware that death in this case is only a re-structuring of the energy system. We can get into the whole business of desire and the transcendence of it but all that jabber for the last few thousand years has only proved the idiocy of the whole operation. You cannot transcend desire. You are the desire of the universe. There’s no point in the talk of transcending yourself.

So how do we tackle this issue? We can’t. We simply see it for what it is and begin dancing to the music that erupts from the conflict gaps of creation. The things that make the universe spin are the things words cannot bring to expression. We cannot build edifices to explain the mystery that runs the show. Somehow though, we’ve been blessed with the ability to dance at our confusion. Maybe that was meant to be the climax all along, to learn to dance in the chains of our suffering and laugh at the madness of our hearts.

Words will forever fail, and we will for at least a while try to change this very inevitable fate of verbalism. There will come a day when the children of men will trade music with the heavens without sound. On that day I will meet you in the skies and share a whisky with you, and we can tell each other of our new plans for a new world.

Image – The White Void, the Cold Steel by Myrdah