
In a Midnight’s Mist
August 9, 2023A Cry from the Underground
August 3, 2023I walk through corridors of mortality and eavesdrop on midnight conversations behind closed doors. I seek passage thru flesh and blood. My body is aflame from within. Strange symbols, geometric shapes, hieroglyphics, and formulas arise with smoke under my skin. My whole body is ablaze with thought. “This must be what religious sighs are about,” whispered a voice, its origin unclear. Was it a fragment of my thoughts or an ethereal echo from outside?
I could no longer discern the boundaries between what resided within and what lingered in the realm beyond. The room seemed antique, an old globe of the Earth with mountains in relief rested on the table. Beyond it lying flat on the table old maps and pens. The lounge was filled with light streaming through the bamboo blinds, dust and what seemed smoke played through the bars of light. The rug looked familiar and the scent of aged paper emanated from the newspapers piled on the floor near the hat stand. Deje vu shimmered over the whole experience. I couldn’t remember how I got here but here I was.
My body’s posture, the arrangement of furniture in the room, and the very essence of the atmosphere—all reverberated through my nervous system. Every inch of my being tingled with anticipation, as a fresh wave of expectation surged within me, a neon tendril spiralling upward, igniting my nerve circuits. It was a jolt of recognition.
“Goggles won’t shield your vision here; only grace and prayer can,” the voice proclaimed, a little louder than a whisper. Was it within or without?
Aware that watchful eyes observed my every move, I carried the underground within my soul, fearing to be seen and recognized. In my world, to be recognized equated to the demise of the solitary man dwelling in the depths. My sole preoccupation was to exist within a semblance of freedom, an existence accustomed to the confines of necessity and fleeting desires. I believed that the subterranean recesses of my being would continue to graffiti accusations on the walls of time and space. Such eruptions, in their peculiar way, alleviate the burden of responsibility that weighed upon me.
Within my cube, heaven and hell were mere domains of shifting sand. The surface world revealed silhouettes of nature’s grandeur, while the subterranean perspective offered a parallax view—an elusive connection to some long-lost star. Here, in my cube of existence, the arc of coincidence stretches itself across wings of angels, as priests turn their gaze toward Jerusalem and fishermen toward the boundless ocean.
Here inside this cube, stars & galaxies appear under the guise of full stops. Sunlight cracks through sanity’s edges…just another fabrication to keep the emptiness away. I’m not afraid of emptiness; I can always find things to fill it with. What I worry about is the kind of things.
All of these are paperweights on my consciousness. My flat world cannot even be blown away!
Shipwrecked between head, heart, and soul, I skirt the periphery of existence, skating the thin veneer between illusion and reality. Here inside this cube…or is it a sphere?
I cry for release.
The Devil’s Secret
October 16, 2009
The following quote comes from ” The Conference of the Birds” a beautiful Sufi Persian Book of Poems written in 1177 by Farid ud – Din Attar.
During the 1970’s it was adapted into a play by Peter Brook and Jean-Claude Carriere which Brook took on a tour through parts of wild Africa and performed in the streets and later to Western audiences in New York, Paris and in Sydney. I was lucky at the time because I was living in Sydney and saw it. The play communicated at a very subliminal level in that it didn’t really matter if you understood rationally what the actors were saying because the “meaning” was transmitted almost viscerally through the movements and the sounds that emanated from the stage.
The devil’s secret:
God said to Moses once: “Go out and find
The secret truth that haunts the devil’s mind,”
When Moses met the devil that same day
He asked for his advice and heard him say:
“Remember this, repeat it constantly,
Don’t speak of ‘me’, or you will be like me.”
If life still holds you by a single hair,
The end of all your toil will be despair;
No matter how you prosper, there will rise
Before your face a hundred smirking “I”s.
The Conference of the Birds

“Manteq at-Ṭayr” (“Conference of the Birds”)
I’m a Holy Man
September 9, 2009I wrote this rhyming “poem” on a day when I was pissed off reading stories about gurus and fake “holy” ones who have expensive cars and luxurious life styles so that they can smash the stereotype that the “sacred” is somehow tied in with voluntary poverty. You don’t need me to point out the orange and the lemon people, the boy swami who smiles with a diamond glint from his teeth, the guru who teaches prosperity while touching up sweet boys and girls.
I know, it’s not just the New Age types that do this, what with paedophilia and rampant materialism in the church, the synagogue, the mosque and the temple.
Getting back to my “I’m a Holy Man”, I know that I wasn’t cool and detached. In many ways it is a childish rant but, hey, that’s OK…..here it is >>>
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I’m a Holy Man.
Sitting on top of this icy mountain
my eye gazes on this dicy situation.
Nation on nation fall in rotation
while I’m on my long vacation,
here in my last reincarnation.
I’m a holy man, that’s what I am.
Don’t need no mama to hold my hand,
just need a mantra to be what I am,
cos’ I’m a holy man, the only man, oh yeh!
Liberation is here in my corporation
sign off your isolation with a donation.
Give me your adulation and veneration,
I’ll guarantee there’ll be no more damnation
here in this holy reservation.
I’m a holy man, that’s what I am.
Don’t need no mama to hold my hand,
just need a mantra to be what I am,
cos’ I’m a holy man, the only man, oh yeh!
If you freak out in this wasteland
you can sneak out to this dreamland.
You can howl out what’s been unchained.
You can throw out what’s been retained.
You can swallow what’s been profaned.
Yeh, I’m a holy man, that’s what I am.
Don’t need no mama to hold my hand,
just need a mantra to be what I am,
cos’ I’m a holy man, a holy, holy man,
the only man, a lonely, lonely man, oh yeh!

Fortune of Unloaded Hips
August 23, 2009
This is a set of song lyrics I wrote ages ago. I looked and looked for the cassette recordings of all these songs I recorded with a bunch of mates, all those years ago and I can’t find one! It’s sad because I like to hear what I sounded like singing these and other songs, along with the music my friends made. They may not be the greatest songs written, but they are mine. Oh well, at least I still have the words and as you know I’ve been posting the lyrics from time to time. Below is a scanned script of my written lyrics.

Searching for Ithaka – C. P. Cavafy
May 5, 2009The following quote from the Greek poet C. P. Cavafy resonates deeply with me.
I was 48 when I returned to my place of birth, Ithika, Greece. It was strange sensation being a “tourist” in Athens. After I visited my relations and saw my birthplace ( a little stone cottage with a dirt floor, that was uninhabitable and about to be demolished ) I felt more and more as a fellow Ellinas (Greek).
There are photos of my journey through Greece on this blog. I may upload more later. Anyway, Cavafy’s beautiful prose poem gives another dimension to my late return to my mother land. Australia is my home now, this is where my wife and children reside, though my heart at times feels Ithaka is where I belong.
Of course, Ithaka, can also be metaphorical and the quote below is a universal statement about seeing that the journey itself is what the search is about and not the finding. Ithaka? Heaven? Shangri La?

Searching for Ithaka
Keep Ithaka always in your mind. Arriving there is what you’re destined for. But don’t hurry the journey at all. Better if it lasts for years, so you’re old by the time you reach the island, wealthy with all you’ve gained on the way, not expecting Ithaka to make you rich. Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey. Without her you wouldn’t have set out. She has nothing left to give you now. And if you find her poor, Ithaka won’t have fooled you. Wise as you will have become, so full of experience, you’ll have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.

C. P. Cavafy
Where is He? – Jelaluddin Rumi
May 4, 2009I tried to find Him on the Christian cross, but He was not there; I went to the Temple of the Hindus and to the old pagodas but I could not find a trace of Him anywhere.
I searched on the mountains and in the valleys but neither in the heights nor in the depths was I able to find Him. I went to the Kaaba in Mecca, but He was not there either.
I questioned the scholars and philosophers but He was beyond their understanding.
I then looked into my heart and it was there where He dwelled that I saw Him : He was nowhere else to be found.
I took a picture of his tomb in Konya, Turkey. Click here to see it.
Some other quotes by Rumi:
This quote below we used on the homepage of the HopeCaravan website, which is no longer active. However, the yahoo group still is on the net though it is no longer active.
“Come, come, whoever you are.
Wanderer, worshipper, lover of leaving.
It doesn’t matter.
Ours is not a caravan of despair.
Come, even if you have broken your vow
A hundred times.
Come, yet again, come, come.”
Other quotes which have touched me include:
“Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.”
“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I will meet you there.”
“Only from the heart can you touch the sky.”
“Let the beauty of what you love be what you do.”
“You were born with wings. Why prefer to crawl through life?”
Rumi
Posted by stavr0s 


