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Monday, August 31, 2015

TEN THOUSAND PATHS TO DAWN AT THE PEAK OF THE SILVER MOUNTAIN ------- THE REST OF THE POEM











In the immaculate heaven of the Lord of Life,
There is neither gain nor loss;
To we fools lost in mundane wandering
Each day seems the same.


Those who seek the Ultimate
Have nowhere to turn for guidance;
In the West we are bereft
Blinded by materiality.


It's just one small step to lift the veil
So that the sun will rise within you;
The Son will rise within your mind
And you'll be One and not two.


Words can mar most things,
Names are a great deception;
The names for God, the devil's names
Have been wrong from the inception.


The names of poets matter not,
One poet only has blessings;
One Name disguised as many names
Only the nameless can undress you.


And guide you to the holy place
Between the forehead and the breast bone:
The crucible is right here
To transmute lead to gold.


Only one Cosmos, just one Mind
At the core of the holy fountain;
There are ten thousand paths to dawn
At the peak of the silver mountain.


Words cannot, will not express
        what is worth expressing;
The magic circle of the Mind rests on the
         eternal stone
Rock of ages, rock of the soul
The world resides on a river of stone;
A friend will take you hand and lead you
To the magic temple.


This very night as the full moon throws out
        dancing angels,
10,000 spirits in their dreams come
        to swirl around;
The holy source of everything will accept
        no names
The changing Spirit won't be called
         anything but change.


There is a genius at the core everyone 
         embodies,
But marred, distracted by commercial games
No one sees the Way;
If I can't penetrate your mind
What will you ever see?
In the lineage of Osho
The fields are ripe for planting.


There are 10,000 paths to dawn at the peak
         of the silver mountain.
But you will never see the Source
          deluded by so many passions;
No name will persuade you; no name
           will set the mark,
 A billion new illusions will keep us
            in the dark.








                               
                               (C)2015 by W.G. Milne






        I just spent three days on an island in the middle of Lake Nipissing, a lake that is ninety miles long at
North Bay, Ontario. I was on a friend's property. Obviously the Spirit of the place is quite strong for these words just poured through me
at 4:00 A.M. when I had no thoughts at all in my head.
        The silence was unending and magnificent. Only the sound of lapping water could be heard, and the sound of birds and wind in the pines.


                                        Thanks,    Tim and Greg.

Thursday, August 27, 2015

Loudon Wainwright III - Carrickfergus




          In that I'm a writer... I have to spend long periods


of time alone. I've accepted this, and I don't really mind
it to be honest with you... And I always try to be honest
with you, dear reader, after all you're not a hanging judge.... Or
at least, you're not my judge - so I can be honest with
you. 
         In all this time that I spend by myself, I tend to listen
to songs I love.  And I cry in my beer during the love songs.
Only sometimes...
         But this song is problematic... OK, this song renders
me, occasionally, to my hands and knees... and to crawling to
some corner where I cannot be observed... sobbing in a
most unmanly fashion.


        Carrickfergus is a TRADITIONAL IRISH love song.
And if you listen to it five or six times in a row, you'll
notice certain facts that make the gorgeous melody, the story
even more disturbing.


         The singer is drinking all the way through the song.
It's important to understand this - for the hopes that he
"I would swim over the deepest ocean"
                   or
"With gold and silver I would support her"... these
are unrealistic and impossible dreams which make
the song even more tragic.


        For there's no  way our singer is ever
going to swim far over or support her.  "My childhood
friends have all departed".... That means they've
died.  So the singer is no longer any
spring chicken - and even if he were a spring
chicken, there's no way he's going to make
it across that body of water between Ireland and
England North/Scotland.
        Ah, but he loves her.  And there's no doubt about that!
How do I know?  Because it's a rule.  If the melody
is beautiful - he loves her!
        
         "I am sick now..." well, yeah. He's not going
to make it, but the romantic dream of his love fills
his heart, and that's true. Otherwise there's no
way he could sing about her with such a beautiful melody.
At least this is my belief. And I'm sticking to it.


           Images of death are all through this song
(Kilkenny - marble stones as black as ink)... "My
days are numbered."  Yeah, well all our days
are numbered... as a specialist explained to me
in the hospital this morning.


           The deepest ocean... the deepest ocean -
my love to find...
            (Now "the handsome boatman" suggests
to me that once this song was sung by a woman...
But let's not worry about who sings it, now.)


           At any rate, a great song! I hope my few
comments do not detract from the beauty
of the ballad.
















                                                      Cheers!   Bill Milne