rex tremendae maiestatis
qui salvandos salvas gratis:
salva me, fons pietatis
?
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I . M I S S I N G
a sense of what's missing
that's missing sometimes
is it?
Really?
what is real?
what is truth?
what just - is?
is there something there?
something I do not see?
something I do not hear?
something I do not know of?
I do not know?
(there's countless things that I do not know)
(do I know that?)
(I'm hoping I always will)
there's more
much more
out there:
my inner microcosm
cannot hold
all outside definers
all outside confiners
all outside illusions:
I am
because I know I am?
because I think I am?
because I believe I am?
(who do I believe I am)
(who do I think I am)
(who do I know I am)
do I?
I do.
I think.
Is that so.
a poem
and a prayer
are not that different a genre:
both meditate
on the abyss
of (human) existence
(I simply can't tell
what "my" cat is
thinking
right now.
he looks quite absent-
minded
though:
I do look the same
once sunken in thought:
are outward similarities revealing,
or merely deceiving?)
how should I know.
maybe someone else does.
please.
is there someone there?
I I . O R I G I N
in the beginning
there is a void
I know nothing
of how I began
what I know
is what I've been told
no memories
maybe some very dark, archetypal ones
lurking too deep, deep down
don't want to disturb them
and then, reverse the procedure:
the end:
no hunches, clarifying messages there either
(discounting, for now, all wish-belief and voices of authority)
this is about me
only about me
contemplating
in a heightened state
(I wish)
about what is near
about what is dear
about what is --- fear!
my past insecure --- who then am I?
my future uncertain --- who then could I be?
the present stays caught in the muddle
and the meddling
of the middle position:
my center cannot hold
it moves, without wanting to move,
without moving physically at all,
it moves
on the temporal axis
my physical center
is on a train without stops nor returns
just some hazy beginning
and a definite end
draws my mind, my heart, my soul,
along this axis of determinancy:
I feel myself torn
apart
by time:
and linger I can't
yet linger I must
yet there's always a price to be paid
it can be steep
choices missed
look never the same once revisited
even my cells
my very own building blocks
die and new ones are born, replacing the old
I'm a sack of soon to be ashes
riding along on the Einstein-mobile
the only constant thing
my bauplan
all other things
are fleeting so
amidst all craziness
and movement:
I am a prisoner of this game
yet there are things that can be done
with time
alongside time
growing little ideas
and planting them
next to me
seeing them grow
with me
let's build us forests and cathedrals of the mind
our dear imaginary friends
our truest children
solid memes
that maybe
in the end
they will outlive us
telling the tale
of their creator
far longer
after we've gone
whose meme then am I?
I I I . T H E G O O D L I F E
what is this:
a life worth living
a life, in the end,
that I would be worthy
to have been
part of:
who's asking this question
anymore
today?
while not merely thinking
about material gain
and personal comfort:
what is this:
a life worth living
a life, in the end,
that did provide sense
to the senselessness
of all as it seems?
you know,
I'm not that fond
of religion
per se:
the idea
of the search
tends to get buried
in tedious ritual
the idea
of god
tends to get masked
by too certain a knowledge
of what is supposed
to be an ideal,
a hope:
yet still
I cringe
occasionally
at the sight
of the profanity
of things
of the lack
of sacredness
of life,
itself,
of the lack
of feeling
and at the sight
of the robotic compliance
with a life
of servitude
to things unseen: but far less human: and far less divine
what is this:
a life worth living
I do not know
yet still I seek
once you've lost the search
what else do you have?
I V . T H E S E A R C H
what is it, then,
I am looking for?
what am I going
into the wilderness metaphorical
to see?
a prophet? a king?
neither but quite:
prophets are nuts
and kings far too authoritarian
for a feller
like me:
were someone to come at me
saying,
I am god
or the son of god
or the prophet of god:
what should I care
why would that change
anything?
what would change
if there were a god?
would things be less cruel?
would things seem less arbitrary?
would life then be easier?
would my searching be over?
would my life make more sense?
am I looking for sense?
what is it, now,
I am looking for?
is it sense
in the senselessness of life?
but I do not see
life as senseless
and a god
would not give more sense
than there already is:
well, maybe, a purpose? a destiny even?
(is this still a poem? or something else? should care I at all?)
should care I
'bout the existence of god?
first of all,
the concept of "god" is mightily,
mightily,
mightily quite
misunderstood:
yes, there is a difference
between the gods and the concept of "god"
gods are, indeed, just demons
daimonia
things
quite in our head:
some voices of authority
some faces in the clouds
in the shapes of humanity
and the power of myth
"god"
though
is something else:
an idea
not a critter
a word
not a being
logos
indeed:
should we call it a grand narrative then?
darn it,
too much literary theory
an invitation,
perhaps:
to yearn for something bigger
to year for something grander
to yearn for something more universal
than our own, small existence:
it is easy
to believe
to be made
in the image of god
it becomes more difficult, though,
once you can never know
how that image would look like
so, how do I measure myself
with regards to a divinity
unknown - and unknowable?
first of, I'd gather,
I would forget
about any commandments:
any instructions:
any old dogma:
too definite a knowledge
that would be
if the source of the knowledge
would need to stay hidden:
thou shalt make no graven images
indeed:
curiously, now,
life
as contingency
seems much more normal
and my uncertainty
much more a gift
than anything
concrete:
and maybe,
the end of the search
is the search
in itself
(how Daoist
so suddenly
this has here become:
but maybe this I misunderstood)
V . T E M P V S F V G I T
life
is a race
against time
you better do
what you can
in what has been
allotted to you
in an amount
unknown
V I . D E F I N E R
am I maybe
kidding myself?
talking philosophy
talking (hopefully, educated) doubt
while religion
is also,
well, mostly
believers
organized
in a hierarchy
having agreed
upon a dogma:
where belief
becomes knowledge
asserted,
unproven
who am I now
as a searcher?
I know it too well:
in a society of know-it-alls
and true believers
that one asking a question
can only be
three things:
a heretic
an apostate
or a prophet
I'm not a prophet
as towards apostasy, I'm still just a tad here unsure
as towards heresy, well, who is defining those things?
welcome
to the purgatory
of doubt:
I would not want
to have it
any
other
way
remember:
Jesus was a rebel
fighting the Pharisees
and the Sadducees
and the high interpreters of scripture almighty:
knowledge is hubris
and sometimes, belief becomes heresy:
doubt
is king
within both academia
and serious religion:
who is the heretic now?
(fat chance, I'm not that convincing:
don't people want safety?
don't want they strict knowledge?)
V I I . M A S T E R S
sometimes
well, most of the times
(sometimes you just don't quite know it)
you're not on your own
you're being watched
subjected
to forces quite uncontrollable:
even if be it just little things
different approaches
may constitute mistakes
are turned into sins
and turn then against you:
do you then
lose faith in yourself?
do you then
capitulate to the opinions of others?
do you then
redefine your life according to them?
you can choose to comply
you can choose to hide
you can choose to not reveal your true self:
but then,
the betrayal of your soul
will hurt more
than sins
imagined by others
"thine own self be true"
as quite so often
there's a reason
Shakespeare is still the master
in so many ways
there shalt not be
stoic indifference
to the world around:
yet neither
slavish compliance
with a world not entirely your own
who's life is it, anyway?
V I I I. U N B E K N O W N S T
there are things
happening
unbeknownst
to me
there are truths
self-evident
unbeknownst
to me
(there is a greater power ---
this is one of the steps
of humankind anonymous)
the world
does not
revolve
around me
but I
do not merely
revolve
around the world
either:
there's dignity
in humility
just as well
as in self-preservation:
I want to be
I want others to be
these two
need always
belong
together
I X . P U R P O S E
is this here now
an argument poetical
in favor of
the necessity
of religion?
or an investigation philosophical
into whatever
would be
understood
thereby?
I am not sure
so I'm guessing then,
it would be the latter?
X . N U N C E T I N S A E C V L A S A E C V L O R V M
is that
which we believe to be new
maybe quite old?
is that
which we believe to be old
maybe quite new?
project we not
into the past
the hopes of tomorrow
project we not
into the future
the fears of the past?
how can we
become free
if we won't see
what keeps us in bondage:
old and both new?
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