The Signal
A fragmented existence,
In combination with,
Fragmented histories,
In the era of the product,
Produces Lazarus of Lazaraen
ontology,
Bewildered, un-rooted, unhinged ...
Part this,
Part that,
All simultaneously unfolding,
Amidst the noise,
And confusion,
Its depths and width,
Seemingly infinite.
To be alive in it,
And with it,
Wholly present,
In the awareness of the multiple,
To be wholly in what we are of,
The angels and demons,
The bliss and the pain,
The loss and the gain,
The sane and the insane.
To sit with it all,
Until the knots relax,
And slip/slip,
Oh what struggle for clarity amidst
the noise,
When you are deafened, enveloped,
By the endless crackling,
Creeping in through every crevice,
Penetrating every crack,
Filtering through every seam,
Infiltrating to the core,
Colouring all within and without.
The signal only emerges from this
awareness,
An uncompromisingly inviting one,
One that does not seek to block or
delete,
But releases what it grasps,
That lets it slip through one’s
fingers,
Light, gentle,
Like a whisper, a soft breeze.
If it settles,
Let it be only a momentary settling,
Breath on a window pane,
That cannot hold its place.
When you act, act completely,
And when you pause, let it be the
same,
For action and non-action are
actions all the same,
Each to be employed with care, with
devotion,
Lest the demons rise up through the
cracks in our awareness,
And take over,
Leading us to who knows where,
And to who knows what.
The fight always moves both inward
and outward,
It is never unidirectional,
That awareness,
Is the mark of true action,
That seeks real change,
Action that unlocks the cycles from
their loci,
That breaks with the past,
That births the new,
And restores life to the living,
Raising Lazarus from the dead,
Breathing life into the necropolis.
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