Paracletus!

All songs below copyright Harry Langen, 2010, Vancouver

ACT ONE
SONG ONE

BE SO MEAN
-SETH

(overture)


What's the matter with this scene?
How do I get off this runaway train?
I've seen enough! I've had my fill!
Take back my ticket! Too much pain!
I want off this train! Off this train!

You're the one who makes this place!
Get on down here! Show your face!
Take a look around. Like what you see?
Countless children, helpless and needy.

Have a good look, you S.O.B.
All of your making, everything you see.

A sweet, oh sweet, dear dear lady;
No luck! No luck for the bag lady!

Come on down you S.O.B.
Let's see if you like what you see!

(dance interlude)

You're the matter with this scene!
You're the master of this scene!

Get on down here, I gotta know
How could you be so mean?
How could you be so mean?
Be so mean?


ACT ONE
SONG TWO

MY MELANCHOLY PHRASE
-RIVERGOD


Silence! Burn my ears no more!

Who be you? Who pray tell are you? (-Seth)

I am. I am here of the will of the waterfall.
I am the Lord of the fountains, the Rivergod.
You Seth have awakened me.
Now what is it you will have of me?

Look! Look! Take a look at this scene!
How could h be so mean, how could he be so mean? -Seth

Yes I see. Oh I see and wonder I, do I:
Why man, why?
Isn't it nearly beyond belief?
How can he expect from Him relief?

He's the matter with this scene!
He's the master of this scene! -Seth

Hark! Yes man grieves.
Darker and darker into the house goes he;
By his own hand does he chart his destiny.
Step by step, beat by beat goes the craze;
And onward I sing my melancholy phrase
As though to walk with head bent and eyes aglaze.

I read the mother's grief on every page
And hear the children hoping happy stories untold;
As i sweep by grandly the burial place of the sage
And into his arms my tears I fold.

Wonder little do I
Except, why man why?

I see white birds in a blue sky and watch the deerskins fade,
And in my body the silver beasts they wade;
But then on a moonless night, I hear this man a'scurry
A gritty thing in such a hurry
To relieve himself of the horror he has made.

Yes, man is of life, the immortal soul;
And yes he may be deified;
But as long as he lives like a bat in a hole
He'll take to his breast a witless bride.

But some day soon, some day soon
The white birds will flock and shout
Love is King, hope and power;
On mountains here and there about
Oh hear the wise birds sing!
Calling his name on every hour
And watch the bees a'swarm and put it on every flower!

Love will easily await its hour
Like me, I roll and wait, wait for its hour
Oh hear the wise birds sing,
Love is King, hope and power.



ACT ONE
SONG THREE

MY HEAVY YOUNG HEART
-SETH


Then send this love along
For my heavy young heart;
Send this hope and power on wings this holy hour.
My legs they weary and the roads are long.

Be sure the white birds they speed
And the bees to whisper this name to me
That I may laugh loud again and heed
The silvery side of leaf flutter the tree.

Let us roll while we wait together
Past a golden field where violets and heather
Colour the ground about and scampering squirrels
Make nature promise a better weather.

Bring this tumbling canopy closer
So there I can see these eyes of God, blue or green;
And hear the secret hymns of a caller
Who will tell me more, here about this scene.

So rush this love along
For my heavy young heart;
Speed this hopeful power on mighty wings this hour,
My legs they weary and the roads are long.

And even then, wild Rivergod,
My ears may hear the songs of Vishnu
My lips taste the milk and honey
But what of the child gone by the morning dew?

Even then great fountain and singer of sweet melodies
What then do we tell our little ones
Who ask and crave to know life's mysteries
When we ourselves seem the guilty ones?

What of them, mighty one?

So send me hope
And rush this love along
For then my heavy young heart to cope.



ACT ONE
SONG FOUR

UNDER THE RAINBOWS
-RIVERGOD


Be still good lad, take heart.
You see dear fellow, I too have watched
But for thousands of years and millions of moons
After some eons you mellow.

Under the shimmering rainbows flow I
To hear the ceaseless wind
And the secrets of the swaying treetops.
Flowing 'neath the misty galaxies find me lie.

I hear the calls which haunt me at midnight
Calling from beneath my belly.
They are the damned asking again for the right
To participate, crackle with light and end their folly.

For me I roll, roll while I wait do I;
Await the hour when comes the prince
To call for hope and the power
Call to the side and above that hour...

Love is King! Love is King!

The wise voices are few;
Rose petal-bearing winds can obscure.
Count them on one hand those true
Whose pinkish tongues sing so pure.

But then, see wily nature persevere
And in all of the white heat and blast,
Nonetheless or more you may hear
His voice so perfect bringing in the last.

Under the shimmering rainbows flow I;
To hear the ceaseless wind
And the secrets of the swaying treetops.
Flowing 'neath the misty galaxies find me lie.

So you see dear fellow,
I too have watched
But for thousands of years and millions of moons
After some eons you mellow.




ACT ONE
SONG FIVE

I AM BUT A BOY
- SETH



I hear your words, rolling rivergod
And do truly take them to heart
But what can I do? What can I do?
I am but a boy. Who will listen to but a boy?

The buildings are high and the banks are mighty,
The temples strange-coloured
And the priests are funny;
The hordes of the armies nine hundred and ninety!
Their knives taste red-blood, ne'er honey.

The noise of the pretender is loud
And the clamour makes them kingly;
Find a man in them true proud
Would indeed be a deed far-reaching.

Who will bend their ear
To a lad so menial as me?
The weight of their black purse, silky and dear,
Is even then greater than all of the kilos in me.

Will you send me the height?
Instruct your birds to pull me thither
That all the king's men will of a thought whither
At the sight of this Seth much bigger in might?

Shall I huff and I puff and blow down the house?
Shall I rattle my sword and swing it on high?
Breathe on them blue-burning fire, ne'er a douse?
Shall I then, Rivergod, alone myself,
Turn this world upside nigh?

I hear your goodly words oh God of streams
And do truly take them to heart;
But what can I do, what can I do?
I am but a boy. I am but a boy.
Who will listen to but a boy?




ACT ONE
SONG SIX

RIPPLES AT MOONLIGHT
-RIVERGOD



Let there be tens of thousands of golden temples
Reaching to the heavens all about my skirts;
And arches of emerald and sapphire spanning my girth,
And fleets of vessels of finest woods
And brightest brass upon my body,

And all of this together Seth, would not match
The elegance and the beauty, the wealth and the dignity
Of one of my ripples at moonlight!

For without heeding the god of nature,
Father God and Mother earth;
The soul of man is a passing blur
And his words are naught but echoes,
echoes in the dark.

Remember Seth: Man was meant to enjoy;
All things in nature mingle for naught but his edification
Love is king and will prevail!
As it is the very stuff of creation.
And so see this now and be not afraid boy!
See this now and be not afraid boy!

Look deep, deep into your soul
And therein and about
Find the stuff of which you need
To build anew and plant the seed.

There! There is a way! There in your soul
To pull even a flower from a wretched hole!
Love! Love is the lighted sword held highly
Illuminating the way to sweetest victory.

Come to my side, the riverside.
Come to your friend who has the might!
When your soul is weary and your heart is heavy
And I'll show you one of my ripples at moonlight.

Ha! Ha! Ha! Not even tens of thousands of temples!
(sounds of sighing and burbling)



ACT ONE
SONG SEVEN

I HEAR AND LIVE
-SETH


Now I see! Now I do! I see indeed!
Even in me is a light so glowing great
I'll find the way though narrow and straight!
That the pierced red body of love no longer bleed.
I see indeed!

You, rolling God of the river;
You Lord of the streams and gusher of fountains;
I thank thee your waterfalls,
For unstopping mine ears and finishing my fears.

Your white birds are true and fast
Your bees sting me alive!
In your voice I find refuge, your words are mine hope.
I'll write the name of power across every field,
upon every flower
Love is King and I, I Seth his prince!

I hear as though drinking your wine!
My heart is lighted joy like speeding stars!
My feet will stand rooted, my will of thine!
Now these eyes can see through the mists of eons;
My voice unwilting, make clear the way of men!

Mighty feeder of oceans, I hear and live!
What invisible wings your truth does bear!
A great and mighty wave has cascaded into my soul
And now and forevermore my deeds
Will tremble the seekers of smooth beads
and upset! upset the iniquitous!

I am Seth! The bringer of good cheer!
I am Seth! The slayer of lies!
I am Seth! A man of lasting wealth
for I have the faith of the Rivergod!
The assurance of endless galaxies, their misty white selves
Dance in the night rejoicing wise!

My walk now a concert with life,
Every muscle and limb a light cadence;
And fill the hollows now I sing with syllables, tuneful issues
Of a spirit of peace unending!

I am Seth of the bountiful one, friend forever to the Rivergod!
Roll! Roll, but wait no longer!
Seth will say and say again your story
And be sure to the God of streams goes the glory!

I hear and live! I hear and live!
Bolder now I shoot to the world!
May even turn it upside nigh!
Never again to ask, "Why man, why?"




ACT ONE
SONG EIGHT

MY STREAM OF THINGS
- RIVERGOD



Oh my joy, that's a good boy,
Make room for one more!
Swing those designer gates wide!
Here's hoping they'll line the corridor!

Like drops of due adorning
Those princely little petals
On those special spring mornings
Each one like Seth is precious!

Now he'll have a better life,
Standing upright, eyes ahead;
A good catch he'll make some wife
By his old times, many men he'll have led.

Daughter Paris will be pleased.
And come to think of her lovely way
It's time to go home now;
My duty's done today.

It was all in my stream of things.
And with thanks to the hopeful wings
I roll along now;
Roll, roll, roll while I wait.


END OF ACT ONE






ACT TWO
SONG ONE

THIS HOUSE OF MYSTERY
- SETH


I see chocolate clocks and dancing clouds,
Check out the leaky green goblets!
Behold the beasties and brassy boatbells;
Pale oceans of milk and turquoise seashells!

Open windows to strange dimensions
And the walls are like breathing.
What place is this beyond mention?
Mine eyes and senses must be leaving!

I hear archangels whispering;
Was that a Michael or a Gabrielle?
What is this house of mystery;
What place is this, pray tell?

I heard an old man tittering,
Something grand and here lovely;
And look at these little tubes burbling!
Could this be a kind of chemistry?

Was that a host of saints marching?
Martyrs and men and seraphim?
And a young lady sweetly singing,
In this house house I don't recognize anything!

What is this house of mystery?
What place is this pray tell?
Martrys, men, Michael and Gabrielle!
What place is this pray tell?


ACT TWO
SONG TWO

WHAT FUN TO MAKE
- PARACLETUS


Oh good! It's time for me to make!
And what today do I choose to create?
Oh what fun!

I can make funny faces and horseback races!
Basketcases and DNA traces!
(And how bout some romantic places?)
Buffaloes or tippy toes, haloes and halapenos!
Sitting ducks, little bucks and baby chicken clucks!

Butterflies, little lady thighs,
The occasional burgundy sunrise!
The oven hot and the yeast to rise
And someday soon, I'll make young men wise. Ha!

I can make oceans roar and mountains pop!
And the whole planet shiver and shake!
Or today I'll settle for a red-breasted warbler
in an evergreen top.
(Or send Jupiter an afternoon quake!)

I'll invent a new chemistry,
Colours of a sort never seen before!
Just because, you see, it please me.
Or even better, something for Paris - whom I adore.

I'll make bigger lions roar louder, even louder!
And elephants charge even faster!
And turn up the volume on children's laughter!
Don't eat the turnips. Take a powder!

But just as Paris said I would,
I'll make something good.

Perhaps copper plates or Platos
A different kind of mathematics
So two and two make something like... eight 0's!
Rolling bones and magic tricks, who knows?

Another Eve for Adam
Or Helen of Purgatroy.
Some more Cleopatras, you know I can!
What fun making mudpies like a boy!

What fun to make!
And what today do I choose to create?
God isn't this fun?
Why yes, by God it is!

Ha ha!



ACT TWO
SONG THREE

HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS
- PARIS




Oh God, it's so great to be
So full of joy I'm ablaze!
Oh God, it's so good to be
Home, home for the holidays!

I know these halls.
I can smell the walls!
Memories of loving things come a'pace;
Everything I can find its place.

It's all familiar music to me!
How easily I feel to dance!
Such music of intimacy;
About this home, ne'er a mean glance.

Alive! Alive! I am here!
I know where everything is!
The easiest home in the world to celebrate!
How pleasant to come home to rejuvenate!

The silent light is brightest here!
It swings about mine eyes!
I'm home next to Papa dear,
A loving and lovely man so great and gentlewise.

Oh God it's so great to be
So full of joy I'm ablaze!
Oh God it's so good to be
Home, home for the holidays!



ACT TWO
SONG FOUR

AND WHAT OF IT?
-THUSIAST

Hey Para! Whaddaya doin' down thera?

Now Thusiast, can't you see?
I'm busy having some fun with my chemistries. - Paracletus

Later for that boss man.
We've got some serious stuff to work out!
Everything's going to hell in a basketcase
Do you know what they're saying about?
Against the whole shaboom they're making a case!

Well now what is it? What is it now? - Paracletus

What it is? What it is?
They're saying it's all an accident!
Could it be and what of it?
Everything just burbled up and poof! A planet!
Life just jiggles and wiggles and look! A plum pit.

Hey Para, come on!
You gotta lower da boom!
We got too many agnostics and weird societies,
They're just not jivin' your geometries!

And now to agitate even more
We've got a whole new line of mystics
Who chant and hum and tell us to adore
Some spooky combination of China sticks!

Paracletus! I'm talkin' to ya man!
Atheists and existentialists,
Eighth Day Adventists and Satanists
They're all gettin' downright outta line!

And who do da voodoo?
They got baby dolls and pins
And they dance in a trance
Creatin' all manner of oddball dins!

Immoralists and Sophists,
Preachers in the bleachers!
Druids and Doubting Thomases!
We need some Righteous Teachers!

The world is goin' to hell in a basketcase
And you're playin' with your chemistries!
Send down your shining, pretty little face!
Show 'em some of your majesty!

Somebody's kicked it open,
That Pandora's box
Git your butt out there a ropin'
And put the Jack back in the Box!


SONG FIVE

ACCIDENT?
-Paracletus


An accident?
All of this an accident?
Are we on the same planet?
You know the one where trees grow on it.

An accident?
A million and one and the queen bee
All a humbubbling just so
Every little boy gets his honey.

Are the birds all awry
Doing a V instead of a Y?
Is the sun maybe losing track
Going sideways back and back?

An accident?
Even the oceans sing a different tune
When just comes up our sister moon
All of this, of course, anyone can do!

All those mouthpieces aren't even close
When this they suggest is happenstance!
For me this is just intolerable!
Nothing here at all by chance!

Don't they spy all that wonder I enhance?
There in the sky is my living stamp.
Well maybe they can make the peacocks prance
And I'll go my way for a jig and a dance!

Nothing is holus bolus!
Every little leaf has its place.
I don't make just hocus pocus.
Little ones know where is my trace.

Maybe I'll just get down and dirty
Hellbent and bent for hell
Maybe then they'll see
A dash of this and some infinity.

An accident?
A million and three and the queen bee
All a humbubbling just so
Every little girl gets her honey.


ACT TWO
SONG SIX

MY FATHER'S HOUSE
-Paris


Is this not the place to which heroes aspire?
The reason for those poetic verses
The best of the best my father inspires
Here they come to build glorious universes!

This is the source of laughter
And the reason for being
Why children act silly and play
And fuzzy-faced old grampies pray.

This is the fact of the charitable act
Where all the good spirits congregate
And ne'er a one does agitate
And another good spirit do we create!

Here there are times within times
And every one gets their chance
And each one of them speak in thanksgiving rhymes
Because they live with my father,
his grand old eminence.

All these living souls are alive as a melody
From all tiresome burdens they are finally free
So often here they speak as though in rhapsody
Here in my father's house, this house of felicity!

Lest we forget, we have wonders to work
Strike up the band, 106 trombones!
Wear the colours of splashing rainbows!
Spread our wings o'er all the earthly thrones!

Because we do indeed have our work cut out
But's in all in a lovely stream of things;
A child will know what it's all about.
Sending love to all the earthly kings!

This is the fact of the charitable act
Where all good spirits congregate
And ne'er a one does agitate
A host of spirits do we create!


ACT TWO
SONG SEVEN

ISN'T LIFE STRANGE?
-Seth


I don't know why but I do
I feel this is where it all makes sense
I don't know why but I do
Feel I've hit upon just the right circumstance!

Hereabouts there is a grand sense of purpose
Where friendships might deepen and true loyalties surface.
But wherefore is the answer which explains my presence?
From what sleep must I arise to join this essence?

Isn't life strange?As soon as you think you know,
Zap! Something somewhere opens another door
Through which of course curiously we go
Wondering again whatever the reason for.

And everyone in this strangest place of all
Is having the most interesting of times
Here they sing their thoughts and everyone rhymes.
And so do I and I don't know why,
or from whence my lines.

Only once before
When a boy by the riverside,
Did I find myself exalted and more
Putting my words into rhythms and rhymes.

Have I been here before
This house of mystery
Perhaps in a lighthearted dream or an epic no less
Where all the good guys claim a victory
And damsels are rescued from awful distress.

See there I go and easily again
I'm rhyming quite naturally
And without even the slightest thought or pain
I'm making songs in a house of revelry.

I stll know days and still see twilights,
But why is it so that I walk in a daze?

I don't know why but I do
Feel this is where it all makes sense.
I don't know why but I do
Feel I've hit upon just the right circumstance!

END OF ACT TWO


ACT THREE
SONG ONE

HEAVY TRAFFIC
-Thusiast



Hey Para!
You better have a look!
Oh boy, oh man, oh boy!
We've got real trouble down under thera!
In Station 142 of Purgatroya!

There's a gang of funny-lookin' folk
Goin' round and round by the outward gate
And one helluva mess do they create!
No one, not a soul can escape!

To all this chaos a brethren of contributors
Overworking a special brand of bafflegab
Between these gray barristers and solicitors
Nothing's gettin' through, Not even a jab!

They're right there in front of the gate
Not a soul, no one can escape
Dressed in black robes, holding court
Wearing white wigs, everybody's agape!

And worse yet, and then some,
Another gang most worrisome!
Passing paper ever back and back
A notorious clutch of bureaucrats.

There's trouble in Purgatroy,
Oh man, oh girl, oh boy!
Up and down, round and round, the outward gate,
Get a move on down, don't be late!

We need your perfect little touch
Break em all out a bit much;
And perchance the way will clear
For the escape of those souls most dear.

You better have a look!
Oh boy, oh boy,
We've got real trouble down under
Station 142 of Purgatroy!

Gonna need a real kick of your divine thunder!

How in heaven did they get paper in Purgatroya? - Para


ACT THREE
SONG TWO

ENOUGH TO WEEP
-Paris
(in progress)


ACT THREE
SONG THREE

A NEW DIMENSION
-Thusiast


Hey Paris!
Get a load of this!
There's a new dimension in the makin'
I saw it out theris!

Nine rainbows a crisscrossin'
Over giant red and ragged mountains!
Leaning against a multicoloured
Bigger firmamenta!

Soft colours of pastel greens,
yellows and coppers and indigos
Reflected in those oceans which were three;
All there licking my feet, each at a different angle and hue.
One was milky, one was purple and one was blue.

And I heard the singing of a choir
Like our very own angels,
Except voices like little sires
And their sound was alike a'laughing.

Little critters amid my feet
Skidaddled and tickled my lovely little toes
And a little like chirping they did.
Like chirping they did!

And from behind me came a scent
Of something like magnolias
Carried on a wind heavensent;
And my dear Paris it lifted me right up
And on like wings bigger than mine I humbly mention
I travelled above this spectacular new dimension!

Where the loveliest of strangers' thoughts
Made a kind of sweetheart's waltz.
And the yellow trees, every one of them danced!
But ne'er, ne'er did I see, any inhabitants!

And why, when I landed, something warm and fuzzy
Reached out and by jolly
Cuddled every little black bit of me!
Black bit of me!

Oh Paris! You must see
A new world coming into be!
We must abound and find out how and find out who
All of this makes go round!

Three moons up and down
And a serpent in the sky winked at me!
We must find out who sang those songs
Who fuzzied my feelings and tickled my toes

And why the word Blesseth the wind whispered to me!


ACT THREE
SONG FOUR

MY EMPTY HOUSE
-Instrumental


ACT THREE
SONG FIVE

10,000 YEARS
-Paracletus


How silent my house.
I hear not my name.
Daughter Paris and Thusiast are off and about;
I wonder if Thusiast is to blame?

It is too often I wait.
So faithfully they can be late.
All my children seem to be losing sight
Of dear papa in his house of late.

What was it I wonder?
Not enough of the burgundy sunlight?
Was it too loud I made the thunder?
Was it one of my ripples at moonlight?

I made the lions roar louder, yes louder!
And elephants indeed charge even faster!
I turned up the volume on children's laughter
I said Don't eat the turnips, take a powder!

I gave Adam another Eve
And a dozen or so Cleopatras
And another Helen for Troy
What am I, What am I to believe?

I made the butterflies and little lady thighs
But could it be I was late
Making the young men wise.
Wonder, wonder do I. Why man, why?

What have I your Daddy done so awry?

10,000 years I am confrounded
Alone and not hearing my name;
By not one child am I surrounded.
Alone I sit not hearing my name.

Have I not been adequately dramatic?
Countless warblers in treetops ad infinitum.
Is this not enough to make at least one little girl ecstatic?
I sit alone for 10,000 years, ho-hum ho-hum.

Shall I exact proper vengeance?
And send down frightening firmaments?
And scare the hell out of my offspring?
Or sit here agonize, wondering...

What have I your daddy done so awry?
What have I your daddy done so awry?

10,000 years I am confounded,
Alone and not hearing my name;
By not one child am I surrounded!
Alone I sit, not hearing my name.


ACT THREE
SONG SIX

AND WHO BE YOU?
-Seth


Well now then I must know!
Who be you?
The Lord of this house
Your heartstrings so askew.

I cannot wait any longer
Your soul's lament is a crushing refrain;
What can I say or do
That I may satisfy its hunger?

I am Seth the Mighty!
Dear to the Lord of Streams
A slayer of iniquity.
A Leader of men and friend to Liberty!


To Seth I ask you to speak!
To Seth I ask you to speak!


ACT THREE
SONG SEVEN

I AM
-Paracletus


I am the last song and the first word;
The spirit of your dance and your richest elation.
Across each soar the blue-breasted birds
All of my which are of my creation.

I am the secret equation
The cuddle, hug and cradle;
Your babies very first steps
And the elders' successful collaboration.

I am the scent of the hardwood fireplace
After a day of chilly toil;
Your first glimpse of a young lady's grace
And the distant sound a seashell makes.

I am the anticipation of the ten happy brides
And the designs of the heavens at night.
Their wheels turning and their clocks ticking
Marking the arrival of the day's last light.

My windy words sprinkle seeds.
I am the success of continuity;
The debt paid and the Sunday ease.
The illusion and the shocking reality.

Find me in the unmanifest
Who asks your faith.
I am the correct decision,
Who is the poem which you may envision.

I am the one you will see at the last of times
When it is clear there is not time; there never was.
And I adorn myself in tumbling white clouds,
There about my throat strings of yellow topaz
and green sapphires.

Then there will be four horses to pull my golden carriage
Each one of my steeds will be draped in
finely woven silks;
For it is I who am wealth
And they knowing me then will not be a'tremble.

But my precious planet groans under the weight
Of the infected blanket man in his self-driven fate
Has cast over the delicate face
Of even my daughter earth.

Too long she suffers!
The day is nigh when I perfection, even I
Will strike again the balance
Whence the evil-tongued and deceitful
Shall speed in terror to their demise!

Their very souls I will allow to finish.
The souls of a thousand generations
To which all, I, Paracletus the Intercedor,
Shall turn a blind eye.

Even that portion of my body
I will rip out, and conclude!
Cast out! Cast out!
For better them than all of me.

And even then further do I actually consider
A new altogether thing.
My very own, my very own
Self-extinction!

By neglect I am moved to snuff out my last candles.
All of them.
And let us all see thereafter
What this massive neglect has proved.

Darkness. Coldness. Emptiness. Lifelessness.
Welcome to the nightmare you court.
Your faithless consort - hopelessness.
Shall I, I wonder, explore this, this last resort?

My own children
For love they cannot be trusted.
It is to be disgusted. Disgusted.
Shall I, I wonder, explore my very own self-extinction.


ACT THREE
SONG EIGHT

FRIGHTEN ME NOT!
-Seth


Frighten me not!
You confuse my mind!
Who are you?
And where am I?

Only the Rivergod
Has spoken to me such
Three score years and ten ago!
How dare like him you speak so much!

In me is the faith of the rolling god
Who allows by his side
That I may be enlivened, invigorated;
And many times his name I've cried.

But you! You sing as though you are what?
Of him, my friend the Rivergod?
Tell me it and now and frighten me not
How is it you sound like the Rivergod?


ACT THREE
SONG NINE

I AM PARACLETUS
-Paracletus


I am the language of Eden rediscovered;
The scrolls of the Kings of Peace uncovered.
I am the father with his personality
Usually keen and full of manly Papa pleasantries.

I am the example of goodness,
The rewards of righteousness;
The balance in your excellent gait
And the fire of a week of day's brightness.

I am enthusiasm
The father of Thusiast.
To the bafflers I am the wherefore and the whereas
But moreso I am the King of Spring in Paris.

I am the stuff of your mind which is orderly
And the pleasure you feel in your generosity.
I am the knowledge in which a man may abide
And the child so precious kibitzing wild.

In my breast is my empathy for the wayfarers,
Across my face are rivers of compassion;
Even the misguided have my sympathy,
You see, I love you all with an unyielding passion.

I build and structure, let loose and align
A spirit of freedom so fine
That wildly our joys may become deep,
Deeply coloured realities.

The source of the fountains am I!
The gusher of streams;
I am you see, the Rivergod, even he,
Who cuts a new path across the heaviest of mountains
leaning on my sky.

I am Paracletus!
Creator of the divine spirit!
Of which your heart is mold;
In my hands your life-breath I hold.

I am Paracletus, Lord God, designer of the cosmos,
And alone I am, the glorious throne vacant now;
You see, Seth, you may be the last drop of dew
on my very last flower.
After me, who will replenish the hour?

I am Paracletus, finisher of the cosmos!


ACT THREE
SONG TEN

THANKFUL TO THEE
-Seth

You! You're my precious!
Now it's making sense, Lord sublime!
You taught me about my soul!
From whence I pulled a flower from a wretched hole!

It is you then who bleeds!
Your pierced red body of love.
In my life many men I have led
On the white wings of love we sped...

To put your name on every flower
And o'er every earthly throne!

I am thankful to thee,
You taught me a marvellous mystery!
That the whole world had hope
Even through me!

I found there in my soul deep
A cherished flame ever-burning in a sacred hollow
Which, by your grace, fuels a man's hope.
And evermore after, I knew of its place
Where then I might visit and take refuge in you
And hear your everlasting songs anew!

You are King! You are Love!
You are Lord of skies above!
For the rolling Rivergod who will wait no longer
Give me father, the mightiness
To swing the world upside nigh,
That at last your gentlewise face will bring
To their knees even the iniquitous!

What do you need of me?
Let me give up my soul to the cause!
Take now my heart and soul and throw them into the fray!
For your will be done, oh agonizing father.
Slay the slayer if need be.
I am yours. Send my soul, for you, away!


ACT THREE
SONG ELEVEN

WELLSPRING OF MY HEART
-Paracletus


Oh Seth, rise my son,
As even all of my spirits rise.
They rise in celebration of you my boy.
You are now this moment
the very wellspring of my heart.

To all my worlds I shall apprise
Each angel, every seraphim, and guardians most wise
Of you mighty Seth; and this hour will be
Known by them for eternity
As the genesis, the reason for being of a new age.
The Age of Seth, the God of Courage
My son dearest who has lifted me
And even all of my firmaments.

On each of all of my planets
Where yet my children exist
The skies will broaden this day;
And evermore now a new colour
By my hand spent in the array.

A new colour and even so a new dimension
Known hence and evermore as Blesseth.

You, this hour in eternity,
Have become my reason to be
Another ten thousand years.
Your words daring akin my heartbeat.

Live Lord seth at my right side!
And ever by my ear.
Let me sense your holy breath;
As I will consume its hopefulness
And be then even more empowered.

I thank thee Lord Seth
And send my birds to pull you thither
That you may see and enjoy
This new colour in a wider sky.

This hue and home of Blesseth
Is now by me flowered!


ACT THREE
SONG TWELVE

WHITE WINGS
NEWLY ENDOWED I SEE
-Lord Seth


For you, my precious,
I will carry to the community of man
Your sacred and revivifying council
As I am stronger now.
And I thank Thee,

White wings newly endowed I see.
White wings newly endowed I see.

Evermore I will speed your word
Sing it and script it across every domain
That at last your kingdom will prevail!

And on the sweet lips of every child
Will be found with reverence your name.

As I am stronger now And I thank thee

White wings newly endowed I see.
White wings newly endowed I see.


ACT THREE
SONG THIRTEEN

HEAR AND LIVE! HEAR AND LIVE!
-ensemble-


We are the Kings of spring in Paris!
Sparkling meadows find there us!
The hope of every child we drive!
Look out! Regardez! Our bees will sting you alive!

Our white birds are true and fast.
In their song the words everlast!
In your ears we will ring! Ring! Ring!
Love is king! Love is king, king, kimg!

Hear us now as drinking our wine!
Now shall your eyes see through the mists of eons
Your voices unwilting, your wisdom dear
Make clear the way of men! Make clear!

We hear and live! Hear and live!
Hear, hear, hear and live!
You have the assurance of endless galaxies;
Hear their cries! Their misty white selves
Dance in the night rejoicing wise!

For now you have our voices in unison!
Paris! Thusiast! Your father and his mighty son!
Who step now in concert. Fill the hollows here we sing
With syllables, tuneful issues
of a spirit of peace unending!

We are the Queens of spring in Hera!
The pillars of the Parthenon find thera!
The hope of every child we drive!
Look out! Regardez! Our bees will sting you alive!

Be, be, be of the bountiful!
Love, love by God is king! Love is king!
Love is king, by God, love is king!

Father!
Son?
I love you father!
I love you son!

Alive! Alive! I hear and live!
Sing! Sing! Sing!
Love is king! King! King!


THE END

Sunset on Martha

When those geese fly home at night
to sleep as we do in the wilderness
Wild yet sane, safe in an unsafe life
we make ready our slumber together.

When wild geese fly home at night
after a hard day's work on the shores of time
Being chased by wolves all day who prey at their living very seriously...

When wild geese fly home at night
Over our tents in bright delight
they sing songs in rhythmic cadences
flying choruses --- acapella
they fly as-only-they-can-fly.
Yet flinging solo it's through the air waves
No less than Lester's, Young their voices swung!

Like Bird they sing. Dizzy with Miles to bring Home waiting in their wings the willingness to punctuate that evening sun with soulful freedom.
That's wild percussively wild, Monk wild Man, woman, child!

And now to beaver's pond they fade
where softer grasses in those lovely meadows cling
With love to be at rest with those loving them singing a silent encore: "Once more once'!
Only their fairy shadows dancing to
A time that is all eternity.


-Johnson Hartman

A Prayer for Today

Dear Heavenly Father

Help me.

Every day. All day show me Your grace.

Help me to find You.

Help me to cool my temper that I may know your warmth.

Help me to still my tongue that I may Know your Will eternal.

And do Your Will with Joy.

Give me Father your life divine…

That I may enjoy every moment of every day as one beacon of your Everlasting Light.

Give me the strength to resist all temptations which attempt to put asunder Your eternal Love, that I may in turn Love.

Help me Father in Every Way that I may know continuity.

Increase me that I may Know You.

Amen

STANDING ON GUARD

T-Shirt worth wearing
(supporting the child's burn unit)

The Wayward Revolution

Re IMAGINE (see post below)

Sounds like the Revolution that has never been given a chance. Always seems to get strong armed by the Human psyche and the ego's need to neutralize fear of death with meaningless material consumption. Time to return to simplicity and Love!

Peace and Justice go hand in hand.

We miss your remarkable insight and panache here in Nelson.
All the best in 2010 Harry! Anon, Nelson, B.C.

IMAGINE

How easily.

No mortgages. No rent. No luxuries.
Peace for all... to live free on this God-given earth.

And then let us tend our gardens in communities of a love well-spoken, world-wide.

Take the masks off the 'economists' and return our immediate environment to a blessed health.

All creatures will rejoice.

It is possible. It is necessary. It is a matter of will.

Now that you know this, God need not intervene.

Dark Days and Hopeful Thoughts

Recently, there were front covers of interest. Appearing in the common media was front page of The Vancouver Sun showcasing all the logos of the local biker gangs. Rather than printing the names of their nefarious money-laundering businesses the editor chose to glorify their logos. My neighbour asked me for a copy of that front page because he thought they were so cool. He’s 50 years old and dying of lung cancer but he sure found those logos to be hip. Thank you Vancouver Sun for your usual gutlessness and sensationalizing stupidity.

Then the Vancouver Courier splashed a cover of a Harry Potter book on their front page promoting book-buying in the city. Thank you editor for ignoring all the independent authors right here in Vancouver and giving that author another unnecessary boost.

Yawn and yawn.

BIKES, SCOOTERS AND COWS ON THE SIDEWALK

In the late ‘60’s when I arrived here in Lotusland, there were no bicycles permitted on the sidewalks and the sight of a motorized scooter was a scene indeed. Now they’re all over the sidewalks scooting and cycling around pedestrians who walk like old cows and the sidewalk has become its own version of mayhem. Pedestrians and drivers meanwhile compete for skip-across street status. The mulit-tonned vehicles have the advantage offering involuntary pedicures, as the busses blast through red lights and not pick up gasping clients after thumping on their door.

And in the murky wild of the downtown eastside, cops release dogs in alleyways after the ‘perp’ has thrown up his arms in surrender. Yawn with fear.


WITNESSED:

An elderly Chinese woman was seen to be staggering on Keefer St in full view of her neighbours. She finally collapsed in mid-street as ongoing traffic passed her by. I was stunned by her predicament and went out there to help, finally with a Chinese storekeeper helping me to lift her bloodied face from the pavement. No one else, of her own people, bothered about her. So much for Chinatown, Vancouver, being the least bit compassionate.

Civility is lost here in the land of the Olympics. Run baby run.

But alas the dogs are nicely attended. We are by law required to bend over and pick up their poop. Who’s the master of this scene? Yelp yelp and hah hah.

TV Wars

Shaw Cable would have us believe they support local issues and spend real money on these productions. They cancelled the show in Nelson entitled Meeting at the Top, which involved interviewing people there of intelligence and some notoriety about what it meant to live at the top of their form. When I, the host, discovered that Shaw Cable kept the copyright of my words and interviews despite many original conversations of note, I resigned and they killed the programme. Meanwhile CTV and CBC are asking for more money for local coverage. CBC is already bankrolled by the taxparer putting CTV and other private stations at a disadvantage. CBC needs to stop selling ads and use their public money for newsworthy purposes as opposed to their rather pathetic effort at comedy and fiction, and the most unfunny man on the air, Rick Mercer.

Both Shaw and CTV etc need to reconcile the viewers more interested in being educated than being a pawn in their petty wars. On my TOMBY index the programming across the board is 9, for crap and gratuitous violence. Save us all some money and let the screen go snowy.

The Wind About Us

More tourists coming. And what will they discover?

That we’ve swept away our homeless? Leapt over them under blankets on our charity runs?

Will they risk an involuntary pedicure when trying to cross the street?

Our city, this namesake of a heroic seaman and cartographer, is resplendent with magnificent trees evident of decades of care and we, though, meanwhile have lost the rock garden in Stanley Park by neglect stemming from indifference… and what after all can possibly stem from indifference?

And so unfortunately we have lost a sense of identity. New immigrants of brutal wealth are buying condos and apartments as investments and they remain empty while some gentleman of momentary bad fortune can’t find a home to rent. Landlords here have become shrewd and disinterested in the plight of their fellow man. Credit checking and snooping is the call of their day when apprising any prospective tenant.

But before I begin to sound prejudiced by generalizing, allow me to introduce the TOMBY index: "Too Many By…” So instead of calling all by race, or judging by creed or caste as a writer of some conscience I will attempt to describe a trend, perhaps a sociological one which affects us all. For example: Do lawyers talk too much and charge by the syllable? TOMBY: 80 (on a scale of 1-100).

A neighbourhood is ultimately a reflection of the people who live, shop, laugh and cavort there. A city is a reflection of its neighbourhoods and a country is again mirrored by its modern multifaceted cities.

We wondered not too long ago about “the Canadian identity.” And I wonder now how easily we have allowed a cultural revolution - bloodless - but in ways shameful to our heritage. What made us Canadian? Our pioneers and our wealth of stories seems of little interest to our newcomers (TOMBY 60).

Our spiritual climate can be spied oft times as a wind of fury. A baritone hiss of deliberate ignorance. The sneer and the snobbery; the glance of arrogance and the drivers who treat the walkers like video-game targets. This is how we might perceive the spiritual climate of our city despite those brilliant and comforting willows, maples and oaks which cascade and mingle across our side streets.

We are those leaves, uniquely contoured, fluttering in blessed youth, changing hue in autumn, and there sparkling in the late summer sun. Why, might God wonder - that personality of the infinite - do each of us refuse the glory given as a birthright… that glory of our humanity, our immediate magnificence?

Why do we not acknowledge the power of automatic decency and visible integrity as such goodness may increase the body of the universe, that personality, inflating its pleasure. We are outlined by the breath of God. Let us then carry ourselves with a gait and manner which behoves such divinity.

Let us be aware.

We have all heard the Golden Rule: “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” Well, it’s time now to: “Speak unto others as you would have them speak unto you.” And therein find your identity, your contour, your neighbourhood, your world.

The wind about us will find us. Let us be found in joy and described as a dear companion to beauty.

poems

Be inside joy. Spy it around you.

Permit joy.

Hearing affirmations from nature.

There’s your day.


Then pray.



My lost friend
loves me when
i find him again
and with his permission
we enjoy our humanity.

a kind of mission.

my lost friend
is with me again. -langen


talk talk talk
spear
talk talk talk
hear. -s coburn

For Layabouts

When you had hope
And hope gave you form,
One might have said, "That is the man you are becoming."

But you are not a man to die with the dignity of manhood.
Labouring with us.
Daily, you gave up your manhood to swim in a swamp of lies.
Which makes you a thing.
You will die as a thing.


But perhaps hope remains.
Because infinite generosity remains...
belonging solely to your choice.

Money in our Genes?

With science having advanced so impressively this last century – a minor marker in our human history – it is no longer arguable that fear and anxiety have an organic effect on our health. And since industrialization – another brief but more potent negative marker – we have all discovered the unpleasant circumstance of being polluted inside our private and public environments. And now somewhat cornered, not unlike a frightened raccoon, we react with some terror and rage. (Check the drivers these days including the so-called professionals who barrel through red lights.)

And greed soon rears its despicable face and we collapse morally.

After generations of this unnatural tension, our bodies are disinclined to joy and as parents we are presenting a hereditary blueprint of greed and dismay.

Are we on a weird precipice where we find money in our genes? Such a spiritual dilemma amounts to worse than a pox. We are at risk of losing our sense of goodness, that elusive but vital anchor which may describe our neighbourliness and civility.

We are this neighbourhood, this city, this country. Selling our water and citizenship indifferently doesn’t embolden our grasp of a delicate situation. Our words and deeds are our only hope to reverse this predicament and which may collectively bring light to bear upon those wayward genes of ours. Your grandchildren will be thankful that you have taken this notice.

Guarding the Shape of Man

"As pines keep the shape of the wind
even when the wind has fled, and is no longer there,

so words
guard the shape of man
even when man has fled, and is no longer there."
-George Seferis, 1969.

The word was made flesh
and then there was light.

light is…
The memory of your mother’s laughter. The first smile of your child hearing the laughter of another’s.

light is…

the form of your lover’s legs,
the laughter of girls and young men at play and
the stars at their most mysterious;
the heaven and those sparkling mathematics.


light is…

the science of goodness and the quiet patience scripted across the countenance of God.

light is…

the warmth of her flesh and the pulse of his sex.

light is…

the opening red flower with its pearl white underpinnings surprising you. And the colour of your tears.

light is…

the tone of his skin and the hue of his hair under that silent moonshine.

light is…

the shadows of our worst fears and the glory of our victories.

light is…

the knowing of humanity and those who hear the first words of the personality of the infinite.

Light is hearing of words spontaneously spoken which give freedom.

Light is the form of hope which drives us to persevere and persevere we must to see… light is ultimately Love and the form of Knowing Itself.

light is…

our beginning with absolute innocence and our knowing of the delicate frame of our mortality, as we wait. Finally, without trepidation, because you see Light escorts us to more chambers of divinity.

Light is detail and clarity. “Be here now?" No. Be with Light in all its complexity and about the rooms in His palace… all of which offer more radiance, warmth and at last, Light.

Matthew Lennox

Now here's the best busker I've heard in years and Vancouverites can be thankful for his energy and talent, as he slaps on his guitar with his lively right hand and plays the riffs on his left. A really exciting talent - who was not permitted (yawn) to busk at the jazz festival. Typical mean-spirited bureaucracy strikes again. Check Mathew out in front of the Waterfront Station just about any time this summer. Thank you Matthew for your enlivening and welcome spirit.

Random Pix of Gastown Jazz Festival

Twas another great relief for all to have no road rage on Water Street and the sounds of laughter and music throughout these last two days. Obviously people are hungering for this kind of freedom, and dancing as much as they did, so exuberantly, was clear testament to that desire.

The Whole of the Law

Let us transform our city by our manners, in every way. By our words, our driving, our awareness of each other as unique beings, full of grace. We are the sum of our efforts in every way. Let us perhaps by ordinary divinity be the totality of goodness with every step. A blessed gait, affirmed by all nature and the personality of the infinite.

Quick Fix?
Dear Editor
re Quick Fix for the Homeless, Gary Mason

I live, work, shop and wander about the Downtown Eastside and witness every day the calamity that is becoming the lives of people who were once loved. They are troubled and troublesome and Yes many are homeless and addicted.

It’s heartbreaking to see young women picking away at the sidewalk for a hint of crack or offering favours for another hoot. But let us, as a civilized country, province, city, at least identify the issue here. It’s the drug suppliers. Their mules are usually addicts or here illegally or just imagining themselves as the next gang leader, Hollywood style.

The solution is, in my mind, rather simple but it requires courage and commitment to the laws we already have in place. Bust the supplier. That would be the Hells’ Angels who run the “hostels” in my neck of these woods and close their retail operations altogether, city-wide. With no supply, the mules have nothing to sell and those young women and men will have nothing on the sidewalk to pick away at. Just enforce the law. And help those who have been victimized by the creeps who think of themselves as being lord-like in our community. Bust the Angels. It takes guts and that’s where this city is lacking. Why are we wasting taxpayers’ money on rounding up and policing the mules and addicts when we all know down here from where the problem really stems. Bust the bastards across the country. Close them down. Now that would be a good use of our moral and financial resources.

Quick Fix for the Homeless, Gary Mason
The Globe and Mail

No one said solving the world's problems would be easy. Just ask Vancouver Mayor Gregor Robertson.

When Mr. Robertson ran for mayor last fall, he said his top priority was the city's homeless problem. He's vowed to eradicate it completely by 2015. His plan is to build lots of social housing – or at least get the province to. Meantime, he's set up emergency shelters as a temporary measure.

And it's quickly turning into a PR fiasco.

The city opened five of the shelters late last year, two in residential areas where there happened to be vacant buildings available, the others in more industrial settings. They met a demand, especially during an unusually long, cold winter. Thousands flocked to them. Hundreds were turned away.

But the frigid temperatures and dark nights eventually gave way to warmer weather and longer days. And the shelters situated in a densely populated residential area were revealed to be cesspools for drug addicts and petty criminals.

The two are located near the much-travelled Granville Street Bridge. Nearby you will find a YWCA daycare, a Montessori school and a low-income seniors home. And condominium towers. You don't have to wait long to witness people shooting up in alleyways or having sex in the nearby park.

“The neighbourhood has completely changed,” says resident John Roberts, who has lived in his area condo for 10 years. “It's horrible what's happening and the city doesn't care. Kids can't go out now. The park can't be used by residents.

“The mayor doesn't care. Council doesn't care. They want to extend the shelters until April of next year.”

Deirdre Barlow, who moved into the neighbourhood with her husband 18 months ago, can't believe what has happened.

“The first part of the time here was wonderful,” she says. “The last six months have been a nightmare. Something horrible is going to happen here, I predict it. It's become a complete zoo. This once wonderful neighbourhood is completely disintegrating. It's becoming …”

The Downtown Eastside?

“Exactly,” she says. “The Downtown Eastside.”

The city's response has been to get police to bolster their presence in the area. So now, any time of day or night you can see a squad car or seven patrolling the area. According to residents, the increased police presence has done little to ameliorate the problem.

“The other day we saw one guy walking around carrying an axe,” reported Mr. Roberts. “A city councillor said the guy was a carver and that's why he had the axe. Well, he wasn't a carver. And they're still shooting up all over the place and doing drug deals.”

Another day a guy was seen carrying a ball and chain – and not the kind you used to drag around in prison. “It was to hurt someone,” Ms. Barlow said.

The “low-barrier” shelters are intended for the hardest-to-home. Those who use them are allowed to bring their shopping carts and pets in with them. Drug users aren't turned away the way they are in other shelters. While no one argues the need for these kinds of accommodations as temporary measures, the problem is the type of individuals they attract if open for long. Drug addicts attract drug suppliers. Drug suppliers attract young boys to run their drugs. Consequently, there are emerging gangs of young kids – drug mules – congregating in the area and intimidating residents.

The city maintains the shelters have to stay open until there is enough social housing to accommodate all the homeless. But many of those using the shelters were evicted from social housing because of their behaviour. Someone at city hall came up with the brilliant idea of asking shelter users to wear green vests and go around cleaning up the neighbourhood. The program has been a bust.

Mr. Robertson, meantime, has been mostly silent on the issue. He showed up unannounced at one shelter a week ago around 11 p.m. to check out the situation for himself. He was spotted by residents who began to jeer him and call him a coward. To his credit, he stopped and talked to them for more than an hour. But nothing changed.

Last Saturday, a man was stabbed near the shelter located next to Mr. Roberts' condominium tower. The next day, Ms. Barlow found a switchblade and reported it to police, who told her it might be a key piece of evidence in a possible attempted homicide.

Residents have had enough. They want the two shelters closed. A retired American couple who live in the area part-time have written to the U.S. State Department urging it to issue a travel advisory to Americans visiting the city. Residents have also contacted The New York Times and other prominent U.S. publications warning them of the danger that lurks in downtown Vancouver.

Not exactly the kind of publicity a city getting ready to host the Olympics wants or needs.

It's time Mr. Robertson brought some leadership to the issue. Or opened up a shelter near his house.

Glorious Spring in Troubled Land

African Grandmothers and Car-Free Festivals

Very next day after encountering legitimate protests and expressions of freedom in this grand old country, I witnessed a rally of elders re Grandmothers from Africa concerned for the abandoned orphans. Another inarguable case.

Then Stephen and I, while running an errand, happily bumped into Main Street free of cars all the way from 12th to 25th streets.

Easily thousands of people were joyous and dancing and Tai-chi-ing, playing music and just celebrating the event which we discovered later was also happening that same day on Commercial Drive, downtown and Broadway (should'a been there for the Greek food!).

We can only imagine how exciting and pleasant it would be if the entire city was car-free at this critical time for our globe, de-industrialized
and all we really had to commute to was our gardens where we all ate well and rejoiced in the company of people of peace.


See pictures above and below.
More later re one Canadian’s tireless efforts in Africa to eradicate AIDS and poverty… a hero this author will always support, a man appointed originally by no less than Pierre Elliot Trudeau.

And after all was said and done, someone looked pretty happy... and thank God for that and this country.

Lively Protests, Songs and Freedom

Today en route to the joy of grocery shopping I encountered two protest groups. The first was mostly comprised of native people by Abbott Street in the downtown eastside rallying and singing for “homes not war” – affordable housing. An inarguable issue given that our premier over the many years of his negligent leadership has managed to provide a shameful explosion in homelessness, the abandonment of the mentally ill and the prevalence of all those empty condos being bought as investments by disinterested foreigners. Even Caligula, demonized by movies, was a better leader assuring access to all public bathhouses and bins of corn and food. The criminalized Gordon Campbell could take a few lessons from that Caesar.

* * *

The next group of protestors, wildly attired were situated in front of the scientology store where ‘personality tests’ are offered as a guise to their inveigling process to dogmatize innocents into a truly weird theology constructed by a science fiction writer who spent his last years on his yacht avoiding the light of the media. Their signs speak for themselves.

Thank God for the freedom to protest. More power to you all, whatever your opinion.

Mining for Optimism

Mining.NOW and The English Bay Banner were recently introduced to the exhibitors at the World Resources Conference at the new Convention Centre in Vancouver, June 7th and 8th.

It was a pleasure to see old clients and meet new friends.

The optimists among the promoters spoke in terms of millions of dollars recently raised for their latest mining projects and others were frank about how the downturn has seriously affected their ability to continue but there they were all of them with optimism and hopefully with candor.

I wish them all well.

While sometimes a tense atmosphere (“No soliciting of Exhibitors” and the disquiet of some of the exhibitors themselves, including the absentee CEO’s) it was for me and Stephen an intriguing and sometimes joyous occasion. (But what happened to the hospitality suites for the after-party? Hey, next year huh?).

It was a good two days to launch the upcoming hard copy of The English Bay Banner and Harry Langen’s Mining.NOW mixed together, crossing platforms from “Phocken’ Money, Phun and Philosophy.” New slogan. U like?

With my less than humble self as cameraman, journalist, layout guy, sales dude and chief troubleshooter alongside the shrewd mother/son team of Marie and Morgan selling and Stephen in tow hauling papers, methinks a monthly endeavor with a provable and transparent distribution strategy to all interested jr mining investors will work just swell.

Let us all step up to the plate and get in the game and rid ourselves of this hysteria of negativity, as foolish as an electronic herd of frightened lemmings -which by the way never did leap over the cliff. Only we can be that stupid.

Stay the course of optimism over time and see real success.



GORBACHEV CALLS FOR A NEW REVOLUTION

Mikhail Gorbachev, the Soviet Union's last communist general secretary, called for a new American "revolution" - also calling it a "perestroika," or government restructuring - [1] in an editorial published Wednesday in The Sydney Morning Herald.



"Some have reacted with understanding. Others have objected, sometimes sarcastically, suggesting that I want the United States to experience upheaval, just like the former Soviet Union. In my country, particularly caustic reactions have come from the opponents of perestroika, people with short memories and a deficit of conscience," the former Soviet leader wrote.

He continued: "Our perestroika signalled the need for change in the Soviet Union, but it was not meant to suggest a capitulation to the US model. Today, the need for a more far-reaching perestroika - one for America and the world - has become clearer than ever."

In Russia, Gorbachev's perestroika was a government restructuring and the introduction of limited market economy freedoms into the Communist model, which initially caused a great deal of social unrest before eventually becoming an integral part of society.

Gorbachev called for something similar in November, when he declared then-U.S. President-elect Barack Obama "a man of our times" and suggested his administration would need to bring about an American perestroika.

"[He] is capable of restarting dialogue, all the more since the circumstances will allow him to get out of a dead-end situation,"

"Barack Obama has not had a very long career, but it is hard to find faults, and he has led an election campaign winning over the Democratic Party and Hillary Clinton herself. We can judge from this that this person is capable of engaging in dialogue and understanding current realities."

The Russian Communist, in his concluding paragraphs, strikes a surprising balance between capitalistic freedom and government controls.

"[If] all the proposed solutions and action now come down to a mere rebranding of the old system, we are bound to see another, perhaps even greater upheaval down the road," he wrote. "The current model does not need adjusting; it needs replacing. I have no ready-made prescriptions. But I am convinced that a new model will emerge, one that will emphasise public needs and public good, such as a cleaner environment, well-functioning infrastructure and public transport, sound education and health systems and affordable housing."

He continued: "The time has come to strike the right balance between the government and the market, for integrating social and environmental factors and demilitarising the economy."

Finally, Gorbachev warns that the world's current economic model, created by America's elite, is cracking. As it comes undone, many will suffer, he predicted. "Including the United States."

Gorbachev concludes: "However different the problems that the Soviet Union confronted during our perestroika and the challenges now facing the United States, the need for new thinking makes these two eras similar. In our time, we faced up to the main tasks of putting an end to the division of the world, winding down the nuclear arms race and defusing conflicts. We will cope with the new global challenges as well, but only if everyone understands the need for real, cardinal change - for a global perestroika."

BUILDING A GLOBAL COMMUNITY

Think of no one as "them."

Don't confuse your comfort with your safety.

Talk to strangers.

Imagine other cultures through their art, poetry and novels.

Listen to music you don't understand,

Dance to it.

Act locally.



Notice the workings of power & privilege in your culture.

Question consumption.

Know how your lettuce and coffee are grown; wake up and smell the exploitation.
Look for fair trade and union labels.

Help build economies from the bottom up.
Acquire few needs.

Learn a second (or third) language.
Visit people, places, and cultures - not tourist attractions.

Learn people's history.

Re-define progress.

Know physical and political geography.

Play games from other cultures.
Watch films with subtitles.

Know your heritage.

Honor everyone's holidays.

Look at the moon and imagine someone else, somewhere else, looking at it too.

Read the UN's Universal Declaration of Human Rights.

Understand the global economy in terms of people, land and water.

Know where your bank banks.

Never believe you have a right to anyone else's resources.

Refuse to wear corporate logos: defy corporate domination.

Question military/corporate connections.

Don't confuse money with wealth, or time with money.
Have a pen/email pal.

Honor indigenous cultures.

Judge governance by how well it meets all people's needs.
Be skeptical about what you read.

Eat adventurously;
Enjoy vegetables, beans and grains in your diet.

Choose curiosity over certainty.

Know where your water comes from and where your wastes go.

Pledge allegiance to the earth, question nationalism;
Think South, Central and North - there are many Americas.

Assume that many others share your dreams.

Know that no one is silent though many are not heard.
Work to change this.

Faithful Readers:

Here is a mix of photos and prose.

THE FOLLOWING TEXT IS ABOUT THE ENLIGHTENABLES... as we each of us may be - by not eliminating ourselves from the bounty of light.

FACING THE SUN

If one were to kneel one early morning in the face of the rising sun beseeching alone and enquiring in a voice audible to the sky, “Mirror, mirror on sacred wall, Who is the fairest of them all…” in vain hope of being declared most radiant, the abuse taken by the personality of the infinite would portend the shrill cries of an empty shell hastening the delirious supplicant’s mortality. So appears the fierceness of a wrathful entity.

Many of us have detected a light imbued with goodness pulsating with meaning and then in inexplicable fear have retreated being fond “of that dull bluish-yellow light from the human [world].” In that dimension of illusions and imaginings the individual prefers to dream of his own creativeness, his being the source of warmth, laughter and even love; benevolent in his eyes, blind to the root of charitableness and righteous awareness.

Such pretense, such thinking, creates only the perception of a wrathful deity - a jealous god – as the consequence of such presumptiveness is the apparent absenteeism of the loving aspects of that infinite personality.

All that which is given in life is by necessity continuous and must continue by necessity. Private vanity is necessary in small doses which serve to keep us living in some concert with beauty and correct hygiene but lop-sided preoccupation with vanity neither contributes to nor supports continuity. Such vanity requires constant propping, as does its cousin, judgement of others. “Judge not lest ye be judged…” refers also, among many other layers of instructive meaning to the threat of our judgeing ourselves according to the tight and mean-minded framework of our judgements of others and opens us to their judgements which may negatively impact on our confidence, self esteem and happiness. No degree of private vanity can withstand such constant assaults on our tenuous well-being.



Self-idolatry designs the pathway to a lack of continuity and thence the absence of steady joy or contentment. Breast-beating, similar to glad-handing and backslapping among the “all hail ye good fellows,” crowd is a hollow experience and an abhorrence to the divine, its precious markings subtle and lovely and as consistent and beautiful as the wind making visible the vibrance of the grasses.

So as we vacillate between vanity and innocence it is hoped my work will yield those words most inspired making effable that state of suspension from which one may enter into the chamber of the divine.

Yet I am alerted to the hazards of overt pride by fellow author Logan Pearsall Smith who stated, “Every author, however modest, keeps a most outrageous vanity chained like a madman in the padded cell of his breast.”

But encouraged somewhat cautiously by Benjamin Franklin’s remark that, “Most people dislike vanity in others, whatever share they have of it themselves; but I give it fair quarter, wherever I meet with it, being persuaded that it is often productive of good to the possessor and to others who are within his sphere of action; and therefore, in many cases, it would not be altogether absurd if a man were to thank God for his vanity among the other comforts of life.”

And it is in the balance of those wits I am supplicant early in the morn in the face of the radiant god, that elusive personality of the infinite, who enchants me each day to be a vessel full to the brim of His love and cognizant of His everlasting patience and sometimes agonizing compassion. All the earmarks of a loving Father.

Defining the Indefinable

And the Word was made flesh.

Let us make one assumption: Every individual is a thought of God. In this then we can see that God’s thoughts give form. And relative to this power, man’s thinking is an attempt to create, to give form. The reach of his thinking is circumscribed by the limited ability to manipulate circumstances but this shadowy activity cannot give substance, organize an embryo, arrange stars or conduct any of the other unwieldy elements in order to give and sustain life on multidimensional planes simultaneously. Man’s thinking, usually starring himself, is nothing more than an idle and futile attempt to imitate God.



Inherent in each member of every generation, regardless of culture or degree of programming or impact of imposed dogmas, is the way to know God, enjoy affirmations from nature and continuity of pleasure. It must be confounding to the personality of Creation that man is not wholeheartedly accepting this gift of comfort but rather chooses to act as the giver, ready to receive credit for Creation. This pose will strike an imbalance until nourishment of the mental and spiritual sort no longer can find its way past the illusions and the deepening shadows of the individual now lost in fantasies.

The ultimate spiritual experience which constitutes the subject of my work is founded upon good health, a mind enlivened by curiosity, an abiding moral rigor, an intellectual life facing challenges daily and finally the willingness and courage to cross into a spiritual field where time dissolves and divine meaning is all-encompassing.

And this is meant as an ordinary experience.

It is intended as an ordinary experience to be enjoined without fanfare, drum rolls, trumpets or costumes. The individual standing next to you on the subway, bus or in the cafeteria may be experiencing this bliss and you would not be signaled whatsoever. The privacy is necessary for that man of power to enjoy without interference or uncalled for adulation.

That individual’s words are imbued with knowing, directed by compassion, are inclusive of so-called degenerates and ‘low-lifes,’ and are creative of loving situations. That individual’s words prompt and allow and may sustain a loving climate… as do the words of the Lord, that personality of the Righteous Teacher who is generously provided by the Father of Creation every second generation (avoiding overlaps).

Such is the bounty of Light.


And from this perspective one may see time as a pulse, as a field which facilitates growth, as freedom from fear and anxiety and as the ultimate reaper of those individuals who have squandered their awareness allowing themselves to be distracted by self indulgences which amount to nothing more than that constant and futile play at being God, the source of warmth, comfort, joy and peace; the one personality who defies all usurpations.

My mentor, Ted Lewis, taught me at the formative age of 17 that “words are organic” and after a lifetime of contemplation and some reluctant growth I continue to view this declaration from heightened perspectives and am emboldened to see this wisdom at work, observing as I have the power of words spoken to a young person who has since matured and allowed them to come to a kind of unique fruition. The seed was planted at its most auspicious moment.

Magi, shamans, contemporary legitimate practitioners of occultism experience the power of words in a way which exposes the impotence of the uninformed, vacant-minded youth of today whose vocabulary seldom stretches beyond “awesome,” “sweet,” or “cool.” (They had to borrow that last one from the beat generation of 70 years ago.)

“Awesome” is the day they stand and face the curtains of fire as they gird themselves to enter into their spiritual realm after a lifetime of contemplation, meditation, correct hearing and righteous speaking – supported by a vocabulary stuffed with words of optimism, meaningful import and facilitation of peaceable circumstance. Words of thrilling import.

“Sweet” is the nectar of bliss when that individual acknowledges that his joy is affirmed by nature in the appearance of apparently sacred forms and those beings which present themselves to the sense of touch and sound and sometimes smell.

“Cool” is the refreshment of baptism in the river of knowing.

The enlightened man may by his words create the context wherein others may abide in peace and discover a familiar atmosphere, a dimension they may call “home.”

Enlightenment is indefinable only insofar as the experience belongs privately to the individual and the way he arrived at the sublime state may be ineffable even to the enjoyer but the words of Light he speaks open avenues for the hearer to follow at his own pace and his gathering confidence is fortified by the memories of his own experiences.






Lewis taught me that the posture then of the enlightened individual is one of waiting.

He offers no judgement nor critique. He simply allows and his words, each of them, throughout all circumstances, all interactions, all moments are driven, formed and uttered in a field of goodness and placed there to expand the horizons of the hearer.

The bounty of the Lord-speaker is such that He speaks and a multitude may hear and according to their own interpretations receive what they can ‘carry.’ The growth is each a separate and necessarily a private matter.

Self-appointed gurus have been multiplying like maggots on rotting flesh and are assaulting our common sense with real boners akin to this kind of gobbledygook… "the unconscious attempt to be the mindbody that you think that you are - the mindbody that this "you" is currently flowing through while you may bruise your right palm spanking your inner child and working overtime in infinity trying to be here now – an inner sanctum next to Nowhereville. blah blah - Why are we listening to this mumbo jumbo. (And I thought that was a dance.)

Yippie, dippie, hippie, flippee trashtalk by Moonglow Pavanandishi.

These self-help halo-polishers aided and abetted by our modern telecommunications invade our living rooms and bedrooms seriously suggesting that their words can be injected into our spiritual bloodstream and thus our lives will undergo a profound change (with cheque or money order, shipping not included). More rot. All the ticket buyers streaming out of the auditoriums after a dose of the guru stagecraft are returning to their own version of mediocrity, long-established by rote.

The appetite for truth is not sated by witnessing someone else’s pretense at knowing. And when watching these priestly types on TV we are attempting to drink from their well, an impossibility and a hoax as cheaply perpetrated on the weak and as deftly as the snake oil salesmen of yesteryear.

TV is insidious on a variety of levels. It is a constant flow of verbiage and sensationalism, loud sounds, gratuitous conflict and the glorification of grief. Boo hoo. Bring flowers. Indulge your false sentimentality.

When watching fictitious characters being presented by actors we are in effect witnessing an act of an act.

And after a lifetime of role-playing actors are apt to lose themselves in a maze of egocentric illusions and anxieties. Clearly dissatisfied with their own identity they humiliate themselves auditioning to be someone else and for the rest of their professional lives are galloping about in the Look-at-Me industry wondering whether they’re on foot, horseback or slithering in the grass. And in this shameful age of nescience who would want to be popular? And yet we have no shortage of candidates in the running for King of the Snakepit.

We are the words we speak. We are the words we hear. The mass of men trivialize themselves by the words they utter as they invite the mundane company of those who utter similar inanities all cornering themselves into dark frames populated by shifting judgements.

It is no wonder that Thoreau observed of his generation something which is equally applicable to our current lamentable situation, “The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.”

Such is their choice in the spilling of the bounty of light.

on driving to Nottawasaga, with Angie

I have a depth of sadness within me
that I can never release
may some parched land
receive the imprint
of the wealth of my watery soul
let the absorption through my skin
of the suffering of others
be translated
into some new world's
life-giving sea
may my wife die in peace
and may my sons live
as long as I
and allow me to know
after my power of knowing is gone
that I was loved

-Roger Langen

Commencement Address by Paul Hawken to the Class of 2009, University of Portland, May 3rd, 2009

When I was invited to give this speech, I was asked if I could give a simple short talk that was “direct, naked, taut, honest, passionate, lean, shivering, startling, and graceful.” Boy, no pressure there.

But let’s begin with the startling part. Hey, Class of 2009: you are going to have to figure out what it means to be a human being on earth at a time when every living system is declining, and the rate of decline is accelerating. Kind of a mind-boggling situation – but not one peer-reviewed paper published in the last thirty years can refute that statement.

Basically, the earth needs a new operating system, you are the programmers, and we need it within a few decades.




This planet came with a set of operating instructions, but we seem to have misplaced them. Important rules like -- don’t poison the water, soil, or air, and don’t let the earth get overcrowded, and don’t touch the thermostat -- have been broken. Buckminster Fuller said that spaceship earth was so ingeniously designed that no one has a clue that we are on one, flying through the universe at a million miles per hour, with no need for seatbelts, lots of room in coach, and really good food – but all that is changing.

There is invisible writing on the back of the diploma you will receive, and in case you didn’t bring lemon juice to decode it, I can tell you what it says: YOU ARE BRILLIANT, AND THE EARTH IS HIRING. The earth couldn’t afford to send any recruiters or limos to your school. It sent you rain, sunsets, ripe cherries, night blooming jasmine, and that unbelievably cute person you are dating. Take the hint. And here’s the deal: Forget that this task of planet-saving is not possible in the time required. Don’t be put off by people who know what is not possible. Do what needs to be done, and check to see if it was impossible only after you are done.

When asked if I am pessimistic or optimistic about the future, my answer is always the same: If you look at the science about what is happening on earth and aren’t pessimistic, you don’t understand data. But if you meet the people who are working to restore this earth and the lives of the poor, and you aren’t optimistic, you haven’t got a pulse. What I see everywhere in the world are ordinary people willing to confront despair, power, and incalculable odds in order to restore some semblance of grace, justice, and beauty to this world. The poet Adrienne Rich wrote, “So much has been destroyed I have cast my lot with those who, age after age, perversely, with no extraordinary power, reconstitute the world.” There could be no better description. Humanity is coalescing. It is reconstituting the world, and the action is taking place in schoolrooms, farms, jungles, villages, campuses, companies, refugee camps, deserts, fisheries, and slums.

You join a multitude of caring people. No one knows how many groups and organizations are working on the most salient issues of our day: climate change, poverty, deforestation, peace, water, hunger, conservation, human rights, and more. This is the largest movement the world has ever seen.

Rather than control, it seeks connection. Rather than dominance, it strives to disperse concentrations of power. Like Mercy Corps, it works behind the scenes and gets the job done. Large as it is, no one knows the true size of this movement. It provides hope, support, and meaning to billions of people in the world. Its clout resides in idea, not in force. It is made up of teachers, children, peasants, businesspeople, rappers, organic farmers, nuns, artists, government workers, fisherfolk, engineers, students, incorrigible writers, weeping Muslims, concerned mothers, poets, doctors without borders, grieving Christians, street musicians, the President of the United States of America, and as the writer David James Duncan would say, the Creator, the One who loves us all in such a huge way.

There is a rabbinical teaching that says if the world is ending and the Messiah arrives, first plant a tree, and then see if the story is true.

Inspiration is not garnered from the litanies of what may befall us; it resides in humanity’s willingness to restore, redress, reform, rebuild, recover, re-imagine, and reconsider. “One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began, though the voices around you kept shouting their bad advice,” is Mary Oliver’s description of moving away from the profane toward a deep sense of connectedness to the living world.

Millions of people are working on behalf of strangers, even if the evening news is usually about the death of strangers. This kindness of strangers has religious, even mythic origins, and very specific eighteenth-century roots. Abolitionists were the first people to create a national and global movement to defend the rights of those they did not know. Until that time, no group had filed a grievance except on behalf of itself. The founders of this movement were largely unknown – Granville Clark, Thomas Clarkson, Josiah Wedgwood – and their goal was ridiculous on the face of it: at that time three out of four people in the world were enslaved. Enslaving each other was what human beings had done for ages. And the abolitionist movement was greeted with incredulity. Conservative spokesmen ridiculed the abolitionists as liberals, progressives, do-gooders, meddlers, and activists. They were told they would ruin the economy and drive England into poverty. But for the first time in history a group of people organized themselves to help people they would never know, from whom they would never receive direct or indirect benefit. And today tens of millions of people do this every day. It is called the world of non-profits, civil society, schools, social entrepreneurship, and non-governmental organizations, of companies who place social and environmental justice at the top of their strategic goals. The scope and scale of this effort is unparalleled in history.

The living world is not “out there” somewhere, but in your heart. What do we know about life? In the words of biologist Janine Benyus, life creates the conditions that are conducive to life. I can think of no better motto for a future economy. We have tens of thousands of abandoned homes without people and tens of thousands of abandoned people without homes. We have failed bankers advising failed regulators on how to save failed assets. Think about this: we are the only species on this planet without full employment. Brilliant. We have an economy that tells us that it is cheaper to destroy earth in real time than to renew, restore, and sustain it. You can print money to bail out a bank but you can’t print life to bail out a planet. At present we are stealing the future, selling it in the present, and calling it gross domestic product. We can just as easily have an economy that is based on healing the future instead of stealing it. We can either create assets for the future or take the assets of the future. One is called restoration and the other exploitation. And whenever we exploit the earth we exploit people and cause untold suffering. Working for the earth is not a way to get rich, it is a way to be rich.

The first living cell came into being nearly 40 million centuries ago, and its direct descendants are in all of our bloodstreams. Literally you are breathing molecules this very second that were inhaled by Moses, Mother Teresa, and Bono. We are vastly interconnected. Our fates are inseparable. We are here because the dream of every cell is to become two cells. In each of you are one quadrillion cells, 90 percent of which are not human cells. Your body is a community, and without those other microorganisms you would perish in hours. Each human cell has 400 billion molecules conducting millions of processes between trillions of atoms. The total cellular activity in one human body is staggering: one septillion actions at any one moment, a one with twenty-four zeros after it. In a millisecond, our body has undergone ten times more processes than there are stars in the universe – exactly what Charles Darwin foretold when he said science would discover that each living creature was a “little universe, formed of a host of self-propagating organisms, inconceivably minute and as numerous as the stars of heaven.”

So I have two questions for you all: First, can you feel your body? Stop for a moment. Feel your body. One septillion activities going on simultaneously, and your body does this so well you are free to ignore it, and wonder instead when this speech will end. Second question: who is in charge of your body? Who is managing those molecules? Hopefully not a political party. Life is creating the conditions that are conducive to life inside you, just as in all of nature. What I want you to imagine is that collectively humanity is evincing a deep innate wisdom in coming together to heal the wounds and insults of the past.

Ralph Waldo Emerson once asked what we would do if the stars only came out once every thousand years. No one would sleep that night, of course. The world would become religious overnight. We would be ecstatic, delirious, made rapturous by the glory of God. Instead the stars come out every night, and we watch television
This extraordinary time when we are globally aware of each other and the multiple dangers that threaten civilization has never happened, not in a thousand years, not in ten thousand years. Each of us is as complex and beautiful as all the stars in the universe. We have done great things and we have gone way off course in terms of honoring creation. You are graduating to the most amazing, challenging, stupefying challenge ever bequested to any generation. The generations before you failed. They didn’t stay up all night. They got distracted and lost sight of the fact that life is a miracle every moment of your existence. Nature beckons you to be on her side. You couldn’t ask for a better boss. The most unrealistic person in the world is the cynic, not the dreamer. Hopefulness only makes sense when it doesn’t make sense to be hopeful. This is your century. Take it and run as if your life depends on it.

Paul Hawken is an environmentalist, entrepreneur, journalist, and author. Starting at age 20, he dedicated his life to sustainability and changing the relationship between business and the environment. His practice has included starting and running ecological businesses, writing and teaching about the impact of commerce on living systems, and consulting with governments and corporations on economic development, industrial ecology, and environmental policy. His books include Blessed Unrest: How the Largest Movement in the World Came into Being and Why No One Saw It Coming. He was presented with an honorary doctorate of humane letters by University president Father Bill Beauchamp, C.S.C., in May, when he delivered this superb speech. Our thanks especially to Erica Linson for her help making that moment possible. For more, see http://www.paulhawken.com/paulhawken_frameset.html

A Collective Happy Gait

This society I want to increase in pleasure. With confidence and what might be described as a collective happy gait. So occasionally I dance at rough bars with smiling women. Let us all be guilty of having such private pleasure.

Recently, I was described as a friend by a man who taught me with enthusiasm when I was 15. Those words meant a lot to me.

Also recently, I have been losing a lover.

I miss him immensely. Nothing could hurt more.

I needed to write this to stay sane.

A Daunting Task and Great Pleasure

Today is #1 for The English Bay Banner to become a hard copy. I thank Roger Pratt for his support.

the flower of Pasto

she’s an Andes girl
with black hair and a volcano
drifts smoke
over her Pasto home town
and she’s brave

the ocean’s horses
blow through her hair and the mountains
take her by the hand
and could it be, Liliany
that Colombia
is in love with you?


grievous angel
your black mane is flying
the water of truth flows through you
and across the emerald valley
your name echoes
your name echoes

and the rivers take you down
on their strong and flowing backs
to the troubles in the valley
diamonds torn
from the soles of your lover’s feet
winking in her tears
hard sparkle in your eyes, Liliany
hard sparkle in your eyes

Pasto girl, they have found you
Colombia’s flower is in a cell and a paramilitary
with sunglasses and a cigarette
is drifting smoke
over your rivers and your cane
over the petals in your name
‘I shed no tears for them,’ you say
‘Shed none for me, for I am free.’

girl from the Andes, coca memory
you are free
you are all the water and the land
mother, child, burro and man

grievous angel
your black mane is flying
your eagle heart is screaming
and across this emerald land
your name echoes
your name echoes

because Colombia
is in love with you
Liliany Obando!
Liliany Obando!

-Roger Langen

Vancouver Architects and Arborists

Paracletus!

A three act musical with terrific melodies created by Ian Hartline of Nelson. Enjoy these abridged excerpts.

BACKGROUND: Seth is our 17 year-old prototype of a brilliant and angry son-of-man willing to challenge God. He goes alone to the riverside and cries out to the heavens... How could you be so mean?

Silence!
Burn my ears no more!

I am.

I am here of the will of the waterfall.
I am the Lord of the fountains, the Rivergod.

You, Seth, have awakened me.
Now what is it you will have of me?

Look! Look! Take a look at this scene!
How could he be so mean? How could he be so mean? -Seth

Yes I see. Oh I see and wonder I, do I:
Why man, why?

Isn't it nearly beyond belief?
How can he expect from Him relief?

He's the matter with this scene!
He's the master of this scene! -Seth

Hark! Yes man grieves.
Darker and darker into the house goes he;
By his own hand does he chart his destiny.
Step by step, beat by beat goes the craze;
And onward I sing my melancholy phrase
As though to walk with head bent and eyes aglaze.

I read the mother's grief on every page
And hear the children hoping happy stories untold;
As i sweep by grandly the burial place of the sage
And into his arms my tears I fold.

Wonder little do I
Except, why man why?

I see white birds in a blue sky and watch the deerskins fade,
And in my body the silver beasts they wade;
But then on a moonless night, I hear this man a'scurry
A gritty thing in such a hurry
To relieve himself of the horror he has made.

Yes, man is of life, the immortal soul.
And yes he may be deified.

But as long as he lives like a bat in a hole
he'll take to his breast a witless bride.

But some day soon, some day soon
the white birds will flock and shout
Love is King, hope and power!

On mountains here and there about
Oh hear the wise birds sing!
Calling his name on every hour...
And watch the bees a'swarm and put it on every flower!

Love will easily await its hour
Like me, I roll and wait, wait for its hour.

Oh hear the wise birds sing.
Love is King, hope and power.

-excerpt from Paracletus!

Seth Responds

Then send this love along
For my heavy young heart;
Send this hope and power on wings this holy hour.
My legs they weary and the roads are long.

Be sure the white birds they speed
And the bees to whisper this name to me
that I may laugh loud again and heed
the silvery side of leaf flutter the tree.

Let us roll while we wait together
Past a golden field where violets and heather
colour the ground about and scampering squirrels.

Make nature promise a better weather.

Bring this tumbling canopy closer
so there I can see these eyes of God, blue or green;
And hear the secret hymns of a caller
who will tell me more, here about this scene.

So rush this love along
For my heavy young heart.
Speed this hopeful power on mighty wings this hour,
My legs they weary and the roads are long.

And even then, wild Rivergod,
My ears may hear the songs of Vishnu
my lips taste the milk and honey
but what of the child gone by the morning dew?

Even then great fountain and singer of sweet melodies,
What then do we tell our little ones
Who ask and crave to know life's mysteries
when we ourselves seem the guilty ones?

What of them, mighty one?

So send me hope,
And rush this love along
for then my heavy young heart to cope.

AND THE RIVERGOD RESPONDS

Be still good lad, take heart.

You see dear fellow, I too have watched
but for thousands of years and millions of moons,
after some eons you mellow.

Under the shimmering rainbows flow I
to hear the ceaseless wind
and the secrets of the swaying treetops.

Flowing 'neath the misty galaxies find me lie.

I hear the calls which haunt me at midnight.
Calling from beneath my belly.
They are the damned asking again for the right
to participate, crackle with light and end their folly.

For me I roll, roll while I wait do I.

Await the hour when comes the prince
to call for hope and the power,
call to the side and above that hour...
Love is King! Love is King!

The wise voices are few.

Rose petal-bearing winds can obscure.

Count them on hand those true
whose pinkish tongues sing so pure.

But then, see wily nature persevere.

And in all of the white heat and blast
nonetheless or more you may hear
His voice so perfect bringing in the last.

Under the shimmering rainbows flow I;
To hear the ceaseless wind
and the secrets of the swaying treetops.

Flowing 'neath the misty galaxies find me lie.

So you see dear fellow,
I too have watched.

But for thousands of years and millions of moons,
after some eons you mellow.

-excerpts from Paracletus! by YT (Yours truly)

A Curious Grasp

From a mirky wild,
dark and tangled
I am thrust into pulsing forms
held there in a curious grasp.
Looked upon in my blooming
by the mind of a perfect entity
Who emboldens me with a fertility
a fierceness raw and revealing.

Kissed by gods tumbling now in
hallowed skies
and beseeching me to increase
their secret bounty of light...

I rise victorious.

Poets of these horizons
have cast their words in flesh
and now call my names, each
of them glorious.

It is I at last who sinks
into your loose embrace.

My eyes alight as I behold
a countenance so sure
its handiwork
Will make pause the stream
of grace.