I Will Be Life

I have no idea what inspired this poem. I write many poems in an almost endless stream of words. This is one such poem – sprawling its way to somewhere on a January day in 2016.

 

I Will Be Life

I am a red tornado
Rearranging the way things are.
I am a flying blue cobra
Ripping through the sky.
I am a white cloud
Stretching my fingers across the plains of love.

I am a sphere
Moving through all of creation.
I am a fractal wave
Waking on the shores of consciousness.

I am silence
Spiralling through the gardens of life.
I am a torturous scream
Rising from the fires that burn in hell.
I am a divine melody
That fills the body of all beings.

I am a small brown falcon
That hovers beyond the chaos below.
I am a small brown ant
Walking across the landscapes of the soul.

I am a mournful song
Echoing across the valleys of despair.
I am a joyful song
Celebrating the wonder of existence.

I am seven sombre monks
Guarding the doorway to the self.
I am eleven wise children
Standing with hands and hearts wide open.

I am a solid oak table
Holding up the weight of our suffering.
I am a pilgrims candle
Burning so that all might see.

I am a deep red wine
Opening the heart and setting fire to the senses.
I am a thousand grains of pepper
Exploding forgotten memories.

I am a raging violin
Leaping out from the tallest mountain.
I am a crying cello
Singing my way through the morning.

I am an unfathomable deep ocean
Carrying the creatures of dreams and nightmares.
I am a glorious green meadow
Filling life with an endless display of discovery.

I am the turbulent winds
That shred the architectures of suffering.
I am the inextinguishable and inexhaustible sun.
Always radiating from the core of all beings.

I am a towering sequoia
A bridge between Earth and sky.
I am an ancient gum
Who has endured and savoured everything.
I am the ancient lichen
Remapping the contours of rock and soil.

I am the bee sting
That wakes you up from your stupor.
I am the shark in your dream pools
Devouring your attachments and aversions.

I am the fellowship
That transcends all boundaries.
I am the tongue
That licks all wounds.
I am the ghost of memory
Reinventing what was.

I will be life
I am eternal.
I was the shadow
I held the thorns.
I’ve forgotten how to be wild.
I remember the things that really matter.
I am flawed but still I am perfect.
I am
I
am.

 

© R.J. Hudson 2016.

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The Wonder of Each Moment

I spent a large part of my life suffering and then later worked with many other people who suffered. When I realised the preciousness of each moment, everything changed and my experience of life shifted. A life threatening illness woke me to the splendour of each moment and helped me to see how to honour my body as a teacher and a voice for the soul. I wrote this poem as a reminder of the moment and how the moment finds its way into the experiences of the body.

 

The Wonder of Each Moment

The body moans and groans,
With small agonies
Long since sent away,
To some forgotten landscape within.

As space moves across space,
Gradients change
And space shrinks and expands
opens and closes
consumes and expels.

The mind conceives time,
In a place of space,
Where perception sees what it wants to see.
The body growing older
And the mind following in submission.

Age created from moments only half lived.
Moments when the life force was only partly expressed.
Vitality pushing outwards through the body into space.
But there in the experience of being in the body,
Experience is hammered into what should and should not be.
The full expression of life killed in the moment.

But the body never lies
it never lies
it cannot lie.
Instead it takes every thing
That enters its being and finds a place for it
And anchors it with memory.

Memories gather in the body –
Some reflections of pure moments that were lived fully,
Others reflections of jaded moments that erased in their prime.
Those that were fully lived
fully create harmony.
Those that were erased
disturb the flow.

And in the midst of life,
The river keeps flowing.
The Tao within and the Tao without,
At one with all that is light and all that is dark.
Where life is lived fully
it unfolds naturally with ease.
Where life is erased
it unfolds in knots and disease.
The perpetual unfolding of life,
finds it’s own rhythm in the flow.
Sometimes moving gently.
Sometimes moving chaotically.
Sometimes shifting from one to the other –
But always moving in response to the moment.

Moments lived fully,
Give full expression to the soul.
Moments erased,
Extinguish the souls’ perfection.

The three great poisons in this human life,
Bring nothing but darkness to the soul.
But in knowing them,
We find our own antidotes
And the soul shines forth in radiant perfection.

There is only one secret to living a great life –
To live fully and feel everything
That arises in the moment.
Not to turn away,
To avoid, suppress or deny
But to embrace,
To feel in the heart, the mind and the body,
What is.

A breath has many moments
But each moment exists outside the breath.
Breathe and live,
Be and exist,
Feeling the wonder of each moment.

 

© R.J. Hudson 2015.

Heart of the Mountain of the Eagle

In 2004 we had a fire on the nearby sacred mountain Burra Burra (Mountain of the Eagle), which was started by a lady who lit fire to the toilet paper she had used to wipe her arse ! The fire burned 2/3rds of the mountain, cracked ancient petroglyphs, destroyed ancient grey box trees, burned wildlife and sent the spirits of the Aboriginal people (who had become my teachers and friends) away. I wrote this poem in 2007 as a homage to the people of Burra Burra. It is the first poem in a sequence of poems written at that time to remember my deceased friends and my favourite mountain.

 

Heart of the Mountain of the Eagle

Buurra waau,
Buurra burra wirrin kyinnya.

The Soul of the Mountain of the Crow
Sent me to the Heart of the Mountain of the Eagle for kinship of a white man.

And I found a place among your people.
Some where across the landscape of souls
I found this place and called it home.
You held me as a child
And nourished me with the dreamtime.
You entered me
And found my tender wounds.
You gathered sticks and leaves
To mend my broken heart.
In you I found my place among the stars
And in your fire I remembered where I came from.
On a cold hard rock you buried my fingers
And in love you healed my wounds.
My place is among you as yours is in my heart.

The Soul of the Mountain is Crying
Her Heart is Broken and her People are leaving.

Let it go
Set it free
And I will hold your memory,
Just as you held me.

 

© R.J. Hudson 2007.

Ovations of a Greening Spring

I have always loved the natural world. In 2006 I moved away from the inland home that I had loved to the coast (and have moved back again). I so missed the land that I knew so well, that I grieved my separation from it. In 2006-2007 I wrote a series of poems about teh natural world taht helped me to deal with my grief for both the place, animals and plants and Aboriginal spirits (with whom I had relationships with). This poem from 2007 was written to convey something of the suffering of animals and the nature of impermanance.

 

Ovations of a Greening Spring

Yes
I have seen empires of dirt sail skyward and heavenly silk descending.
Yes
I have seen ants wrestle with the gods and spiders that fall upon the earth.

But no hand of man has eased their toil
Or lifted the weight of their suffering.

The angels of the apocalypse dance silently
With a mob of homeless kangaroos.
And in the world between
Dead men and women sing songs to the god of fire.

From amidst the storm blue catharsis of a broken sky
Come swarms as unending as the path of history itself.

The seasons within twist and turn between head and heart
And shed their wings in the tall green grass.
Crimson flowers fall from the small victories of hope and denial
And shattered creatures reassemble.

From the greatest depths of man’s tormented soul
Come a flurry of nameless prayers.

Through bitter harsh words and gentle sideways glances
I at last see the tall ovations of a greening spring.
And the earth remains a place of restless change
The transparency of all life shimmering like a halo from the sun.

Oh father earth I hear you
Your screaming whisper has not gone unnoticed.

My heart open to all life as it really is here and now
I feel the cry of the ailing beast within.
And I know that some things will disappear forever
While man watches on lamenting what he cannot change.

We touch the web and we know that we are one
Ever onwards to some place far away.

The harmonic chords of love
Tame the vehicles of change inside this flesh.
And I know as all animals do
That nothing stays the same.

Oh mother earth ever yearning for the web to bind us.
Keep on turning that we might awake from our slumber.

Yes
I shall remember all life as it was.
Yes
I shall remember when we were one.

 

© R.J. Hudson 2007.

Patch the Wounds (Possess the Huntress)

I wrote this poem in 1989, after falling in love for the first time. During time I wore all black, which reflected how I felt inside. 1989-1994 were the darkest years if my life. A time in which the discovery of love parallelled my discovery of pain, anger and rage.  This poem represents an early effort to express pain and joy and spiritual seeking in one poem.  Although it’s a pretty lame piece of writing, it marks a distinct period in my life. I spent several years struggling to express myself and in 1989-1990, I finally became comfortable with poetry as a medium.

Patch the Wounds (Possess the Huntress)

Farewell to the sinking burden,
I shall revel in your love.
Take me under,
Embrace my dreams,
Exchange suffering when our souls collide.

Don’t call me don’t call me,
Leave me to hide.

Shed that which seems normal and cast aside.
Tear the ribbon of life,
Cleanse the fire of pride.

I lurch at you
Dancing upon heart warmed coals.
Cloak and dagger conceals this warrior’s holes.

Shadowing eyes patch the wounds.
A thousand years linger onwards,
Seeking centre searching self,
Wandering in slumber.
I whisper to the secret within.

Oh dare ye possess the huntress ?

© R.J. Hudson 1989.

The Ghost Of Monumental Silence

I have used my life in part, to understand the nature of reality, the nature of mind and the nature of suffering. In this poem, written in 2000, I explore God and it’s relationship to mind, suffering and memory. You may however find your own meaning in this poem.

I borrowed this title for the title of this blog because I like it and because I felt that this poem pretty much sums up much of what I want to say in poetry.

 

The Ghost Of Monumental Silence

‘Twas the twilight of the frogs and a black mosquito symphony called,
When my eyes walked there – to that cauldron of scorpions –
The journey – twisted, like a lean road through a hedgehogs back.

I am the accident that sired meaning – The little ripples of death,
Having put away prophecies with blood – I am crazing myself in a word –
Now in my inhuman way – I am like a dusty parable.

Bearing the bodies of my dreams to you –
These cells embellished with suffering –
Their eyes reappearing – the only hope of empty men.

Whaled like a beach – Like solace, spawned from tasteless dust.
Ideas are beheaded – dawning forever, in the partitions of the eye.

At sunrise they leap from their cradles – broken before the light,
And in your mind, cataracts wicked and unmoving –
Prey like a snake upon the mouse – The sun dividing itself inside of me.

Ah, the pleasure of the mind is to say nothing,
Mystical intelligence – circling from the whole of my wake –
Oceans of creation, breaking like freak textures of the mind.

But the notes of your certainty bring a vengeance – to The One –
He, who feels – wisdom in His eyes – as You stare into My open hand –
The Who of the How – The Ghost of Monumental Silence.

 

© R.J. Hudson 2000.

The Great Force

A reflection from 2015 on the great force within and the power it has to shape all reality.

The Great Force

The force arises,
As if from nowhere.
In its wave,
Come murder, death and destruction.

From far, far away,
A force of equal strength arises
And thrusts its wave into the other.
Between two waves,
Come murder, death and destruction.

But beyond them,
A far more powerful force arises.
A force that stems from understanding and love.
It’s game is small – attending to root causes and shifting power.

The great force cannot be extinguished.
It does not live in time
But dwells in the heart of all living things.
It seeks vitality through difference and sameness
And it does not take sides,
Because it knows no right and no wrong.
Only how things happen.

The great force moves however fast or slow it needs to,
Through the minds hearts, actions, speech and feelings
Of all living things.
It has no name and needs no name.
Yet it has been called countless things.

It arises where it is most needed –
Spontaneously
But there are few who recognise it
And even fewer who know how to express it.

It is there,
In the darkest moments of human history
And there in the greatest natural catastrophes.
It is there,
In the dawning of the ages of awakening
And there when all life is thriving.
It is there,
In the glory of the day light
And in the secrets of night.

The great force is ever unfolding
And always renewing.
It has no preferences
But illuminates all choices.

When all that man perceives,
Turns to darkness
And all that he feels is despair.
The great force will continue playing away inside him,
Waiting for just the right moment to emerge.

When enough humans feel despair,
A great emergence will leap forth from within
And the great force will forge the way.
Always ready to bring man to his knees
And lift him up into the light.
Where at last he can see what he is
And let the great force blossom inside him.

 

© R.J. Hudson 2015.

The Great Knowing

A reflection from 2015 on the nature of the self in sleep and waking.

The Great Knowing

Here in the depths of sleep,
There is movement between the I and the Iless.

Darkness rolls me over,
In the seen and the unseen.

Monsters reach out to ensnare me
And demons rise from so long ago.

Ghosts wait to remind me of who I was and what I have forgotten
And skeletons dance loudly inside the hidden cupboards.

The light drifts between them,
Like sunshine moving through fog.

Here and there an angel lifts me out of the darkness,
Showing me the reasons I cannot see.

From within the darkest waves,
Old men and old women take my hand and steer the way.

They are always scarred and ugly,
But their hearts are pure and free.

All the kingdoms of heaven and hell mean nothing to the free.

They speak to me with eyes that whisper.

Telling me not to be afraid and not to desire salvation.

The I and the Iless continue to rise and fall,
While the great knowing embraces them all.
The darkness gives birth to webs of delusion, prisons of fear and uncertainty and terrors of the separate self.
The light offers up the rooms of its many mansions,
Its vistas of peace and perfection and wonders of the infinite within.

The old ones have seen it all
And recognise the I and the Iless in a moment of truth.
They come from many kingdoms but belong to no kingdom at all.
No projection binds them or deceives them.
They have no temptation, no heaven, no hell.

Sometimes I see them,
Between the doors of perception,
Inside heaven or inside hell.
But just when I reach them,
The I fades away and all is forgotten.

The Iless awakens and erases the play.

Only the great knowing remembers.

 

© R.J. Hudson 2015.

Nailing Smoke To The Wall (Mask)

I wrote this poem in 1996, at a time in my life where I was trying to make sense of my past and my identity. I have always been fascinating by time, memory and mystery and how they play out in our lives. In this poem I play around with the mystery and reality of memory and impermanance.

Nailing Smoke To The Wall (Mask)

In the arm I drift :
Overtures into overtures chaos into chaos,
Dreams into dreams.
Earth forever turning humanity standing still.
Oceans ebb and flow across the translucent mirrors of my soul.
Two bridges converge into one – thoughts creaking actions sleeping;
The doors of my childhood museum come crashing down –
The little boy inside me smiling like a crescent moon :
I remember ! I remember ! How could I forget ?

Of all these things that I have seen and all these places that I have been
Nothing lasts forever.
Human identity
Scored in the notes of my heart.
Woe,
‘tis time who yanks upon my twisted yoke –
In this reign of the I,
‘tis time who cradles this callous tide of memories –
In this rain of the eye.

Each time that I look – at this web that I weave
I see a god within
And I know :
Each man is a mask Each mask is a man.
Fate seals the lips of immortality,
Yet the mystery which flickers and fades will never unfold,
Always beckoning like night which trails through the eyes.
Feasting upon our human frailties,
While we dance among Adam’s ribs.

And so I plant the seed of hope on ambitions tongue,
The whining winds of fear ruffle the webs in my eyes
And I am licking wounds that bind the seal of space,
Trying to nail smoke to the wall.
Soon, this mortal linkage will disassemble
While I, perish beneath the ruins of memory.
Must I ask you : What mystery will remain when I am dead ?
And of the angel called memory : Quis custodiet ipsos custudes ?
(Who will guard the guard himself ?)

 

© R.J. Hudson 1996.

Hello…

Hello fellow humans and welcome to The Ghost of Monumental Silence. I’m R.J. Hudson.

I’ve been writing poetry since 1987, when I fell under the spell of  U2’s “Joshua Tree” album and Inxs’s “Kick” album. I’ve published a little poetry here and there – mostly in university magazines and online. I’m currently working on a collection of about 500 poems, selected from a much larger group of poems that I’ve written since 1987 and am looking to publish this collection in late 2017. I’ve been writing online under a pseudonym since 2000, about a range of non writing/poetry related subjects. This is my first real public effort to share my poetry.

I began writing as a way to save myself from darkness and continued to write for myself – with no intention of sharing my work. In the last 15 years, the darkness which plagued me has subsided and I have come to understand my true nature and the nature of all phenomenon. My writing reflects my journey from darkness to light and through a process of understanding and integration. Unfortunately now, I am forced by necessity to compartmentalise my online life into two aspects – the one who writes about more mystical and unusual subjects and the one who writes for the pleasure of writing.

I think of myself primarily as a story teller and a healer. Poetry is merely one expression that I enjoy. It has been an expression that has helped me to heal and to explore, both inner and outer worlds. I also write plays, musicals, essays, novels and non fiction. In time it is my wish to bring the fruits of all of my creations into the wider world.

This blog is a beginning and marks my entry into the writers world !

In time I will try to share a wide cross section of the poems I have written these last 30 years. I will indicate the year I wrote the poem and where possible provide a context for how the poem came to be.

It is my wish that my poems provide you with something that you did not have before and arouse your heart and mind.