The Ego and The Poem

Who I am cannot be reflected back for anyone else to think, or know, or see
and it is with this eternal knowing  that the Observer is finally set free.


What the heck was that???

I can almost hear the voices of those that read the poem asking out loud,  "What the heck was that?"  I wish I could tell you what it is but I only partly "know".  Like most of my poems it just came out.


The Process

 I was reminded of something from reviewing A Course and from listening to Eckhart Tolle's amazing lecture the last two mornings (cited in the last entry), and I was inspired. I had this strong feeling to write a poem.  I was in-spired, In -spirit, whatever that may mean to you.

Let me be clear, I am not saying I am channelling when I write poetry. In fact, I am not sure of that channelling  stuff even though I do like to hear or read  certain  people who say they are channelled  if the message resonates...But to say our bodies and minds can be used by some entity from another dimension to come through...I don't know about that. I am not going there.

It is true, however, when I am inspired, something within me seems to take over the writing process, something beyond my busy little monkey mind. I am conscious and I am aware of the thoughts going on in my head as I write.  I am aware of some message that wants to come out. I am aware of rhythm. meter, rhyme...how the poem "sounds" but it isn't my little self doing the writing.

Sometimes it comes out so fast it feels like I just threw up a bunch of words on the page ( better than pee soup, I suppose). And if I didn't vomit then, there are many more times little me wants to gag after wards when I am reading some of the poems I wrote. It's like, "What the heck is that???!!"

And if it was an action of pure ego...I would not have made it rhyme!  I would  like to see myself as more of a  contemporary poet, relying more on creating rhythm and imagery within the lines rather than rhyming the words at the end of each line. Yet most of my poems  come out rhyming. Go figure!  Thank God I have a soft spot for the Romantic poets like Wordsworth, Coleridge, Dickinson who use rhyme schemes.  It makes what comes out of me a little more tolerable to my ego.

Despite plenty of  "WTF(ront door)s?" I have learned to respect the process and whatever comes out. I don't own it...it belongs to some deeper part of me but I do use my mind to revise and edit what appears. I will review it in my head so it sounds as good as I think it is going to sound whether anyone else judges it as such or not. I allow the rhyming. And I allow that compulsive/ impulsive feeling I get to tell me if I should keep working the poem or if it is okay  to walk away from it.

If it sucks...I don't see it as my problem.  If it sounds okay...I don't the credit.

I suppose this "weirdness" happens to a lesser degree  with all I write, even this blog to some extent but  it is much more apparent with poetry  than anything else. (I don't even feel like I can call it "my" poetry. lol) It may be weird...but...it is also so freak in cool to see it happening, to be a part of it. So there it is.


What did it mean?

Now what did that poem mean?  After I read it a few dozen times I see what it is about. It is about ego...this false idea of self we tend to identify with, cling to, do whatever we can to retrieve and protect.  This ego is no more  than a reflection of our minds in the world.

It is not substantial...we cannot pick it up to use it to fill in the empty feeling we have.  It does no good to use the forms around us, either,  be they other people, recognition, success, or material possessions to help us keep and improve that sense of self. It does us no good to grasp, seek and cling to the things of form.  Nothing of form can fill us up, nothing of form lasts.

The image we have of ourselves is so easily disturbed by a mere finger because it is just a ripple of light on the surface of what is.  It is not substantial.  When we realize this as the narrator did we fall to our knees in reverence for who we are.  We are transformed.  We transcend and we become grounded in the a reality that goes much deeper than a surface image (We blossom and become rooted like the flower). We realize we are not the image but the observer of the image and we are set free by that realization. That is awakening.

The references to Narcissus, Echo and Nemesis...as well as the gold and white flower are attributed to  the story of Narcissus which Tolle alluded to in the video and which I was inspired to read more about.

That's the poem and that's the process.

All is well!