Poem - MAG Poetry Prize 2011
Awareness (level 5 of 7)
by
Budapest, Hungary
Thoughts
are merely a tangle of non-conformant
chemicals
in an ultra-responsive setting;
echoes
of scarcely delayed feelings,
millimetrically
placed and ready to be felt;
remnants
of cromagnon desires,
keeping
us occupied, unassuming, and tame,
while
life rolls on silently, reflexively, and impressively,
with
all its humiliating nerve.
Rumination
is for cows, guppies, and humans alike,
and
saffrons, sapphires, and the snow all reason
in their own way,
no
less conscious than our total unconsciousness.
Like
a rock or plant, man is authoritatively ignorant of his ignorance,
and
in his metaphysical realism lives, and loves, and dies,
without
a clue that he never lived, never loved, and was perpetually dead.
Thought’s
true thought is to block awareness,
by
darkening the place where true awareness lies.
We
think, therefore we think: to god (I mean exact-Nature) no other valid reason
exists.
We
conveniently overrate rationality, through self-serving cycles of chronic
urgency and folly,
leaving
us continually stuck to our cyclic fate.
Life
is Nature’s grunt or roar, all just a sound, faint or not.
We
are unsubstantial and chimerical animals by excellence,
and
in the circle inside the box we live in, our fancy appears really real.
As a
feeling awaits its chemical fate, in the millimetric second that lingers,
whole
worlds are imagined, and our universe and all is perceived:
violence,
joy, depression, hope, and unbearable pain are unleashed,
cities
are wanted, planned, and assembled,
while
man, impeccably and in turns, plays god, king, and beggar,
and
true lives, true loves and true deities are born.
As
man progresses (i.e. transgresses his own nature),
and
as he overcomes thought, word, and feeling,
he
ceases to be restrictively alive: he is released, he is now free.
Thought
stands alongside feeling, without communication or vibration,
and
gradually and painfully amalgamate into a new corrosive mix,
directly
eating into spirit, flesh, and understanding,
until
our wholeness wholly disintegrates.
The
world as we know it folds upon itself, layer by layer,
in
an inner spectacle of perfect annihilation and renewal.
The
chasm separating man from himself contracts, eventually to nil,
and
man plunges from the edge of this last plank (4).
As
he falls, in mid-flight, the ultimate metamorphosis occurs,
and an
übermensch is born.
Added: 29.04.2011
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