Qi - hand written calligraphic 'Qi' in hanja.

A poem by Konrad Tademar

Qi
Since I disagreed with her I could not tell The Reimann sum of the nether hell For the flower of the lotus tree asked me to lie And I had to shed a teardrop occult cry Let me surf on my meridian lines and harness the Chi As far as the crypotnomicon eye can safely see There is a reality superior to this Fire and brimstone and British bliss

A Druidic sacrifice at the Stonehenge dawn A black cat walking across a fresh cut verte lawn Give me twelve acupuncture needles and stick them in my hand I will read from the Bible and see the lay of the land Give me thirty silver pieces and I will recoil For into the dust I will go as I come from the black soil For the elemental function of life is pain The Alchemy of the Tarot is no less sane

Georg Friedrich Bernhard Riemann (September 17, 1826 July 20, 1866) German mathematician.

than the Quantum fluctuations of the men Crossed with a gravity bending tachyon Time does not stand still for any of us mere mortals Each day we pass through countless irreversible portals The mind once stretched cannot recoil back To think is to be a pathfinder on a games track They will tell you that the map is the territory Here is the scripture, learn it by heart, there is only one story

The Koran, the Torah, the Analects and the Homeric cycle I have in one hand the holy Bible and in the other a motorcycle Zen and the Art and the Maintenance I dont advocate to sit on any agnostic fence I dont propose any Terra Incognita unsolved equation I am not a preacher, my ministry is sensation Truth is beautiful, I value her for her purity My duty is to her more fundamental than mere vanity

Octeract, 8 dimensional cube.

I am fascinated by the octeract and hyperbolic space This is the salvation of the human race It is the soul that weighs most heavily on my mind Jesus Christ stands beside his cross, and I stand behind Look there comes Buddha, and now he has gone again I wait for the return of the holy monsoons, I pray to the rain There is but one God, and Mohammad is his prophet But I am not a follower of either Einstein or Lenin, I have met

the path of truth in the free flowing of my meridian Chi A long time ago when I first learned how to see I stood upon a high rock so very near the sky That I could almost touch the stars when I heard a butterfly It landed on my upturned palm to catch its breath I did not breathe myself, for fear of imminent death And when the kaleidoscopic creature took flight once more Then I heard the opening and the closing of the door

"Muhammad" in traditional Thuluth calligraphy, by: Khattat Aziz Efendi (1871-1934) Ottoman Turkish calligrapher.

Is all that we see or seem to be The wars we fight, the money we claim to have, the angry Tsunami That takes away our homes and lives, leaving behind this A pathetic attempt at instructions to reach bliss? Or is all this, this world so conspired But a veil of shadows, an illusion so very tired? The manifold of connected topological completeness Is but a closed subset of a compact, an exponential map, it is less

than the sum of what we all are A holistic statement that truth is ever dormant, and far The rice has steamed, the Chi is satiated and alive The devil has made his hoof mark on the mind of the human hive I take a pill, the red one and go down the rabbit hole I am not a number, I am not even a good Pole There are Americans who wish the world to remake But I wish to swim naked with the Lady of the Lake

Charaxes brutus natalensis (brush-footed butterfly) Pictured in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania, credit: Muhammad Mahdi Karim

Give me Excalibur and let me converse with Merlin and Lancelot Give me a quest worthy of the future not this tired ancient lot There is a cosmos out there to conquer and colonize Instead we fight over scripture and legalisms, like excremental flies Discard all of this, we have spent it to the finish line The oneness is as fatigued as is the holy trine The world is exhausted, the debates are all pass I will have some fine Merlot and a cracker with duck pt Neither witchcraft nor science will save us now from ourselves We are doomed to fade away like Tolkiens Elves This is the end of our age, a new age is upon us Love one another, get on the big blue bus Love yourselves, and maybe the ideology will conform Maybe we can all survive the coming storm The door is opening once again for all mankind I am stepping through, come with me dont lag behind. March 30, 2011

The Holy Trinity icon (1410) by Saint Andrey Rublev , born c. 1360s - died 29 January 1430, traditional)