The Revelation of

Enso
(Five Poems)
1
Knave

Weird and black in the light,

Hidden without shadow, bright black
Glowing, humming, and razor-sharp,
Heavy-beaked, keen-eyed and impudent,
Half-maker watches the unguarded roads

As the day is born, the day-star rising

Transforming darkness to virginal white,
Street-born refugee, smudge-faced and beautiful
Crosses in her eyes, singing the light
The devil vanishing in transformation to love

The Knave, strange and awake,

Asks his way in a land where he knows no one,
Their minds opaque, murky and dark
Bright black, weird in the light
The Half-maker's folk, shadows in the vapor

Still he seeks that other country,

Where Knave becomes Knight, all his wounds in front
Clad in violet, conversing with the dark
Pleading in the hope of a shift
When such a man Awakens to the Cup

--

2
Unspoken

Some things are better unspoken

Like the dying cries of a God
Or the whimpering pleas of a beaten monster
Bloodletting and assignations with demons

It was never a matter of pain

Hatred in its reddest forms
The wet sounds of beatings
It was never a matter of harm

The death of Love was the object

Eating the heart of Man
Pushing despair into the remaining cavity
Eternal suffering, distance from light

The subtle first caress, innocent and gentle

The first one is free
Endless slavery, thereafter
And no hope of light

This was the object, indeed

And none would stand before it
Hope the pining of the damned
Gray the eternal outlook

Indifferent the masses

Inchoate the initiates
Unformed any hope of resistance
Unborn all thought of life

But, there must be a King

And there must be a Queen in Heaven
Else the universe may not stand
And what is oblivion without being?

-Typhon

--

3
Christmas, 2008

Icons speak fire through gold.

Awake! Awake! Be not taken in by the world!
The King came and went, and still you sleep,
leaden and unknowing.

The Divine Spark sputters,

but does not go out, tended by unseen hands,
the luminous Yes, just beyond reach.
Alas! the devil is no more,

But He who tests his own,

still He breathes beneath all things,
ancient and terrible, dazzling,
But His light is only a candle,

Next to the light the icons whisper.

Our blind eyes cannot see,
And must be burnt away.
Awake! Awake! The King has come and gone.

--

4
Soul and Feather

Compare the weight of the soul to a feather

Yours or mine matters little
We are only human

It is the fate of man to suffer, as the Buddha told us

All life is just that
But where does that lead us?

To the truth, some would say

To Unknowing, others
Perhaps suffering is nothing more than itself

Perhaps it is unwise to agonize over the destruction of monuments to our past

Or the future of our unborn generations who have no say
Perhaps it is only a burning forest or a new highway

Tara will disappear along with our trees and nothing will be the same
But nothing is ever the same
And there is nothing new under the sun

Only manʼs suffering over the loss of his past and his future
Can influence the weight of his heart against the feather of Truth
It is that suffering that can alter the balance

--

5
“...they know not what they do...”

In the five places

Wretched hovels of understanding
Foundering on the cliffs of unknowable seas

The mocking creatures

Incensed and unaware
Fail to see the truth of life
And the nineteen saints forgive them
“For they know not what they do”

Yet there are some

Those who are unsatisfied
Crowned with the ideas of the unarmored warrior

Seeing the bricks of the sacred house

The shining tiles of its roof
And God covering it in offal
Leave it for the swollen masses
And climb the mountain

--