If the nature of things were such that consciousness, awareness, mindfulness, did not exist then no existence would be known by anything. That things do exist are only known by way of conscious experience of them. The most miraculous and amazing thing in the lives of human beings, and by which they, we, know anything at all, is seemingly taken for granted. From our own point of reference only two things exist; one being the thing which is conscious, or self; and the other being that which we experience. Hence the observer and the observed.
What then is the observer, and what is the observed? These are but two of the perennial questions which we, and no doubt any and all intelligent self-conscious entities ask themselves. What am I: from whence do I come: what am I doing here; and to whither do I go? Why do I exist? Why does anything exist? How does anything exist? Is there some point or purpose to existence? Why do I ask these questions? What makes me ask these questions? Does it matter? Does anything matter? If not then why not? And if so then why? Is it a simple matter of choice that I, mind, ask questions and desire comprehension; or is it implicit in the implicate order of things? If there are answers to these questions then where can they be found?
Such questions I asked myself even as a young child; and as no doubt all or most people do and have done since the beginning of human existence on earth. Such questions arise in the mind naturally, there is nothing either clever or unusual in it; for it is the most natural thing in conscious existence to ask questions and seek answers and understanding.
The answers which I have found hitherto come from no book on earth: no philosophy; no religion; no physical observation; no rational analysis; and neither from the words of any human being. They just came by way of experience. And in the beginning I was not even aware that I was asking them. But I will talk a little of the things which I found, and my feelings toward them. I do this in order that children, young minds, may contemplate upon something other than that which the state indoctrination, by way of both science and religions, pump into young minds as soon as they can think. Hence an alternative to give thought to. Also that in due course they can come to compare viewpoints which emanate only from direct human experience as opposed to doctrinal belief systems and conventional conceptual thinking. Existence, creation, is mysterious; but mystery does not imply that in due course it defies understanding, and even by way of reason. Reason can never dig out these inner truths, but when known, digested and synthesised, they do not defy reason. And when both emotion and reason walk together in one harmony and accord, then so to does creation itself join in the cosmic dance of being. And when the outer becomes a living reflection of the inner then creation itself flowers; from essence into form.
Dick Richardson West Somerset. 2001
If all the stars were paper,
and all the space was ink;
and if I had forever,
the time for which to think;
then never would the stars suffice,
and ne’r would spread the ink,
to tell the story of my love,
and what I came to drink.
to shed a little light
among the existential gloom
of those in troubled flight;
would that amount to giving
what is not mine to give,
or can the power of the word
encourage them to live?
A little learning is a dangerous thing,
or so it has been said,
but if you do not give it now,
then you cannot when you’re dead!
And for what purpose then I ask,
is freedom given for?
The choice is mine,
at least for now,
to give them something more:
to tell them of from whence they came,
and to whither they return;
for the end is the beginning—
and so much there is to learn!
And never did the ancients,
of that mystic thread through time,
describe the realm of paradise—
So I’ll make that project mine !
* * *
I told it at the outset,
and I’ll say it one more time,
that the power is within you
to make this world divine.
Seek not the grail beyond you
for the magic is inside;
the deepest root within you,
loves eternal cosmic bride.
The marriage is outside of time;
before the stars did shine;
before time tore asunder
the repose of the divine.
Wait not then for Paradise,
and all glory yet to come,
for it’s even now within you
and the first thing ever done.
Do not believe the truth of this
but seek it for yourself;
for life on Earth is far too short
to miss such divine wealth.
And so, when times are cold and hard,
and the winters chill is rife,
gather the Babes around the hearth,
and speak to them... of LIFE.
Fire the flame within them,
as the coals do warm the hand,
and tell them of from whence they came,
the divine eternal land.
* * *
The Fulfilment of Incarnate Being.
(Paradise on Earth—or the Reciprocal Convergence)
How many coats of consciousness
must yield before the dawn
where man can live incarnate
without such pain to mourn.
What scalpel could be honed so sharp
to heal the wounds therein;
or does the knowledge of one’s self
eradicate the sin?
What lies before the thought of things
which manifests the day;
the realm of infinite duration,
where there is no price to pay.
What road transcends the temporal things
of form and shape and size,
where knowledge of the ground of self
illuminates the prize.
Where feeling is not touching
and knowing is not thought,
yet overcoming paradox
is a lesson to be taught.
Where metaphysics hangs its coat
and mystics dwell in awe
the singer may be sighted,
but the song goes on yet more.
The inward journey trod and done
will yield the truth, but not the sum.
From whence we come we must return,
knowing not how, but with will to learn.
When Cosmos in the Atom dwells,
and the seer is that seen,
still yet our senses manifest
illusions of the dream.
But slowly moves the dawning
of illusions bubble burst,
when first we take a faltering step
with philosophic thirst.
What substance hath a shadow,
the minds virus of great might,
wherein the death of living truth
is but the lack of light.
Self righteous halls of intellect
who’s substance is but I,
like the sound of one hand clapping
knows not that which is nigh.
Like jewels cast out upon the tide
that sink with marching time,
it is not an act of nature
which perpetrates the crime.
The idea which creates the ‘self’
and enshrines its love therein;
is the first sour fruit of freedom;
for the idol is the sin.
Stand not in awe, nor bow, nor scrape,
to creation by your hand;
for can it ever match the truth
within a grain of sand?
The symphony of man’s delight
is but a passing tune,
now waxing, and then waning,
like seasons of the Moon.
What magnitude of counterpoint
beholds the greater me,
when casting back its freedom
like winds across the sea.
The greatest love a man beholds,
like the tiddler on a line;
must yet, by self, be cast back to
a freedom, beyond time.
Where all is one, and one is all,
is a mere lesson for a boy;
while MAN is now the affirmation
of a vast eternal joy.
Of what, and when, and how, and why,
the knowing will come clear
if time you make with quiet mind,
and communicative ear.
What then comes amid the calm,
whatever be its name,
the wing like voice of insight pleads,
“Go forth, and do the same!”
How provest thou of what is known,
in rhyme, or verse, or prose,
where awareness was the essence,
before the thought arose?!
Where nothing was excluded;
though only briefly dwelt,
the mono-pole existence
wherein no pain was felt.
But if the mind denies itself
and turns its face away,
then the glory that is man’s by right,
won’t see the light of day.
So how can man discover,
that which, by truth, is best?
Unleash the ties of ego’s grasp;
Meta-Aesthesis, Consummatum Est.
* * *
List to me old Omar,
of whence you come and go;
that of which you had no ken,
but dearly longed to know.
I'll turn a few old pages,
the lesson for to see
beyond sans wine, and dust to dust;
beyond the temporal tree.
You wondered what the vintners buy
with that from which they sell,
that ever could be quite as good,
and do the work so well.
There is another vine you see,
much sweeter than the brew;
who's roots go deeper into truth,
and lift your mind anew.
So many doors you entered
and tallied there so long;
but ne’r a one there told you of
the singer and the song.
So stay a while yet longer
while I tell of what I know;
and the swan-song of my story,
of whence we come and go.
* * *
I am the watcher at the gates of dawn
where there is no eve, no noon, or morn.
I do not think, but float and stare;
and of all things I am aware.
I am the final judge of time,
and all that moved once, is now mine;
for all is still; ’tis only me
that permeates this wondrous sea.
I am the final perfect thing,
brought forth, the final song to sing.
From whence I came, and whither I go,
even I can never know;
for I am not the light you see,
but only that which falls on me.
Each light within this wondrous dome
unto itself, and each alone,
with a truth that all do see;
but only known by the thing called ‘me’.
I am remembrance of the great;
and knowledge of the final state;
and when I judge it so well done;
I am the reflection... of whence I come.
* * *
THE LAST VIRTUE
Dedication to Professor Abdus Salam,
Director of the
International Centre for
Theoretical Physics; Trieste.
My soul is of a birth so rare,
beyond the multitudes rude glare.
The womb of silence is all mine,
its knowledge vast as the divine.
Where time can neither rust or move,
and none there are to disapprove
the chorus of the lights aglow
which only lovers come to know.
The sparkling womb of eternity
fit for only that part of me
which lasts the final discernment day
when part must go, and part must stay.
And when annihilations job is done,
that part of me which is the son
of creations love divine,
and knowing that which is of mine.
And thus we know the deeper wealth;
the knowledge of the truth of self;
and all that is not me you see,
the absolute of objectivity.
“I envy you this knowledge;
especially while so young”!
Oh no my friend,
don’t do so,
for you know not what it’s done!
The consequence of knowing,
whilst on this world one dwells,
is synonymous with drowning
in a stream of living hells:
in a world where love is tethered
to a lie (about to die)
by the will of men incarnate
who’s spirits have run dry
of all that is of value—
—and thus what is the worth,
the exodus from paradise
to find oneself on earth!?
But in due course they all will know,
and only then can this world glow.
In the meantime, let them feel,
and life, to them, will then reveal.
* * *