NetherWoodPoetry: The Black Paper (Part two)

Finding One’s Purpose

I

There is perhaps  nothing greater than finding one’s purpose.  There is the day we are born and the day we discover why.  Such a profound idea.  

Especially considering the levels of mystery on every imaginable side of birth and existence.  

One’s purpose is the foundation of the greatest of things:: The Great Work.  

The Great Work being a process of self development, beyond even self actualization, into a place of making of one’s self: The Philosopher’s Stone.

II

One of the greatest purposes in the world is to be a writer.

A writer, advancing into ever greater states of self realization, self actualization, a psychonaut of the frontiers of self.

The reason that the path of excess leads to a palace of wisdom is because this path leads to the interior of the self, where exists: A palace.

III

For just one individual to discover, and even dwell, this palace is one of the greatest things in the world.

I believe that we as…

Magicians of letters.

We, as magicians of letters, can generate energies that promote self realization and self actualization.

The greatest things in the world.

A synergy consisting of personal development that amplifies the development of others, which in turn, amplifies the initial source of amplification.  A zero point energy system of creativity and creation.  

A contribution to the literary renaissance and the renaissance of the human spirit.

IV

Finding one’s personal purpose.

I know in the past I have stated my desire to write a lotta poems.

Which is pretty damn cool if you ask me, however…

That is not necessary, or some universal criteria…

A poetry site I once belonged to, which  went under, I used to write one poem a week and thought that was a lot.

Or…

I think  I started writing a poem every three to five days.

Nothing like that which I pursued on DUP.

I sought a sort of speed chess with slow chess elements for the modern mind.

We live in an age of disposable consumerism and content creation, very real forces on everything from post it notes to poetry.

The rapper Westside Gunn would agree, and many other artists and entertainers.

But that was my approach…

V

We all have our obstacles…

We all might get knocked down…

It’s never truly giving up.

And…

There will be many or most that give up.

The best writers will give up.

Will you give up?

VI

It’s such a difficult premise: The Writing.

An entity, turning about, inside of a paradox.

Why do we do it.  

Why did we start.  What compels us to continue.

Many are called, few are chosen.

I say…

We are the chosen.

By…

Some unseen force.

Here, take this pen, learn all it’s uses.

Make lovely music of the spheres.

Stare long into abyss parallel to abyss…

Be stared back at in permeations of revelations.

Coming apart to hold the reader together.

It matters…

All of it matters…

VII

Thank you LDF (Not that I think you are reading this…  Im just tellin the world)

I would have never even posted here,
were it not for you…

I would have never had your friendship
and the friendship of others, here…

You participated in my process and the
process of others…

Those are the most important things in
the world…

As I ponder the Ethos of NWP…

I will say that all LDF precepts shall be
honored, always.

I been thinking of the golden rule…

Do unto others as you would have them
do unto you.

Or…

Love your neighbor as yourself.

In the Van Helsing Movie Igor says:

Do unto others before they do unto me.

I rather like that one…

:)))

It’s real tough…

I started simply ignoring everyone
on the basis of a few.

Like trading stocks with blinders
to the wins and losses.

It was the only way I could write.

VIII

I did what I thought was best for
the writing.

But to truly love my neighbor…

What the hell does that mean.

This is going to sound crazy…

When I was in prison, a higher level,
I remember looking around…

It was around this time of year, May days.

Gardens starting, the birds chirping,
critters coming out of their dens.

Dudes getting their faces slashed…

Was a time of high adventure.

But I was looking around, having long
accepted the absurdity of my
situation.

I was supposed to get 18 to 24 months.

They gave me 84 months, seven years
in Tibet.

(There were lotta extenuating
circumstances…  

I deserved to go to prison.  I became
stronger and better.)

But I looked around…

It was…

A moment when the music starts
playing.

The music of the cosmos, that comes
in different forms, these forms including
every form of art and human self
expression.

I looked around.

All these elements coming alive.

I was with my small violent circle
of friends.

They were also artists.

Everyone in prison was an artist.

And…

I think everyone, in general, is
an artist.

Like gods with amnesia.

XI

I was looking around the prison yard…

So much crazy shit…

But suddenly…

I saw everyone how God sees them.

Perhaps this sounds crazy…

But it made me love them.

Feeling that love very deeply.

I could understand everything
about them.

I could understand myself.

For me…

Prison was like the journey
of Siddhartha.

I remember one time…

My friend…

He was super liberal…

But yes…

The guards tore my shit up,
for nothing…

Cuz I beat them at the last
prison…

But he was the only one
who stood up for me…

He said I was: A buddha.

I took that as the greatest
of things…

[The next day, I mighta
stabbed someone...]

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