Scattered As One

 

In the shapeless castle of 

quiet,

the Earth's native tongue,

solitude is the great illusion

that the November-glazed 

pines know well—

stirring my personal 

sky above

and embraced in the truth

of each other

below

 

like the mandala

we are made of,

unseen and disbelieved,

though pulsing with 

soul light

and billions of lives:

 

every self 

mirrored in myself. 

 

Today is one of those legends: 

tiny pastures of moss,

precision-cut holly,

life crouched in acorns,

oaks that lived fast and

voluptuous all summer

and now sleep as smoke—

 

just another fevered sleep,

this dense illusion,

this solid mist,

this conniving world

we search in, search always,

when it's all right here,

 

Now,

 

waiting like the bones

of sassafras 

that will seduce again

with amber perfume

and a taste like secret love . . .

 

waiting for us to part

the curtain early

in the Spring of our dreamtime,

in this comedy of chaos,

in this microscopic space 

between birth 

and everlasting,

right here.

Like this:

 

Free . . .

 

In unquestioning Oneness

we can finally breathe that air,

when there's nothing left

but knowing,

nothing left but God—

the universe within—

when Love,

the only thing that ever was,

finds itself again.

 

Patricia Joan Jones

 

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Dalton's picture

my mind tumbles in gracefulness

     indeed a poem of great enchantment,

Law and virtuous wisdom, initimate with nature,

beautifully thought provoking and compelling.

 

     desire to connect with the lovely

lingering illusion of creation even--  yea

through solitude, our greatest hope.

 

     to know the meaning of what we perceive

to be a kind of meticulous madness, and

the manipulative maelstrom beckons always and

 

     we are free to breathe soon as we

recognize and join the dispassionate

friend, the frenzy and absolute truth.

patriciajj's picture

Thank you for that

Thank you for that magnificent reflection upon my work. Coming from a virtuoso of words who can make intricacies of thought seem effortless, I am deeply touched. So honored and grateful. 

Cascade's picture

Hello Patricia...For me, you

Hello Patricia...

For me, you have become 'that still, small voice', loud enough to make me listen and quiet enough for me to hear.  The sweetest part of that is...all the bullshit stops. I am back to awareness...a heart full of childhood awe.  And, in these moments I realize that I am not gone. I am not lost, or even overwhelmed...and the "comedy of chaos" disappears. The magic of your words (these poems have become mantras to me). Here I find focus and my heart expands. 

You are a nebula, a nursery birthing poetic starlight...

Trinkets to fill the eyes and darkest caverns 

patriciajj's picture

You have no idea how much

You have no idea how much your appreciation means to me. You validate my own journey toward expansion and my desire to share at least one path out of the labyrinth. Your stunning metaphors and heartfelt tapestry of language touched me deeply as they fulfilled my hope for this expression. Thank you, and again, thank you. 

Silver_Birch's picture

Peace on earth

Modern life is indeed a "comedy of chaos" — too frenetic and competitive. I regularly go for walks locally, on paths through farmland and into woodland areas that still remain. I usually take a camera, but not always. Sometimes I just sit by the trees, marvelling at their magnificence, and listening to the birds composing their own musical magic. Your poem transported me to those places, and I thank you for that.

patriciajj's picture

Thank you so much for reading

Thank you so much for reading and allowing the images to reinforce your own connection to nature. It sounds like there are some amazing naturel trails in your town. No doubt that's where you receive your inspiration and marvelous ideas.  I deeply appreciate your unwavering support. 

allets's picture

"comedy of chaos"

The alliteration (consonance) snagged my ear, flooded meaning across the senses, and found order in love. 8 million people to be evicted for the New Year. There is about to be a comedy of chaos all about us. Some call it the Cares Act II, some pandemic relief, but there is nothing for renters and leasers in the Republican version. Looking ahead, anticipating, preparing to solve is a lost skill. Or a strategy. Make the enemy Democrats look incompetent. To be watched.

.

~S~
.



~(:D)-

 

patriciajj's picture

It's absolutely infuriating, 

It's absolutely infuriating,  baffling and heartbreaking that during a pandemic, during this humanitarian crisis, those in desperate need are being handled a laughable pittance that has the word "care" attached to it, and the heartless disregard for millions, almost 10 million for God's sake, that are facing the horror of homelessness is beyond cruel. I just can't wrap my head around the callousness, the inhumanity, of this "great" America. 

 

If this is great, I'd rather be weak, because historically societies like these crumble. 

 

Thank you for your wise and encouraging insights into my work. It's always a pleasure to read your comments as well as your wonderful poetry. 

Jan9thian's picture

This poem's center of gravity

This poem's center of gravity is the phrase, fairly close to the conclusion, Unquestioning Oneness.  This is the first aspect I want to establish in my response, and it speaks for itself.

    Patriciajj is, I think, a true descendent, poetically, of Uncle Walt---as she proclaims the fact of union in a time of disunion, of multiplication of fellowship in a time of division of society into groups, some privileged and some not.  She looks at the sense of isolation which, I think, some folks---like the rightsers---enjoy because then they can wring their hands and say, "Oh, me . . ."  When I am part of a group---a love relationship, the Church, a corporate staff, or errand-runners on an interstate highway---I become part of the unquestioning Oneness that makes my rights secondary, and the needs of the others in that group paramount.  Saint Paul said, to the Philippian Christians if I recall correcty, that they should esteem others better than themselves.  That excludes the behavior of the rightsers, because, if I follow Paul's lead, the other's, or others',  rights are more important than mine.  This is part of the function of unquestioning Oneness.

  She says solitude is the great illusion, as the poem begins, and she is right.  Even Karl Marx, that msinterpreter whose followers have brought such misery in the world, said that no human being is an individual.  We are all part of other human beings.  I could not conceive and give birth to myself.  I needed two parents---and yes, they may have been saps; a couple of high school kids, in my case---but I needed them to give me life.  Even---to cite an extreme example---Frankenstein's monster understood that it had been brought into this world by another human being, and it wanted to be a part of human society, or some kind of society, and not be alone.  Mary Shelley very adroitly put this recognition of unquestioning oneness in the mind and mouth of a character excluded by its appearance from that oneness.  And, at the end of the novel, the Monster chooses to be alone only to die---to flee into distance and darkness in order to build the crematory pyre on which it will fling itself to bring an end to Victor Frankenstein's horribly selfish experiment.  The monster is Mary Shelley's great, and greatest, condemnation of the illusion of solitude.  And, although Patriciajj is a descendent of Uncle Walt here in the States, she is also a poetic descendent of Mary Shelley in her understanding of these very subtle details that, for at least the last four years, society has disdained, dismissed, and disrupted.

    This poem is not only an indictment of that social trend, it is also a promise of hope and relief, which may be very apparent during the next four years.  This poem is far more about commending than condemning; it is far more about reconciliation than miscombobulation; it is about fellowship, not oneupmanship, the Art of making relationship rather than "The art of the deal."  The art of the deal, or, shall we say, of dealing is "how much can I get out of you at the least possible cost to myself."  And having a deal-speculator in this country's chief magistracy has made this attitude rife through the fabric of society.  The art of feeling, which is what this great poem promotes, says "how much can I do for you, and I do not care what it costs to myself."  This is the sacrificial Love that Jesus came to express; this is the social meaning of the Cross.  This is the defeat of the illusion of solitude, and the triumph of the unquestioning, and unquestioned, Oneness, of which this poem so eloquently, so poetically, and so poignantly tells us.  Patriciajj has an innate, instinctive, and intuitive knowledge of those things that affect the Soul and operate the Cosmos, and she has proven that, again, as she ALWAYS does, in this triumphant new addition to her towering achievement at postpoems.


Jan9thian

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patriciajj's picture

Thank you for this deeply

Thank you for this deeply gratifying, beautifully written and accurate interpretation of my journey. With astute focus you aimed straight at the heart of my purpose and my motivation for keeping alive the ideal of Oneness in an era of tribalism and disarray. 

 

Your generous review is a conscious-raising and stunning gift. My heartfelt gratitude for all your support. 

 

 

Jan9thian's picture

Thank you for this reply.  As

Thank you for this reply.  As I read it, I was thinking . . . that someday, when future graduate students read your words as they gather info for their dissertations, they are going to see this comment, smile, and say, "This response she made to that old fart's comment must have given him a real boost."  


Jan9thian

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