Few Poems

What is the truth? I have no idea but may have glimpsed it on a trip.

I wrote these poems around 2018-2022 whilst coming to terms with a few crappy decisions and life experiences, and working through a bunch of ridiculous thought-traps with the help of friends.

I do now believe that every person can see the full truth for themselves, whatever that is (there is only One, right?), simply by sitting and listening. I'm a complete noob when it comes to the methods but have been fortunate enough to try a couple of shortcuts (breathwork etc) thanks to constant nagging from mates :D.

Big influences over the same period were works by Alan Watts, Terence McKenna and Thomas Campbell. I owe them a great deal for helping sort through a lot of my thinking.

All image credits: https://pixabay.com/

MORNING MEDITATION

WHAT DO YOU THINK IT IS THAT YOU’RE IN,
SPACETIME PRESUMED INFINITELY LARGE?
SOME PATTERN, A SHAPE OR TESSELLATING FORM,
A BOX IN A BOX IN A BOX YOU WERE BORN.

NOW THINK OF AN ATOM,
FOR THAT’S HOW THEY’RE MADE.
DIG DOWN THROUGH THE LAYERS,
OBSERVE TRUTH YOU BETRAYED.

THAT YOU ARE THE ONE,
THE ALL THAT THERE IS,
ALL THAT THERE CAN BE,
AND WHO FOREVER IS.

SO DON’T TRY TO DO MAGIC,
FOR THAT IS THE TRICK.
BUT BRING IT ABOUT THROUGH
MIND’S WANDERING BLISS.

-JWN

DISBELIEF

“ALL ROADS LEAD TO GOD”,
THE BUDDHIST MIGHT SAY,
BUT NORSEMAN KNOWS HEAVEN
IS ONLY THREE FEET AWAY.

“THERE IS NO HEAVEN!”,
THE PHYSICIST OBJECTS.
“IT’S ALL IN YOUR HEAD”,
SOME PHILOSOPHER ATTESTS.

SO WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK
AM I MEANT TO BELIEVE?
AIN’T BELIEF JUST A TRAP,
THAT STORY TO APPEASE?

PLEASE TELL ME ONE THING
YOU CAN ACTUALLY KNOW.
NOT A HOPE, NOR A DREAM,
WHAT CAN YOU LITERALLY SHOW?

THREE CHEERS IF YOUR THEORY
DESCRIBES MORE THAN 4%.
WELL DONE IF YOUR PERSPECTIVE
CONSIDERS UNIVERSAL INTENT.

BUT WHAT OF THE FEELING
THAT REALITY ISN’T REAL?
UNBOUND CONSCIOUSNESS REALISED,
YOU’RE THE BIG REVEAL.

-JWN

WE LIGHT

WE LIVE IN A CONSTRUCT,
ABOUT FIFTEEN LAYERS DEEP,
ALL OF OUR OWN CREATION.

EACH LAYER A LIE
E.G.: SPACE AND TIME
AND ON SOME, FOR YOU, AN INVERSION.

LIKE A FATHER WHO ABUSED,
OR THE LOVER YOU FAILED TO CHOOSE.
THIS PAIN, FOR NOW, YOUR BURDEN.

JUST KNOW EVERYTHING WILL HEAL.
EXPLORE WITH CURIOSITY AND ZEAL.
SEEK TRUTH AND KNOW YOUR INTENTION.

-JWN

LOVESICK CLICHÉ

PIERRE-HENRI FRANÇOIS-DUPONT,
A MAN WITH TOO MANY NAMES.
SO MADLY IN LOVE WITH GLORIOUS MAID,
SHY THOUGH HE NEVER COULD SAY.

THE REBELLIOUS SORT AND MOST BODACIOUS, OF COURSE,
SHE’D ARRIVE AND ALL ELSE WOULD FADE
INTO THAT FEELING OF HOME, THE KNOWING UNKNOWN.
TRUE LOVE, SOUL MATE, TWIN FLAME.

FAR OUT OF HIS LEAGUE HE HAD INITIALLY PERCEIVED,
NERVOUS DREAD JUST WOULDN’T ABATE.
THEIR EYES OFTEN WOULD MEET, PRACTICED WORDS HE’D REPEAT.
MISSED OPPORTUNITY’S A MOMENT AWAY.

MAN, THE THINGS HE WOULD DO IF HE COULD ONLY BREAK THROUGH
HIS TORTURED, SELF-DOUBTING DEBATE,
TO THAT SHOPLIFTING MINX, SEX-GODDESS-LIKE-SPHINX.
REGRET, BY DEFINITION, IS TOO LATE.

-JWN