Nothing

beneath a thought
within my sight
under a touch
are things untaught.

i trace a sound 
to where its found
absent time. 

nothing lost
nothing gained 
nothing’s all that remain

nothing is now
nothing was then
nothing’s all i can ever win.

all i sought 
was for naught
no matter how i strained
in the void
i destroyed
all i contained.

The writer, the poet, the ponderer, scour the ether through cycles of time and arrive at nothing – a wonder so wonderful wrong words are written in wisdom searching for reason. He who finds nothing to write about is commonly no different than he who has nothing to say. Banning intellect and sloth, the reason may suggest perception, at least, within the subconscious — of a more unified implicate order within perceived arrangement. If you’ve written about anything, you’ve riddled everything. The default phenomena of reality is the institution of all reality and leaves nothing to craft. Language’s inadequacy to express feeling is barely sufficient to untangle pain and joy, its application to anything beyond that, reduce or amplify us to sound and symbol – and unless you’re performing on someone’s stage, making high pitch sounds and clicks, could have you evaluated for a padded cell. So, you just learn to keep your mouth closed. If life is experience, maybe it wasn’t meant to have so many vowels and consonants, I mean hell, listen to a tree. What kind of experience is she having? Monks and Hermits figured this out a thousand years ago. Existence may be the greatest recipe for life, how do you pen that? Language, like everything else, is no less a toy than it is a tool. Sometimes smart people try to separate them to make themselves feel better about playing with toys but simple folk know it’s all the same. So they just keep quiet and try to have fun with life. Separation is the paradox of pain and pleasure.

The farther we drift from tonal language the less chance we may have of capturing the meaning of anything with sound. Language condensed to a form of expression is much broader and simpler than our daily use of it, just sit amongst the birds at dawn or dusk; each responds to it own, amidst the indistinguishable tones. what sound does vibration make, and with what does it resonate? Ahh and ouch is the feeling expressing itself, rather than the descriptive joyful and painful. This is the gift and bliss of sound, when it becomes the recipient of emotion and feeling; but what’s beyond that? Language like knowledge is restricted in all of its outward manifestations. Conceptual thought is independent of both sound and symbol.

Twenty-five years ago I would frequently play the sound bowls through out my home. Language has no symbol to accurately translate the reverberated tones I heard, or the impulse it sometimes prompted. Its meaning is frozen in interpretation. Which returns us to silence, or at least simplicity. Om may be the closest symbol we’ll ever see represent a sound, or sound represent nothing, yet it contains all. It seems sound baths have resurfaced as a means of reconnecting back to something more primal and expansive than words, something nothing can define, no sound, no symbol – Nothing, is the one thing I’ve been trying to understand. After this reading, some may feel I’ve succeeded (lol).

Check out the album, Where There Are Dreams There are Dragons Vol 1 by A Thousand … using tones, scat and chants in place of words. Its a wonderful example. I think you’ll dig it.

by K. Osei

Flora De Pato

I met God in the jungle.

High in the mountain, deep in the ground, where thermal waters emanate. A euphoric, inharmonious symphony of sound compete for dawn’s first light. Her form and color were magnificent – royal purple.

A village of cherubim,

where many travelers leave their pain with santamaria.

No luxury’s but no locks!

I felt her presence, indeed her power, in the soursop leaf, the tamarind, and the burdock. 

On the fourth day she came to me and spake, “What do you wish from me?”

Eternal life, said I

Ah, I see — can you tread the internal flame till dusk?

I can!

truly you shall — partake thee of my flesh!

She began to unmask  my pain, 

exposing the inflammation.

leaping from my mouth as fire!

A bright arterial red, 

followed by continual yellow flames.

My mouth stretched wide, her hand in the deep of my stomach, she clinched and yanked upwards repeatedly with great force, expelling all that was foul. 

More pain than I could bear. I pleaded, oh mercy,  did I cry,  but she purged on – with firmness she commanded, “there is no returning now, you have delighted in the forbidden. From your mouth you defiled, from your mouth you will purge, shhh – hush now, the hours are short, I must continue till my work is complete!” 

For 9 hours did we wrestle… 

Without warning – to the pit was I thrust,  until the number was complete 
and then I slept.

Some call her Nirvana, others say Heaven, I call her Usha.

by K. Osei

Journey

A child’s mind is imagination without restriction, ever present and fear free, authentically expressing itself to its astral potential. A celestial world is discovered in every particle of life — the stone and the hummingbird sparkle the same. Delight is existence, occupying the same harmonic note on the scales. We strain to recapture the wonder of these mesmerizing moments by means foreign to our nature — but always to no avail. It is the child I left behind  and yet, it is the child I aspire to be. For there is no greater freedom, grandeur or goodness than imagination fueled by a child.  https://open.spotify.com/track/5VMbc4zgxLGvy6Q0OjyDUv?si=zESEv-OCSHa2VM-Sw3SAwQ

by K. Osei

Just Riding

I remember my mother saying to me as a small child, “let’s go for a ride.” I was never sure exactly why, whenever I asked, “where we were going,” her response was always the same, “we’re just riding.” There was never any particular destination or route but it was always very scenic, away from the city, somewhere green, where nature was unobstructed. I wasn’t sure if she had something on her mind or just wanted to relax, she never said. She didn’t play the radio and words were seldom exchanged. We drove along quietly, taking in all the shapes and colors of nature. For me, It was both tranquil and euphoric. I have no idea how long these trips lasted, time was irrelevant, at least to me—I felt free, immersed in the landscape as we cruised along the country roads. Whatever my thoughts were prior to our journey, they were vanished upon returning home. For the rest of that day I would experience  a pleasant calmness. I’ve continued this ritual over the years with my own children when they were young, albeit, it was usually to help them fall asleep so I could study. Nevertheless, this practice has helped me to value the journey of life as much as the destination—thanks mom! I’m still, “just riding.”

by K. Osei

A Blades Width

The two had been working together for nearly 10 years now. The old man spoke to the young apprentice with a firm urgency in his voice, “skim-it!” The young lad, without a moment’s hesitation, hurried to the woodshop with plank in hand. Nervously returning, handed the old master carver the piece of wood, attentively listening, observing every moan and grimace on the old man’s face as he adjusted the board into position — “ahhh, perfect!” Sighed the gray bearded elder. The corners of his mouth gently raised, revealing the faintes smile. “How did you know,” said the old man, “I just measured a blade’s width,” the youth replied. With that the old man reached down, his cracked leathery hands mirroring the worn dark brown tool belt around his waist. Releasing the buckle, he placed it around the youthful waist of the young master – turned and slowly walked away. The young man stood silently, with water glazed eyes he watched his father’s silhouette fade, completely confident in his training and the legacy that hung about his waist.

by K. Osei