How to Shift the Universe

 

The omnīzon is the great bloom of events,
rather like an explosion of wildflowers
in the springtime of the year.

The trajectory of each subject coincides
with the trajectory of every object
arising from evolving space-time.

All that is real and true is here,
including all the secrets of nature
into which God has retreated, not withdrawn.

The intention of each wave and particle
is equally met by energy
from this sacred well of infinity.

Thoughts blossom, nestled within other thoughts,
billowing in all directions like bubbles and balloons,
some of which pop, while the others float onward.

Superseded thoughts remain threads of the fabric,
for nothing is gained, neither is it lost,
but that it might be found useful, sometime.

Words emerge along the fabric of thought;
shall they be seamed into action,
or shall they be knit as speculative plan?

What shall signify as intent is linear,
but the word as she is spoken and sung
is the event that makes worlds and music.

Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?
the query rings from the corporate stages
of the multidimensional concert hall.

This interruption, in future interrogatory mode,
signals present pressing need of other,
a cry from the unincorporated that cannot be ignored.

On the answer to this question
all future laws, prophets, devices and worlds depend;
the omnīzon and infinite space between await your reply.

For example, when I said, Here I am; send me,
the universe shifted, and when I ventured to ask, For how long?
came the reply: Until each now passes into each next, forever.

© 2022 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen and songsofasouljourney.blogspot.com

Note: I created the term omnīzon about 30 years ago, when I was toying with writing a science fiction journey novel loosely modeled on Teresa of Avila's Interior Castle and the chakra system. My manuscript is incomplete and unpublished, but the term I created lives on with me. What does it mean? The event of the cosmos happens in all directions simultaneously, and there are systems within systems within systems, as well as systems that impinge on other systems to draw or create energy. Every moment, however that is measured, is a new creation, the shifted/altered/re-formed universe. In science fiction, there is the important notion of responsibility for changes made to the space time continuum. If only every sentient being would live up to this responsibility!

Image credit:

Gordon Onslow-Ford

Constellations in Hand, 1961 

Parle's paint and aqua polymer on canvas;
permanent collection of SFMOMA

Rise Up And Ride

~ to celebrate Lawrence Ferlinghetti on his 100^thbirthday

We gather
We gather around
and while around We gather
We reflect in the moment
Our reflections remotely interior
reflections that ripple on our surfaces
with experience and emotion
expectation going unspoken
passing traumas unconfessed
tattooed on every cell of blood
that roams the living heart
teased by inner drums
to dance

We gather
We gather around
and while We gather
Our reflections speak
riffing off Our rippling shores
through Our interior drumbeats
and Our drumming fills the space
with that intricate ostinato called
Our Shared Humanity

The Prophet
softly approaches
reading the crowd
feeling the bed of drums
and the spaces between each beat
the World of hurt and of love
the crashing of the seas
the winds of time
motes of the dust of an hundred years
—and more, perhaps—
bounce in the City Lights,
and out of the depths
of these waiting primordial rhythms
he speaks

Friends, Poets, Countryfolk,
quothe he,
There is nothing I can say
that you are not breathing right now
into the outermost continuities of space
—Our collected vibrations are heavy
their mass carries weight yet gives light
unto those of us who are trapped in the night
the collective sighs of We gathered Here
join with those of a Nation and a World
clamoring to settle into any groove
that will kick the beat forward

I say to You
“Kick it forward”
and I’m not talking about any can
but can-do
though any can will do
and be suffered to be cycled
and can be recycled
if you will
into the latest new case for Now

Because Pandora opened the can
all that spilled out is a reckoning
that can only be assuaged
in the timeless Era of Jazz
in the balm of the Beat
in the work of weaving

among hearts heaving
in the joy of healing
in the heat of the night

I say it again
“Kick it forward”
and that means You
You’ve got to swing into the groove
of that bed laid in long ago,
now is the time for listening
to hear rags and blues glistening
in singing and dancing
with canons and fugues
that RISE UP

Round while We gather
be here and hear, Dears,
hear the beating of All Your Drums
gather your precious song of Humanity
Kick it all forward into your swing
and into it find your groove;
join the ostinato traffic lane
and enter the wave dancing
RISE UP
and once arisen
RIDE!

© 2019 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Called Out

Out of the silent dust

was I called to be

Blown by some sacred breath
into the spring of existence,
particles stirred by
quaking earth and fire,
drowned by storm,
invisibly formed

Some distant song
carried its precious mass
through the void

“Who will go for us?”

Ears to hear, then unexpected response,
“Send me!”

And just as I Am is,
I became further I,
germinated,
embodied,
and released
with eyes to see,
ears to hear,
breath with which
to make voice
into the matchless
universe,
legs with which
to wander the shadowed valley,
arms and hands with which
to grasp, to gain, to give

According to each day
according to every season
according to any moment,
of which all are new
births under different light,
searching, and seeking,
wandering and weeping,
struggling,
learning
being,
serving,
loving,
in vital witness,
as ever be can be,
woven as am I of paradoxical parameters,
warp and weft, contradictory

[right and wrong,
sickness and health,
real and false,
free and oppressed,
generous and miserly,
careful and careless,

studious and ignorant,
shy and outgoing,
loud and silent,
joyful and angry,
studious and perfunctory,
color, full and less,
visible and invisible,
and so on, ad infinitum]

This song,
mine and ours,
knows no end
but partial ends forthcoming

by and by
—one knows not the wherefore nor why,
only that existence presses forward,
revolving and evolving,
perhaps toward,
and even sowing,
knowing

[shall ever I do?
shall ever I know
what I is, am and ever was
or why,
and if then,
what next might be/is,
what might be beyond
or what beyonding might bond?]

And when the Song calls me back
to that valley of bones
that river of dust,

Be, as I’ll be
marked:
Return to Sender,
Am I to I Am,
Thine to Thee.

© 2019 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

(A meditation for lent on International Women's Day)

Bay-wise Byways: 1. Cartography

Some will laugh
when they see me
plotting the geography
of my heart.

Starting at Mount Tamalpais
and ending at Cold Mountain,
the footpath rounds the San Francisco Peaks,
and touches the Four Corners.

Terrains are inconclusive,
but lines are deeply drawn.

Truly,

there is art
in such cartography.

To map your own heart:
breathe,
open wide,
move forward on the trackless path,
follow the bird in flight,
keeping to the middle ground,
mind the gap,
and rest when the sun goes down.

Where you are now,
be fully here,
singing the song of your soul.

© 2016 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Aurora

Greater than the sunrise seen
is the one felt by the ascendant soul.

Beyond time and place,
bound neither to noon nor night,
experience expands or contracts
only in accordance with realization.

In truth, this dawn is
a wholly different
revolution.

© 2016 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Step By Step

One foot ahead of the other,
successively exercised,
is a conversation of feet
with dust and pine needles.

Fern fronds reach to
whisper against shins,
like a cat greeting
a familiar friend.

Step by step, each a further
shedding of useless words;
why should the trees care
what anyone thinks?

Each step away
is a step forward
to something new,
like the unfurling of a flower.

Can you hear the hidden stream
that flows inside your body?
Do you know the music
of the falling leaf?

Of most things that can be seen,
all that is heard and felt,
consideration of these
might be most worthy.

For now, the path is all there is
and all there need be;
every step away is a release
from one perspective to another.

© 2015 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen 

Bare Necessity

As through an open door,
the sun rises,
and the spider gates
enwrap the early riser
with morning glory.

Light wakes all sleeping places,
unveiling every hidden place,
filling all with the beauty
known as dawn.

All names rise, too;
all are known and know,
nothing is strange or out of place,
there is no mystery of otherness.

What is revealed
in the rising of the sun
is, and all must work together,
through the good and the bad,
rolling onward, and more.

© 2014 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

meditation on Isaiah 45:1-7 and Luke 8:17

Meditations in Fast Times: 30. There is a time for building

Note to Readers: “Meditations in Fast Times” is a devotional writing experiment for the Season of Lent. Each day during the season, I am writing a poem as a meditation on, taking as my inspiration and intertextual basis, T.S. Eliot’s “Four Quartets”, as well as incorporating the daily office, current events, and other readings—some the same as those Eliot used while composing his seminal work and others.

                30.

There is a time for building,
a time for collapse,
a time of reckoning,
a time for remembering,
a time of forgetting,
a time for forgiving
a time of returning;
all these times are the same time,
past, present and future,
all apparent in the blooming eglantine,
all apparent in the salt clinging to each blossom,
all apparent in everything awaiting its due season.

We rise, we fall, we crumble;
Our old wood burns quick, hot
cinders into ash; we return to earth
and the wind carries us, like seeds,
to every corner, every place—
we are the song on the wind
as sunlight fills the empty pool;
neither shadow, nor light,
but we are there, in due season.

We are in the running rivers,
we are in the waving grain,
we are in the slowness of trees,
in the speed of the hummingbird,
we are the cries, smiles, laughter and dance
that turn to mourning and remembrance,
we are silence and sound, which together are music,
we are the songs of sadness or rejoicing—
we are the time and seasons,
and we await our due,
our return.

We are quietness at rest,
if we could be content so to be.

We are the dream,
if we could be content so to be.

The house of mirth and the house of mourning
are one and the same dream;
the clinging salt does not harm the beauty of the rose,
and the rose does not rebuke the embrace of the salty spray—
they are content to be thrown together,
for it is grand to be;
being is the grandest dream of all.

© 2014 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Meditations in Fast Times: 19. Time and again, before and after

Note to Readers: “Meditations in Fast Times” is a devotional writing experiment for the Season of Lent. Each day during the season, I am writing a poem as a meditation on, taking as my inspiration and intertextual basis, T.S. Eliot’s “Four Quartets”, as well as incorporating the daily office, current events, and other readings—some the same as those Eliot used while composing his seminal work and others.

                19.

Time and again, before and after,
Time and again, betwixt and between,
Time is eternal witness of timeless now,
a sweet, through-composed music
interwoven through the give and take
of every atom that constitutes here and home.

The part that is singular awareness
may be a guess, but it is a gift,
and nothing mere.

Sadly,
too many moments pass unattended,
too much of the mystery is missed
for the unnatural thrill,
the unfit distraction.

Many who claim to seek the
impossible union
miss the point
entirely.

Naming,
seeing,
practice,
reflection
and action
are, each and all,
the manifest,
vibrant and musical
intersection
of all that is.

Here is the sweet music
that stirs the rose petals
and each blade of grass,
while lulling tired eyes
and sweet dream bliss—
Here and always,
here and now,
and how!

Here and now is,
and is incarnate in everything,
Time and again, betwixt and between,
Time and again, before and after,
timeless here will always be now and home.

© 2014 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

How To Give Thanks

Greet the morning sunlight,
both as friend and miracle.

Feel each footstep
as a handshake, as a greeting;

Know that every touch
is an engagement with All That Is.

The whole world is smiling at you;
smile back, with warmth and feeling.

Let the empty chair fill itself,
Keep your door open to opportunity.

Drink deeply from the well of possibility,
the source of the river of life.

Take a slice, accept your portion and be filled;
share with family, friends and those in need.

Respect the wonder of Earth’s vegetation,
medicine for our health and wellbeing.

Know that each conflict has built into it
an opportunity for healing and renewal;

Move beyond the frayed fabric,
find a proper loom for mending, and be glad.

The star-kissed wind blows through you;
sing praises, sing praises, sing praises!

Weave yourself into the earth;
it will be glad to accept you,

And offer you back, as a restorative gift,
to this world of wonder.

© 2013 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

A Mild And Breezy Afternoon

Between two shores,
sun shimmering on water,
birds, in flight, in rest, at play
in the musical waves.

Soft voices murmur
from one shore to another;
softer steps in the quiet sands,
also musical waves.

One shore opposes the other,
joined by living water;
a counterpoint of
muted musical waves.

Opposites need not be extreme,
opposites need not find attraction,
but may freely join in conversation,
making musical waves

Of a mild and breezy afternoon.

© 2012 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Face to Face

What moon bedecks

with glistening gems by night,
sunrise blesses
with animate light,
opening life’s blossom
out into its symphony of
petals, pollens and particles,
all being face to face
with that divine center
of creative foment
our slant-wise roll
records as moment
of eternal awakening.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

My exegesis of Buddha's Flower Sermon.

Point/Counterpoint

I emerge from a womb of prayer

into the moonlit night
to find you with me.

Where one had been alone,
now two walk together
over our desert landscape
of being and imagining.

One speaks,
            the other hears
                        and responds—

More and more, call and response
            leads to gentle ponderings
                        and conversation;
a ritual of exploration,
wherein all boundaries shrink—
openings appear and widen,
            inviting entry.

This dialogue becomes
            less about words,
                        more about touching,
            even melding
—an attempt at embracing
the challenge of all openings,
while still finding new entries,
            and deeper meanings,
until finally conversation
            becomes unnecessary,
as our thoughts weave and interleave,
braiding being beyond anything called self.

Ah, what comes after such requiting,
but merging into one,
            again and again,
with equal measure of knowing
            and forgetting
            and discovering
            and remembering,
delighting in the dance of your will
            with my volition,
opposites attracting
            without distracting
from the Truth that is us and All,
            that is now,
                        that is new,
a new birth in Creation,
spinning from withinnerly inward out.

Harmonics rise,
sounding, soaring, celebrating
over our timeless duet;
new music
for a newer dawn.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Volition

within the stream of consciousness,
contemplation flows
—about and through,
even melding together—
so that all local molecules
shimmer with union and integrity;
a music of central calm and silence,
of gratitude for being.

all at once,
the call comes down:
the Gentle Whisperer is thirsty,
but the river is dry.

what to do?
            barren clouds and angels
                        whispered amongst themselves:
who will go for us?

which query unraveled the silent music,
faltering the molecular dance,
tearing at the seams of togetherness,
halting flow and thoroughgoing of contemplation.

the crisis registered to one-mind as a challenge.

having returned to now from Now,
i can say i am in this place,
and i will gladly go for us
—quick pour me in!

and so the challenge was answered:
mindful contemplation restored
the river of life
by pouring in the stream of consciousness,
the new water of thanksgiving.

in the way of weather,
the river was drawn to the clouds,
which grew heavy with joyful tears,
and celebrated with a watery dance.

the Gentle Whisperer tasted the libation
and pronounced it good.

the drought was over.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

steward at the butterfly's gate

consciousness,

a living record of dreams
and daydreams
and lucid dreaming
that tumbles through time
with seeming coherence,
rhythm, rhyme,
purpose and point.

from the cushion
of my contemplations,
realization flutters
like a weightless butterfly;
i stay rooted,
although i would soar
and have traveled to heights
no words can paint.

my seat is the footstool
at the base of the stupa of my soul,
heights of which—i continue to discover
—rise beyond the skies
of science and religion,
though no full-scale expedition
has been made to chart it,
for dread of the burning bush.

the bush is there, somewhere
high above clouds of desire
and persistent fog of unknowing
—it awaits my pleasure
with simple humility;
i must greet it equally
on the holy ground of being
—the sacrifice is in the meeting.

The call is felt,
within this grounding
beyond all foundations,
as a tension between worlds,
one that allows the heart’s flame
to walk over watery depths
with such peculiar innocence
that it can neither be dampened nor doused.

i sit between these worlds,
between the dawns and dusks of knowing,
holding that delicate balance at my brow,
neither surrendering nor ruling,
a steward at the butterfly’s gate,
with freedom to roam the hill
—so long as i am there to answer
the knock of the weary traveler.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

constant dews

a retreat

from time,
from sun and moon,
from birdsong and flowers,
but not to a forgetting

a retreat
into mind,
to rest-in-self,
to refresh under
constant dews of thought

a retreat

into contemplation,
to fly kites with possibility;
sleep plants the seeds for tomorrow,
so sleepers awaken to a world in bloom!

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Sea Swings

           -a note to myself

Liberation!
Seats chained
to a top,
whirling dervish-like
over the horizon--
what a feeling:
nothing but
<<Liberation!>>
from gravity &
the sea air
rushing gaily
through my hair &
over my skin.

Life can be that way,
if we open the mind
to wind,
to turning,
to the impermanence
of the short ride
over the long haul.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Discourse on Discourses

Searching for place,
grasping at forms,
venerating saints:
a waste of time.

Undifferentiated singularity,
free from subject and object,
apart from either, or and more:
this is streaming reality.

Plotted on no map,
this stream defies cartography,
a being different for every being:
do not ask for a guide.

There is no teaching,
there is no sage;
there is no mind,
there is no void.

You never heard me,
for I did not speak;
I would tell you to leave,
but you were never here.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Bell Jar Studies

3.

Puffs of smoke,
a soft and fragrant music,
rising slowly,
dissipating.

Entranced,
will follows the traces,
until there are none left.

What remains:
emptiness.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Flower

From ice,
wind blows,
swirls clouds,
forms snow,
then rain,
to crack
hard ground.

Sky smiles,
shoots rise,
bud grows;
sun-kissed
flow'ring
shows truth:
whole world.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

This poem revealed itself to me as I read Chapter 59 of Dōgen's Shōbōgenzō