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Metamorphosis and There are several mirrors (03.11.08)


goldenlangur

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goldenlangur

Metamorphosis and There are several mirrors.

 

I climb a steep path to the ridge. The vista across the valley is lost behind slate clouds. But in a corner a shaft of light fans out. God’s blessing! was our childhood refrain every time we beheld such rays.

 

But now, alone, I walk to the cave temples to propitiate our ancestral deities. The oracle’s New Year divination advises offerings to the guardians of the mountains and rivers. A chill in the drifting mists urges me on and soon I stand before a stone image chiselled on the rock face. It’s the four-armed Mahakala, encircled in a wreath of fire. He stands astride a lotus, his indigo feet pinning down an elephant. On his head is a crown of skulls. Protector of the Dharma, his third eye is ablaze with primordial wisdom.

 

I raise my hands in supplication. They are calloused and ooze with pus. How did these weals appear? I realize that no butter lamps are lit and the bronze votive bells are silent. Along the lichen coated walls of the caves there are several mirrors. But what they reflect is not my face or my suppurative hands but a depth deeper than the darkness that spreads around me.

 

The cave temple is now a vortex. I do not fight my I fall into its concentric swirls. I descend through calmer and calmer circles of blackness. No sound, no fear. Only a profound regret that I paid my dues to our ancestral deities, without you.

 

48 minutes.

 

Notes:

Mahakala : Also know as Yeshe Gampo in Tibetan, one of the main protective deities in the Tibetan Buddhist iconography. He is a central figure in temples in may Tibetan Buddhist societies, including Bhutan.

 

Dharma: Sanskrit term for the Buddha's teachings.

 

 

 

goldenlangur

goldenlangur

 

 

Even a single enemy is too many and a thousand friends too few - Bhutanese saying.

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Hi gl, I wouldn't have a clue how to go about critiquing this. It is so otherworldly, by image and content that I am in very foreign territory. I recognize nothing as familiar and yet I walk beside you, my hands in supplication. This is a poignant piece. Your prose is very poetic, I think I have said that before.

 

Thank you for sharing this.

 

~~Tink

~~ © ~~ Poems by Judi Van Gorder ~~

For permission to use this work you can write to Tinker1111@icloud.com

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goldenlangur

Thank you very much Tink for taking the trouble to read this and enter a world which is unfamiliar and "foreign". I'm glad that you sense the poignancy here.

 

With appreciation,

 

goldenlangur

goldenlangur

 

 

Even a single enemy is too many and a thousand friends too few - Bhutanese saying.

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Aleksandra

Ah goldenlangur, I enjoy so much with your topics of wisdom, traditional parts etc. no meter are they poetry form or prose pieces.

 

This one is so mythic, and for me makes some sense even some mix with Greek mythology because some part of this prose reminds me of Sisyphus who roll a huge boulder up a hill, only to watch it roll down again, and repeat this throughout eternity. That sense I felt here when you talk about the rock faces and stones... But that just remind me of that greek myth.

 

I loved how you expressed this part.

But now, alone, I walk to the cave temples to propitiate our ancestral deities.

 

Also the details what you show in your text are very well expressed too.

It’s the four-armed Mahakala, encircled in a wreath of fire. He stands astride a lotus, his indigo feet pinning down an elephant. On his head is a crown of skulls. Protector of the Dharma, his third eye is ablaze with primordial wisdom.

I love that part and again wisdom . Makahala is symbolizing absolute reality and with a crown of five skulls - representing five wisdoms. - very well done.

You did here rally a " Great Perfection " what is answer for the four-armed Mahakala

 

I found this piece very deep and nostalgic, sad, melancholic. All of that because you found yourself alone in front of that stone what brings , maybe memory ? , and provokes wisdom. You see and you hold your wisdom from there, from your roots.

You give the honor to ancestral deities, and that makes you more wise and worth and gives you strength.

This is really Metamorphosis of life and existence.

 

I really enjoyed reading this. I must note the parts what I love how are expressed:

 

I raise my hands in supplication

 

But what they reflect is not my face or my suppurative hands but a depth deeper than the darkness that spreads around me.

 

No sound, no fear. Only a profound regret that I paid my dues to our ancestral deities, without you.

 

Thank you a lot for sharing this.

 

Aleksandra

The poet is a liar who always speaks the truth - Jean Cocteau

History of Macedonia

 

 

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goldenlangur

Hi Aleksandra,

 

Thank you for your most rewarding engagement with this prompt piece. You're right this has no meter and I for one could not even identify the meter if it had one! It was just using the prompt titles that I wandered down this path.

 

I enjoyed your discussion of the myth of Sisyphus and how the rock temple brought you some thoughts of the story of his punishment.

 

Mahakala is a major figure in our iconography and features in our rituals both state and family He has several forms and the four-armed one is one of the many. We have special temples dedicated especially to him in his wrathful guardian deity manifestation. His main attribute is Wisdom and overcoming ignorance and suffering which comes with it.

 

I know a lot of such details are quite strange to many but I find exploring these aspects of my culture far more rewarding than writing about myself. So I'm very grateful that you've found much to reflect and enjoy in these descriptions of the deity the cave temple, the implements of ritual - votive bells, butter lamps etc.

 

I cannot thank you enough for taking the trouble to examine the different images and give these your thoughts and impressions.

 

 

With gratitude,

 

goldenlangur

goldenlangur

 

 

Even a single enemy is too many and a thousand friends too few - Bhutanese saying.

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Aleksandra

Dear goldenlangur. I am so sorry maybe I confused you. I made mistake and wrote wrong. When I talk about: " no meter are they poetry form or prose pieces. " - I meant to no matter what it is - poetry or prose. icon_rolleyes.gif

I am sorry again, still I make a lot of mistakes with grammar and spelling. Because anyway almost never I watch in the meter in some poem. I look for something else in the poems icon_smile.gif

 

Thank you for your words back to me.

 

Aleksandra

The poet is a liar who always speaks the truth - Jean Cocteau

History of Macedonia

 

 

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Dear goldenlangur. I am so sorry maybe I confused you. I made mistake and wrote wrong. When I talk about: " no meter are they poetry form or prose pieces. " - I meant to no matter what it is - poetry or prose. icon_rolleyes.gif

I am sorry again, still I make a lot of mistakes with grammar and spelling. Because anyway almost never I watch in the meter in some poem. I look for something else in the poems icon_smile.gif

 

Thank you for your words back to me.

 

Aleksandra

 

 

Hey, Alekk ... I thought Scansion was you favorite forum!?!? icon_razz.gif But really ... it's so nice to read your lovely discourse on this fine prose prompt piece! icon_smile.gif

 

 

Golden, this starts off in an idyllic, peaceful fashion, but a surpise twist surfaced as I read on:

I raise my hands in supplication.
They are calloused and ooze with pus. How did these weals appear? I realize that no butter lamps are lit and the bronze votive bells are silent.
Along the lichen coated walls of the caves there are several mirrors.
But what they reflect is not my face or my suppurative hands but a depth deeper than the darkness that spreads around me.

 

The cave temple is now a vortex. I do not fight my I fall into its concentric swirls. I descend through calmer and calmer circles of blackness. No sound, no fear. Only a profound regret that I paid my dues to our ancestral deities, without you.

I like how this started out with the childlike innocence of,

God’s blessing! was our childhood refrain every time we beheld such rays,

and then delved into darker areas. It gave me chills. Thank you for showing this.

 

Tony

Here is a link to an index of my works on this site: tonyv's Member Archive topic

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goldenlangur

My dear Aleksandra,

 

Please don't feel bad. I readily own up to a lack of knowledge in poetical techniques but appreciate very much the trouble you take to read and ruminate on what has been posted.

 

As English is not our first language, you and I will undoubtedly make mistakes but your thoughts, feelings and images in your work make an impact every time I read them. Alas! I do not know your Macedonian language to appreciate the full power and beauty of your poetry written in your language. This is how I feel about reading Dostoevsky, Proust etc - always a sense of being once removed from the nuances and depth of their work.

 

But we all learn as we go along. So here's to more such exchanges!

 

 

goldenlangur

goldenlangur

 

 

Even a single enemy is too many and a thousand friends too few - Bhutanese saying.

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goldenlangur

Hi Tony,

 

Yes, you're right - exchanges in this forum are wonderfully enriching and enjoyable.

 

You're also spot on about how the seemingly "idyllic, peaceful" start of this prompt write rapidly descends into more darker depths. I'm not sure how this happens whenever I attempt a prompt - it seems to tap into some corner of which I'm not aware off till I start writing and to the very end, I'm not clear as to how it will close!!

 

But I'm very grateful that you found this worked. The bit you've highlighted about the childlike innocence is for me too a pleasant surprise when the image came to mind.

 

 

Many thanks for your considered and thoughtful read.

 

goldenlangur

goldenlangur

 

 

Even a single enemy is too many and a thousand friends too few - Bhutanese saying.

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Aleksandra

Thank you Goldenlangur for your nice words. Yes I always say that one language more it is a treasure. And that's why I feel still poor. The best read of poems or prose it is on own language. It has more power and more beauty.

 

I am glad that you read Dostoevsky, Proust etc. Have you read a novel Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky? I think that is his best work. I read that but long time ago. It is so complex novel which is focuses on the mental anguish and moral dilemmas. We were used to read those authors since we were even kids. I don't know why, but we were working the Russian literature so early and I think that should be later, because it is so deep and long. Also Alexander Pushkin , then Lev Nikolayevich Tolstoy and his one of the best ever written and greatest novel War and Peace (1869)

 

Anyway we don't have that lucky to read all what we want on the proper language. But anyway it is good because we can read that on our own or English.

 

Thank you again Golden and sorry I flied a little bit into some deep ocean icon_smile.gif

 

See you my friend

 

Aleksandra

The poet is a liar who always speaks the truth - Jean Cocteau

History of Macedonia

 

 

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I do not fight my
I fall into its concentric swirls.

 

Should there be something after "my" or am I reading wrong?

 

That said, the most sad thing is that sometimes we lose those in our journey, who made us take the first step; made us capable. But I wonder if they are not with us when we stand there and look beside us and sigh in rememberance...

 

Need I say that I enjoy your work?

 

Many thanks.

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