As it’s UNESCO World Poetry Day today, I’m posting for the second time this week. Shocking, I know.
This is a recording I made for the Red Door Gallery in Copenhagen, as part of their permanent ‘Poetic Phonoteque’ collection. It is a recitation of my poem Atman, read over my own 2013 ambient track of the same name.
ATMAN
There is void, infinite expanse.
It is alone; always the same.
Then it occurred.
A thought; the very first.
There was existence without thought,
but now also existence with.
So, there was a difference,
a wrinkle in the timeless pool,
a reflection in the perfect stillness.
An echo of the void, repeating back and back,
forming the idea into a pattern
that it not be lost once more in the blank expanse.
A swirl, a coil; reflected in itself,
echoing itself, perceiving itself,
stretching on and on throughout itself.
Can an echo hear itself, or must there be more?
Attention moved throughout the field,
examining detail, then drawing back to glimpse the whole,
and found that the patterns drew together
under scrutiny and thought.
Looking again at the first,
the wrinkle that had begun this course,
I focused tight 'til it burned with bright energy,
and from within that light, looking outward,
it became apparent:
all ideas can be arranged, organised,
as glaring points in the field of infinite reflections,
rapidly expanding, increasing,
dividing into grand monuments to the question.
Huge swirls reflecting and mimicking,
in larger and larger formation,
until the tiny coil, repeated forever, and forming the source of all reflection,
shrinks beyond comprehension.
It was but a model; a way to grasp a concept.
Unsubstantial, it threatened return to nothing,
but I squeezed, and focussed,
clinging to the diagram, lacking alternatives,
because I dreamed it may mean a thing.
Skipping from star to star, witnessing, analysing,
I discovered comparison,
as sense was surely found within division of perception.
One can see meaning only from outside.
There were similarities; I tried to catalogue,
form covens here and there; pathways of views that held promise.
But with each new idea a star was born.
A reflection of infinity can never be less.
My obsession to focus a single point,
to try to regain the initial thought,
as it shrank to realms beyond perception.
Over and over, I abandoned the expanse,
to dive deeper and deeper
into the pool of the singular.
Every singular.
But still, it was futile.
I must find precision.
Be only one, to grasp the whole.
But infinity cannot be less than all,
so, one by one I was all things.
As I dove, deeper and deeper,
watching the infinite reflect, swirl, recede,
I divided attention,
separating, to view only from source.
I strove to disassociate, forget the myriad,
favour the singular goal.
Many times I failed, but my quest consumed me.
Sensations were overwhelming.
I battled on, diving further into the oppressive tunnel,
until I came to warm darkness.
Driving all other from my mind,
I wallowed in the pressure, the heat, the stillness, the rhythm.
I took time, to examine the depth I had reached,
pulling together the views to a pinpoint,
striving to forget infinite pools and options.
Gathering strength, building armour, for the next step of descent.
Excluding the other for elusive lucidity.
But each time I felt the goal approach,
a morning star just out of reach,
all flooded back.
I pounded the horrors of infinity into bricks;
drowning in sensations, deafened by sound, blinded by light, screaming pain.
I saw them outside, signals of the other.
Rested and heroic in my insular shell,
I prepared to dive once more; a falling angel.
My strength lay in division;
I could view reflections from my shell,
knowing they need not intrude on my quest.
And so, with a howl of agony and intent, I charged onward
seeking the Holy spark,
into an unending blinding storm of everything.
From another position, even deeper
within a different pool, wherein I divided the lines more sharply,
I observed this mighty exertion from beyond,
stating “It's a boy”.