[In West Milford WV there is a little street, off the main drag, called Paradise Lane. One imagines such a place where such as Buber felt the reciprocal BOP touch of hand and horse and “found” his concept of I-Thou. We all have memories of such “afflatus moments,” where “environs” becomes spirit — with resonant tones of the WONTSUNODION. Such a lane on any day can spark memories/moments of paradise. Indeed, such incarnations of belongingness should not die. Such, OFTEN, moves us to say “It’s so beautiful!” – Belongings of Paradise. Balances of Power. Oh, to wake another “such-a-day” with you!]
Ah, my Dear Ones, those Lanes of beautiful memory,
Their presence –always the way home —
Are all this “i” really knows of paradise,
And their off-ramps from heavy traffic’s main-drag.
Such Paradise Lanes can open-up anywhere;
Often unknowing we are there until
Some recollection springs new tears and sighs
And feelings smart of “being-blessed” again–
Midst pains of loss, lures of distraction,
And taking “the beautiful” for granted. So often
We find ourselves unaware. But there are those times
Of “being there”– so balanced so alive within the gloryshine.
There are preaching-believings that some “Beyond”
Holds an “eternal” paradise… waiting beyond this life for us.
Yet, we are “Beheld” by each every-today-of-ourselves:
Our garden wonders of graspable “Belongs” and fruitful yields.
Paradise is an Incarnation of Belongings —
A choral incantation of sacral soundness…as birdsong-waterfall;
A holding hands-breathing-with: that grace of the glistens
And listens of our very-own I-Thouness-Now-Being-In-the-World.
That’s the Paradise feel of being held-in-place by Being’s Hold.
The presencings of such holds are magical-paradisal;
Coming often as lightning flashes or suddenness of rainbows:
Time empowered by hails of honking geese and auras of Being Home.
Such belongs, alone, with others, or in Nature’s Embrace —-
Are life’s epiphanic symphonic enthralls of “our” Paradise.
Like “being” at a birthing; that astound-profound joy-cry of life.
Oh! Be there!!! Such belongings are daily like earth and water,
Sun and sky; butterfly-moments…loves: ours to keep for keeps.
Oh, look not for incarnations of such belongs in some beyond.
Life’s tough and says collect your belongings here&now–take care of them;
Live their surprise and sing-a-long-chorale-of-every-such-wonderful.
Life throngs painfully in the common traffic of death-in-life/life-in-death.
But often, that gloryshine breaks into our “being there on time” —
And we are newly “held-awake” by “It’s so beautiful!” — and those
Longed-for Incantations of Paradisal-Foreverness-Songs. Behold!–how
Our loves and gathered brook-stones
Cathedral our “mortal-mortar-passageways”
With Incarnations of Belongings and Welcomes to Paradise Lane.
[ PP/PS–(Primal Poetries Post Script for THE BELONGINGS OF PARADISE)– Me for you and you for me and we for this OFTEN-WONTSUNODION — Often Times Eternal Now Of wonders That Should Not Die Dominion. So often they find us as epiphanic splashes like a fish leaping from the stream to be suddenly caught in a ray of sunlight, before the dive back into the flow. Such were my wife Marilyn’s words on that last October of her life (following major surgeries and chemistries and finally death in May) as she watched from her garden chair as I finished some plantings with a butterfly bush. “It’s so beautiful,” she said. — Oh, epiphanic splash of incarnational belonging! I’ll never forget that moment with her as we both knew the sense of loss in it and the need to grasp life’s wonders now.– This was brought back to me, nine years later, as I returned to Eco’s “Foucault’s Pendulum” and re-found his conclusion( I’ve referred to this elsewhere) after a novel’s hefty pursuit of various attempts to solve the secret of life. His last words: “So I might as well stay here, wait, and look at the hill. It’s so beautiful.” The exact same phrase as Marilyn’s. So simple. Such grasp of a moment’s choral caress! We can take photos so easily today with our smartphones and not miss a butterfly bush or a mountain view –our “selfies” therein. But Paradise is not in the photo. It’s in the flash of an epiphany of our being-there as a dancer within-and-as an Incarnation of Being’s Belonging. –Later, memory is like a memoried limp with a cane of such dancings. But the rewind reminds of the need to continue the dance, partnering with some I-Thou Otherness along Life’s Paradise Lane. That Sharing-of-the-Lane (with many memories still alive inside) breaks the flow of time into Belongings-of-Home. Such dancing-romancing in the sunshine of a glory truly known — is like having a 7th Sense Awareness that It’s Happening — with a “realtime grasping” of those “bursts” from Incarnations of Paradisal Belonging. I try to Muse-So with the archway Keystone in the Cosmosion Oscillations, the Seven Pillars of the Temple of Being, and my ALTARPIECES with “7” as its integral structure. — And, if I ever get where I’m going, it will manifest (to some clarity) its “pendulum effect” as found in those ODDION (manifest of odd numbers) numbers 3-5-7-9-11. Notice the 7 is (“laned’) in the middle here, just as there is a middle ( as in pendulum or archway Keystone) to each of these numbers — with equals on either side: as 7 has a middle 1 and three on each side; 5 a 1 and 2 on each side, etc. ***(see note below)
There’s a real-meaning to this that gives a primal belonging-hold-structure (Balance of Power–BOP) to our life experience as creatures of this planet — and our poetries. It’s very much like the “It’s so beautiful!” that oscillates between Marilyn and the garden scene and the same twixt the viewer and the hill in Eco’s “Pendulum.” So the 7th Sense at work here is more structural-dynamic (my palindromion) than numerical: thus, 3 and 11 are “laned” the same. It’s probably a lot like a Higgs Boson breaking down into two particles, matter & anti-matter, and becoming a Bottom Quark. But I’m not privy-competent to such Colliderations of Physics. (Poetically privy, sometimes!) Same goes for the new cyclical concepts of a Multiverse Universe oblivious to our sense of space and time, bouncing back and forth to its (their) own “beat.” Same goes for the “atmosphere” between sun and planet. What a profound “breathing-belong-BOP” of all our senses. Paradise Lane is a deep-breathing BOP stroll. Each day we wake-up with the night behind and the day ahead: holding one’s head high (Oh, the mouthings) midst the workings of eyes, hands and feet on either side. Truly, I must leave others to tackle existence with elegant formulas for the theatrical play of 3-D & Quantum Incarnations of Belonging. –For-now-for-me, this “casting” of our 7th Sense of it will have to perform its role. — Caught-in-time-poetries, it seems to me, must have their wiggly-scale-shine-belong — stringered to rime with this 7th Sense on the Line. Even mine! — Alas-Eureka!! In our overflow e-Commerce, Facebooked-digitalized-world of endless informings and deformings — we need OFTEN to take the off-ramp with directions to Paradise Lane, and live our role midst its happenings of the WONTSUNODION. — SOBEUS-GEN “i” US!!! Intoned the COVENEND as an ‘APO’KSTROPHES’ from AFIRADAPO! From my “Perhaps it’s just a Whim Poem” in AUGURIES you’ll hear me thrice-cry MOMZIEKAI!!! — Or simply “It’s so beautiful!”–Welcome to #7 Paradise Lane. — [***Struck today by the carrying of McCain’s casket –4 on each side: a BOP 9. Belongings of Paradise. Balance of Powers.] — mdok 8/30/18 —