Poetry

06 Apr / On Heartbreak.

On Heartbreak.

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op this tune on (Track 7, “The Last Residents of Westfall”) while reading the beautiful poem that follows by David Whyte, and you will not be disappointed:


Heartbreak is unpreventable; the natural outcome of caring for people and things over which we have no control…

Heartbreak begins the moment we are asked to let go but cannot, in other words, it colors and inhabits and magnifies each and every day; heartbreak is not a visitation, but a path that human beings follow through even the most average life. Heartbreak is an indication of our sincerity: in a love relationship, in a life’s work, in trying to learn a musical instrument, in the attempt to shape a better more generous self. Heartbreak is the beautifully helpless side of love and affection and is [an] essence and emblem of care… Heartbreak has its own way of inhabiting time and its own beautiful and trying patience in coming and going.

Heartbreak is how we mature; yet we use the word heartbreak as if it only occurs when things have gone wrong: an unrequited love, a shattered dream.… But heartbreak may be the very essence of being human, of being on the journey from here to there, and of coming to care deeply for what we find along the way…

There is almost no path a human being can follow that does not lead to heartbreak.

Realizing its inescapable nature, we can see heartbreak not as the end of the road or the cessation of hope but as the close embrace of the essence of what we have wanted or are about to lose…

Heartbreak asks us not to look for an alternative path, because there is no alternative path. It is an introduction to what we love and have loved, an inescapable and often beautiful question, something and someone that has been with us all along, asking us to be ready for the ultimate letting go.

Unrequited love is the love human beings experience most of the time. The very need to be fully requited may be to turn from the possibilities of love itself. Men and women have always had difficulty with the way a love returned hardly ever resembles a love given, but unrequited love may be the form that love mostly takes; for what affection is ever returned over time in the same measure or quality with which it is given? … And whom could we know so well and so intimately through all the twists and turns of a given life that we could show them exactly, the continuous and appropriate form of affection they need?

…The great discipline seems to be to give up wanting to control the manner in which we are requited, and to forgo the natural disappointment that flows from expecting an exact and measured reciprocation.

We seem to have been born into a world where love, except for brilliant, exceptional moments, seems to exist from one side only, ours — and that may be the difficulty and the revelation and the gift — to see love as the ultimate letting go and through the doorway of that affection, make the most difficult sacrifice of all, giving away the very thing we want to hold forever.

Love may be sanctified and ennobled by its commitment to the unconditional horizon of perfection, but what makes love real in the human world seems to be our moving, struggling conversation with that wanted horizon rather than any possibility of arrival. The hope for, or the declaration of a purely spiritual, unconditional love is more often a coded desire for immunity and safety, an attempt to forgo the trials of vulnerability, powerlessness and the exquisite pain to which we apprentice ourselves in a relationship, a marriage, in raising children, in a work we love and desire.

…The hope for unconditional love is the hope for a different life than the one we have been given. Love is the conversation between possible, searing disappointment and a profoundly imagined sense of arrival and fulfillment; how we shape that conversation is the touchstone of our ability to love in the real inhabited world…

– David Whyte in Consolations: The Solace, Nourishment and Underlying Meaning of Everyday Words

Posted by Danny Lampton in Media, Music, Poetry Read More

01 Dec / THE ORGAN

THE ORGAN

There’s no proof
only presence.
The moment we imagine
the staircase
There! Its destination is
our mirage.
An endless road in ceaseless canyons
Yes
There’s discomfort in the void.
Helplessness. And even
every act of violence there ever was.

 

And our efforts to put shine to
big black’s sweep
are as beautiful as they are futile
The efforts, I speak of!
Are as necessary as they are
charming.
As charmed stars, we create our own weight
by our light’s refusal.

 

Only
impossibly now, there’s pressure
and clenched fists
What have I worked to fill?
What beginning and end have I sworn
by birth
to imagine?
Vibration, meet echo
Hue, see shade
Rest now.
There’s no proof. Only presence.

 

Point time’s formless finger to your heart
and collapse your hand to feel the beating
of the only organ
You are meant to play.

 

– Danny/TL&TW/December 1, 2015

Posted by Danny Lampton in Media, Poetry Read More

21 Nov / RULE OF THREE

RULE OF THREE

The next time I feel 
the weight of abandon
a vague and weary pointlessness
I’ll point my third eye to the sky
or the ground
It doesn’t matter.
So long as there’s that third force
to witness the clash of
heart and head,
spirit and form,
presence and aspiration,
The sacred vows we made to
TWO planes, Universe and Earth.

You know
your ego would never permit such a contradiction
For its bounds know no paradox
What a dipshit, that ego.
It can’t even see the beauty in art
And yet we let it decide what
we eat for breakfast
and how we pass our lives

So laugh and let it pass.
There’s freedom in the brand of permission
That is only felt by surrender
Only then will both the sky and ground open
to where
There’s a deep fucking belonging dance floor.
wow

– Danny/TL&TW/November 21, 2015

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With That Moon Language

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Admit something.

Everyone you see, you say to them
“Love me.”

Of course you do not do this out loud:
Otherwise,
Someone would call the cops.


Still, though, think about this,

This great pull in us
To connect.


Why not become the one
Who lives with a full moon in each eye
That is always saying,


With that sweet moon

Language,


What every other eye in this world

Is dying to
Hear.


– Hafiz

Posted by Danny Lampton in Media, Meditations, Music, Poetry Read More