unIverse

Foto by Jason Weaver, 2018

As does the Universe,
so do I expand
and contract.

by Jason Weaver, 2018

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div/e/in/e

Original painting by Jason Weaver, 2018

Arriving at the water’s edge
of this illusory solid ground,
where the “How?”
and the “Why?”
and the
“Who am I?”
no longer serve me well,
I strip off all intention of seeking beyond
and dive-in to the verdant flux within
submerging below the whirling unknown
not without fear
not without doubt
but reveling in their limitless depths,
bathing myself in this divine
beingness–

–this is who I am.
Nothing more. Nothing less.

By Jason Weaver, 2018

Original painting by Jason Weaver, Poça Verde (2018), acrylic on canvas 70×100 cm

The Stone Bearer

While roaming the roads of life, the man of middle-age reached a
stubborn standstill when he encountered a rapid stream. Not able to
amble forward and no other way around, he was unsure of what to do —
for he carried with him upon his back a sack laden with the myriad
stones and rock that he had throughout his journey amassed.

From a very early age and ever on, wherever he went and
whatever he did, the man added ever more to his pack —
some as wee as bits of sand, others as large as the whole of a man.
In time, his bag of fleck and flint filled fuller than full and
was as heavy as the house he had left so long ago.

To the folks that he’d meet in the towns on the streets where he proudly
passed, he became known as The Stone Bearer. For so long had it been that
he was christened as such, that he, too, came to know himself solely in this sense.
And over the scores of years since he pecked his first pebble, the title and
the role with which it entailed would come to define his very existence.

And so it was here, at this time and this place that he was unwittingly impelled
to contemplate his fate. How could he cross the impeding stream and be on his way, while lugging his stony load? The Stone Bearer considered this way and that, backward and front, yet forever concluded the same — He had no choice but to maintain his
course in the only manner mattering to him, with his burden upon his back.

Haltingly he lurched into the formidable flow, each footstep falling further
than the first. He sank in past his knees and hips, chest and chin, submerging
beyond his crown, his bale ever more anchoring him down. Holding fast to the
sack surely would he drown, so in an act of desperate dissolution, he released
his grip and off it slid, the rocks slipping onto stream bed aground.

One by one, the tumbling stones left him ever more light until he at last floated freely to the surface. Making his way to the other side, he stood easily upright, the first he had done so in years. Weightless, he felt, transparent even. He turned and peered to where his stockpile had spilled — strewn about in the current were all the rocks and stones that had once determined his past, and had compelled his foreseen future.

Original painting by Jason Weaver 2017

It was perfectly clear for him to see, that what had initially provided him purpose had eventually oppressed his progress. He realized that no longer could he carry the burden of expectation, to adhere to the limits of prescribed self-imposed concept. Indeed, he had no need to be the stone bearer any more.  “It is time to leave them behind,” he allowed to himself aloud, to the only one that could truly let it be so.

From that moment forth, he would just go, and be, and do — not disappointed by what he had lost (for he would collect no more rocks!) but stronger and wiser for the lesson he learned. In shouldering the weight of those rocks, he now had the fortitude for the travels ahead. And as for the rocks and stones themselves, they would remain forever where they toppled, a testament to the beauty of learning to live, and living to learn.

By Jason Weaver, 2017

Neomarica: The Color of Love

 

Original painting by Jason Weaver, 2017

In the garden she sat upon a stone,
taking a rest from her daily devoir
to ponder her purpose in the world about her.
She closed her eyes, as she so often did at times like this,
her face turned toward the morning sun,
and ruminated on all that she was not
and all that she would never be.

She remained for a spell in still repose,
when at once a sense a joy took form far within.
It filled into her breast and then out to her limbs,
whereupon it seeped beyond the very limits of her skin.
It was a feeling of deep and intense love,
a love of life and self that she had never known before,
a feeling that shone with the color of love pure.

As this epiphany poured through her
integrating her wholly, inside and out,
she was transformed, from all that she was not
into all that she would ever be –Neomarica,
a radiant garden beauty who had found her true intent,
to illuminate for all the world to see
that a love of life and self is an essential way to be.

By Jason Weaver, 2017

Neomarica Caerulea is a flower species in the Iris family native to the South Americas; The name is derived from ‘neo’ being Greek for ‘new’ and Marica being a Roman nymph’ or ‘fairy’. The tale portrayed in the poem is of my own creation based on a personal experience which occurred during the process of painting this particular flower, which as it happens, grew in my garden.

Original painting by Jason Weaver, Neomarica (2017), acrylic on canvas 100cm x 70cm

 

The Experience

foto by Jason Weaver, 2017

She wanted nothing more,
for there were no things
worth wanting anymore.
And as for wanting itself,
even that had become
a tiresome chore to her
as it grew and swelled, so
she let that go as well,
for it was taking up
too much of her time,
using up precious space
in her mind –space
that she needed
to think
and to be.

“You see,” she will say–
but only if you ask, since
she has no desire to sway or
convince, in fact,
no desire at all does she have
but simply to exist,
to live in the moment
to which she’s been offered–
“I am the experience.”
And then she will end
with nothing more proffered
for there is nothing more!
as even every day words
which she once
so adored become
inextricably
inexplicably
meaningless.

By Jason Weaver, 2017

Participating in OpenLink Night at dVerse Poet’s Pub! Come see!

Presence

Foto by Jason Weaver, 2017

To attain presence
one should surrender to form,
as practice, as norm,
one should submit oneself to
the essence of unaffectedly being,
inhabit a habit
of nonexpectantly seeing–
one must plumb the fields
of depths and shallows,
succumb to the yields
of lights and shadows, and
become, solely (soul-ly)
become —
not what one wants or tries
or desires to be, but rather
what one IS
already,
naturally

By Jason Weaver, 2017