In an instant

Foto by jason WEaver 2017

+++++++++++++ Imagine, if you will
this split-minute, still-
frame moment of time,
feel it on the fringe
of your skin,
sense it within
+++++++++++++ then
reduce it till
it is no more than a breath,
a blink, a beat,
a photon blast
at sunlit speed!
+++++++++++++ next
slow it down,
spread it out and let
it melt the defining lines
that separate self from the time
of perpetual planetary expanse

+++++++++++++ and now return
to the moment we are in,
perceive the flow
without and within, know–
Are we not changed
from an instant ago?

By jason WEaver, 2017
+++++++++++++

Śramaṇa Rising

Foto by Jason Weaver, 2017

Foto by Jason Weaver, 2017

 

(To hear the Blacksmith Tree Frog please press play)


— The day prior to a New Moon compels total abandonment and complete surrender,
a release from all fears; by becoming an empty vessel, we can be reborn in purity —

The Shaman, dressed in his intricate fine-thread garb, has lit the
sacred flames ensconced within the ornamental shrine, festooned
in floral garlands and feathery plumes, around which they all gather,
chanting mantras and prayers, echoing his verse; later he reads
to them from the ancient texts, his sacramental words.

It is a ceremony of separation — one of death and birth,
of creation and destruction, of mothers and sons, of water and stone.

— And out of the primeval murk he was born, the strands
that once connected them shorn, as man arises from earth —

In attendance is the Seeker, who sways hypnotic to the reverberate
thumps and rings, enchanted at the ritualistic flourishes of his Master’s
lashes of sacred waters, at the intoxicating scents of mystic incense.
He knows that this ceremony is as much for himself as it is for them all,
for tonight, he has shed his doubt, arriving prepared to emerge.

Abruptly, he feels a split, the is a severance, and one by one, like strings
being snipped, the Shaman’s words begin to lose all meaning and sense.

— Bearing down in a grassy field near a passing creek, a mother
delivers
her newborn son, cutting the umbilical cord with her teeth —

Opening his eyes he finds that they have all gone. He is alone in a forest clearing,
a passage, surrounded by bog, the sounds he is hearing now like so many drums
are the tympanic mating calls of male blacksmith tree frogs resonating across
the water. Where once was a fire-lit altar, he sees a patch of grassy stalks
jutting from the murk, the scents are of night-blooms, of algae, of damp.

It is done, the cycle is complete. Cleansed and unbound from his corporal and
temporal ties, he must forge a new path of unification. But for now, he must rest.

 

By Jason Weaver, 2017

Although I took artistic liberty to re-create this account, an actual ceremony was performed by my good friend and mentor Afonso Domingues on the evening of February 25th, 2017, on New Moon’s Eve. Some details in the poem are truth, while others are embellished or simply created. In this story I call him the Shamen to instill an atemporal feel to reflect that which we all surely felt. The photo was taken earlier in the evening before the ceremony. Later, I returned to this spot just as it began to get dark, and the chorus of tree frogs (Hypsibaos Faber) left me without words. It was within this context that I wanted to share with you what happened to me that evening, and how I prepared myself for the next phase of my journey. The Title Śramaṇa Rising refers to a seeker in various Indian religious movements, and among other things, fits in with the concepts of birth and death cycles, and ultimately, finding liberation from those cycles through ascetisism.
Credits:
Audio of Blacksmith Tree Frog (Hypisboas Faber) by Rodrigo Dela Rosa, accessed from amphibiaweb.org
Lunar cycle legend retrieved from http://www.lunarplanner.com/characteristics/1-New.html
Information on Śramana I retrieved from 2 sources:
http://www.wisdomlib.org/definition/%C5%9Brama%E1%B9%87a
https://www.boundless.com/world-history/textbooks/boundless-world-history-i-ancient-civilizations-enlightenment-textbook/early-civilizations-in-the-indian-subcontinent-4/religion-in-the-indian-subcontinent-25/the-sramana-movement-108-13209/

invisible / invincible

Foto by Jason Weaver, 2017

Foto by Jason Weaver, 2017

i will make myself invisible
disappear into the thin
leave behind ego and self
abrogate virtue and sin

transcend duality
this divisible quality
of other and i

i will remake myself invincible
reappear and reside within
inhabit every leaf and stone
emerge as all creatures known

transform to one
this singularity forgone
whole and complete

i make myself invisible
vanishing infinitely
i make myself invincible
vanquishing all uncertainty

By Jason Weaver, 2017

This is not a Forest

Foto by Jason Weaver, 2017

Foto by Jason Weaver, 2017

This is not a forest,
and those are not trees.

It is also not not a forest
and those are not not trees,
and I who write this all down
am decidedly not not me.

These are not my words,
and this is not a poem.
Everything is simply
nothing-not-nothing at all.

By Not-Jason Weaver, 2017

The Light of Night

A Luz de Noite - Jason Weaver

Original painting by Jason Weaver, 2016

To gaze upon the starry sky
is to contemplate the
very sense of what
it means to be,
from the minute
to the immense.

But by the light of night,
you will find no solid
evidence, only
so many little points
to ponder, scattered
and dense.

But leave no doubt
that the truth of what is
(the meaning of life, some say)
is infinitely more
more grand and fine than
anything your mind could
ever possibly imagine.

And that I find
fully and truly
sublime.

By Jason Weaver, 2016

Original painting A Luz de Noite (2016) by Jason Weaver, 70x100cm, arcylic on canvas