A poem that I wrote (which has been translated into Portuguese) is one that I sometimes read in classes for women who have suffered, where after teaching Tai Chi, I then teach meditation. It is meant to be read aloud, softly and very slowly; with each word touched like the individual keys on a piano:
WHAT, AM I?
A seeker bearing tears; a ball rolling laughter. Who, am I? I am that am; a hushed voice.
Where, am I? A Universe knows no bounds: but itself. When, am I? Now the waters flow, and now they stop. Why, am I? Wind scatters dust, but suddenly one speck is not a speck, but a seed of hope. How, am I? The singing bird asks not of its origin. It lives instead, each day born anew: A Timeless, Dawn.
SC
My poem has kindly been translated into Portuguese by Max Coutinho:
O QUE, SOU EU?
Um buscador fecundo de lágrimas; uma bola de riso.
Quem, sou eu?
Sou o que sou; uma voz silenciada.
Onde, sou eu?
Um Universo desconhece limites: excepto ele mesmo.
Quando, sou eu?
Agora as águas fluem, e agora param.
Porquê, sou eu?
O vento espalha pó, mas de repente
um grão não é um grão, mas uma semente de esperança.
Como, sou eu?
A ave canora não questiona a sua origem.
Vive somente, renascendo a cada dia.
Uma Infinita, Alvorada. (traduzido por Max Coutinho)
SOME ELABORATIONS:
My poem has an unusual type of poetic structure and feel. Very simple yet very powerful. A bit like me perhaps. Words that are simple are like keys, they unlock the secrets of the Universe. While long words, with their involved complexities, often serve to mask the elemental structure of the world that we call home. Language has a caste system: there is the elite jargon of intellectuals; there is the simple wisdom of the common man. They lead to differing paths of understanding.
The Samurai warriors of Japan applied Zen Buddhism to the battlefield to better control their minds and skills. The old masters used poems to teach the principles of combat and the spiritual plane of the martial arts. I also. They also applied an opening of the mind to the arts such as calligraphy, poetry, haiku, tea making and gardening. When one’s mind soars, all things mundane are touched with magic and sparkle. In the style of Haiku:
The welcoming fields all bow... under the wind. SC
You can feel the sweep of the sword in that. Also, many, many, other things. Many of my better poems are in the Haiku style. My poem: ‘What, Am I?’ Presents a philosophical viewpoint, from the heart rather than from the head. It is not a love poem. I have written love poems; they are not vulgar. In the flavour of the ancient Chinese:
The Temple Girl of beauty now sitting in the hall, your robes spreading to the floor. A centre-piece of peaceful radiance. Outside the brutal men lust after even your scent on the path. Little do they know: You are not only of flesh but are also a doorway to the light of heaven. SC
It is a sophisticated love poem in the Chinese ancient court style. Much is said and veiled in words; it is up to you to part the curtain.
I teach such things as mind controls for warriors well as the physical arts. The Dark or Mental arts are not evil, just effective and sometimes deadly. It is after all, the mind that moves the body and not the other way round. Magic is rather a sensitive subject, it depends what one means. I don't have to believe in magic, I see it. There is a light within everything. Perhaps my 'magic' is not your 'magic'.
© 2015 Stephen Cheney, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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