A Ladder to the Stars

• A Ladder to the Stars – JD Kruger, GLP4.

• In the recesses of the mind, Narcissus and Echo, tell the tale,
  of the shapes of splendor solis. Epistemology and Ontology beckon
  how do we know, what we know, the being that becomes
  and enacts itself through every thieving enterprise. The common sphere
  relates the common strife, to know thyself is the greatest battle....
  That selfish activity that guides the world through thought, must
  cast out the devil before any further guidance ensues. The Greater Self,
  a collective sphere is true, good and beautiful, only when
  the forger of a stronger self is unified with Christ.   That mercurial entertainment                                                     of the Platonic mind, recalls, that first, and foremost we are thinking beings,                                                             and the thoughts that we embark on, must be transformative,                                                                                            be it through the writing process, speech, music, or, action!

• So, do thoughts shape those, that shall stand upon my shoulders,
  in a quest for future prosperous, posterity. And, time shall tell, that soon,
  one hundred thousand men and women will be perched upon my shoulders,                                                                    

  

  A Ladder to the Stars

• to reach the sun, and then beyond. But, what a weight
  of gravity, that they must burden me down, and shape my carbon body,
  to the earth one day. Those children, and their children's children,
  will, and shall, create a ladder to the stars.
  

• This, the singer's task, to enchant an audience, is merciful, in its humble offering.

What is a Man! A hand that sets to sail upon the seven seas, and in the winds and zephyrs of desire, breathes the soul through to the sails of liberation from the land to which he's bound, and

with but a voice that breathes the soul into the hearts and minds of an enchanted deck of archetypal brigands, steers the course towards a better tomorrow.

What a piece of work is man! A sailor that shall shape the knots to tie the ship upon the dock, and anchor down, upon the bobbing seas.

A Fisher, who shall tie the hearts and minds, and hoist them in like a net of mutable pisces;

a centre, without circumference, who can conduct, the instruments of an orchestra, or band of merry players in their indefatigable ways.

Or, a director, who must guide the actors through their infinite masks of emotions, speeches, and activity, lighting through the tunnels and chasms, of a collective breed.

What shall make man common? What shall set him apart?

What shall individuate his essence so that he shall stand firm with but the spine and crucifix of body.

What shall nurture his soul, so that he in the end, is separate from the beasts and animals.

Does his passion, and quest for learning, end in a vocation, a calling, that shall please the host?

That captain knows the roles his crew shall play, their strengths and weaknesses, their innate abilities, and their hindrances. He is not Faustus, but a humble player himself, who shall not, like Daedelus' Icarus, fall to the earth for his hubris, but, contrariwise, live but on the earth, a man who can only, but gaze at the stars, and name their shapes.

Perhaps, this manifest destiny, shall enable one to gain some humility and ground him on the earth, as but an electrical current, who in lightning will submit to a charge, and assume his true shape, a bolt of lightning that shall touch the zenith, if but through language, story, image, music, and activity of every specialisation. That specialisation which is for men, shall give his society a greater and vaster meaning, in multiplicity and arrangement.

And can this teacher please a class for the learned scholars, or is it all but pedantic sophistry.

Shall we walk together in the park, with our Socratic dialogues, and enquire into the states of souls,

who are forever locked in battle, through debate and discourse.

Or, shall we falter, and get blocked from advancement, through the idle bickering of the mind.

Who has claimed his place, so that with positivity we shall once again, advance, in linear fashion, one direction, to maintain that Being and Time to which we all must eventually submit. History, professor, history. And, hence, the future:

Their is no backwards gazing in his path, but a narrated existence that only the real gods can know.

The gods who look down upon us, as if from Mount Olympus, and see our toiling, like ants upon a hill.

Are we even that industrious? Working in orderly fashion, without regression, or the retrograde motion of Venus. For, if we love, and we but do, than it should be in the nurturing of the soul, where we must condition our children to first enquire, and then act with speed -- progress, and conserve.

Namely, that narrator, is far beyond this Man's path. He can know no omniscience, or everpresence.

He will know now not what his neighbour does, not to the thought, speech, or action in the privacy of his den. His public activity is but one truth. His private life must be that secret of the Christ, who permits the saviour to donn the cross itself.

He can only listen in, with quiet intent, in the shadows, across the hall, or across the globe,

and yet his guidance truly, too, has limits. Perhaps a positivity of that saving grace, to know when to hold the cards, when to gamble, and when to fold – but, I digress. Man for me is not a gambling kind, but more of a gardener who tills the earth and permits the young flowers to bloom,, who takes his chance, when to entice, and when to push another away, a woman, or a child. Our wrestling days our through! It is that young and restless spirit that can misdirect the crew. Let every man, not be an island unto himself, but let him not dig so deeply into the soul of another, for to harm him. Not every man plays Father. Not every man plays son. Not every prodigal son can return from the journey, and not every profligacy can be redeemed. But, what is done, is done, and can only be renegotiated through the discourse of man. Let not a witness harm your progress. Let not a spy invade your privacy. That likeminded home, that we share, a globe contained in a corner of the universe, represents that man is but a microcosm, to that macrocosm, and perhaps all thoughts are sifted through the minds of all men. O wise one, guard your thought, and speech, so that activity of the society can continue with the progress of the economy. Very little gives me right or reason to answer back a student, an audience member, a friend or adversary. But, I shall listen, too, and take my part; for every linguistic act is magick, and every act of magick, involves transformation of the self and other. For even if the best have come to me, the embrace of a president, the ghost of a great author, a rock star, majesty or pope, I must do my best, but to listen when he does speak, and yet to absorb what he says, so that his ghost, itself, will not forever wander the Spiritus Mundi of the planet, unfulfilled. Even Ghosts must rest.

Is this dome of stars, a collective blanket that lights the night sky so that a navigator can guide his journey by the mark of the constellations. Polaris. The Northern star , who have existed beyond that mortal life that is but sacred, if but brief. The mark upon that inordinate sky that knows no limit, and is thus named for mythological characters. A human map throughout the ages, that sets us transhistorically, and transculturally, beyond our petty, if but beautiful flesh, created in the anthropomorphic image of our Lord.

Even, at that, the 2000 year old man is quite young for his beck and calling, for his flock.

Two thousand years, is but a short time in the 15 billion years of this vast universe. And the life of one man, twenty, forty, even eighty, years, is but a speck of dust to the stars. There is nothing that Ozymandias knows eternal. Even Empires crumble to dust. Like the page, our silicon will too decay; building fall, mountains erode. There is no eternal. Even the sun shall die. Ideologies wane, and there is no statesman, whose tomb itself shall not be but the stepping stone of another birth. But, Man, the necromancer knows – the soul itself is eternal. Not that it should receive a new body, but that it shall remain in the spirit of the godliness, of the human breed. Even that old BNS blessing-curse, proves that there is eternal life. For now, it is over, there is a miracle, and I, like thou, we must go there, and humbly submit.

For this, Man must have his humility, and all arrogance is shorn off like the husk of a corn.

Yes, I love best, to write in the nude, but my denuded body, that perfection, is only replete in the making sacred of the mind. All those who listen to that subtle mind, may you listen. All those who perceive that nudity of thought, may you take pride in your forthcoming. If my clothes are easily shorn, then your clothes too shall be derobed, and all of us will prance naked. But, again, I digress.

Certainly, after the fall of Eden, Adam and Eve, did garb themselves, but in our enlightenment, we have once again, become like naked children on the earth. I fear not the naked body, nor the naked mind.

In fact, I advocate a nudist branch within that Ivory Tower. My voice, no louder, nor weaker than another, my imagism, no fonder than a dream, but the actor himself shall wear his costume and donn his mask, so that within those stages of the theatre, and that intrusive camera of the cinema, we should maintain a tragi-comic air. God shall subsume the voice, where there is faith in Christ.

God, shall manifest the many roles of man, so that we can function under that harsh glare of the sun.

In society, there are the many roles who perform the function of good trade. That driver of the bus, that teacher in the school, that bureaucrat, that cameraman; the journalist who must record the crimes to date, the ceremonies of human organisation, all the activities that make society a liveable existence. That man should draw from the flock, is but necessity; however, that man should impede the progress of his others is simply a shame. Advance, advance, and advance, again; and never retreat. For nothing stops the daily news, the toil of humanity, and even the dreamer may slow down the emancipation and liberation of diurnal events. Lest we dream, the body itself becomes fatigued. Lest we rest, the body's inertia will stand the test of physical activity. If we falter, the Lord will guard us from our fall. Rightful thought, speech, and action are man's testament to nobility. Be noble, humble, but noble, so that humanity itself can truly say that we created the gods, and they created us, and we have the right to compete with them. If nobility is the aim, and repetition is the deadener, man embarks upon a path to bear the weight of the crucifix, in congregation as in solitude, without running on a treadmill, going nowhere. Now, as in the past, we see the degradation and depravity of war in the world. War, that eternal vice of aggression, that truly has no place in a healthy globe, and yet, still we submit to its supposed necessity. Children in Syria are gassed. Inter-religious strife rips apart lives from the Middle East to the Americas. Let us now focus on issues such as health, environmental devastation, and the economy, so that the elements within human control, can positively benefit that advancement of our global world order. There is no division between war and peace, and the two terms always sit side by side. But, violence is always matched with violence, and good nature is always homeopathically met with good nature. Measure for measure, an environment is acheived whereby the soul may progress without hindrance, through the activity of man, across the planet. Today, I speak for 100,000 poets for change. The poet is the maker of man; not so much a diviner of the future, or a historian of the past, but a transformer of universal presence. If the poet is the homo loquens, than language and semiotics will shape the present, first in soul, and then in representation through activity. Man is a pentagram – be he left or right; we are individuated and autonomous. No Buddhahood, or six-pointed star, can stand for everyman. However, a man can prove a dogma through his activity. Even, that silent watch bears discipline in itself. And so, as separate entities, we continue; the mirror has been broken and we know the suffering our eternal separation. Even that man and wife, mother and child, may not correspond to that hidden word. And so, as separate fives, Man must continue on his arduous journey; for himself, as for others. Nothing is advanced by spiritual powers alone. The manifest soul of Christ respects his distance and critical detachment. And once again, Man alone, will pursue the logical end of his path, as always, for the benefit of others, actively engaged, for the Capital of Man. A man of earth, reaching for, and building a ladder to, the stars.

JDK, GLP4.