Fore Abbey by Pd Lyons

Fore Abbey by Pd Lyons

 

Whiskered wooden posts
Decorated by bits of rusted star crossed metal
Silhouettes upon the hillsides
Random marks above the weeds
As if graves of unknown beings

Silent but for crows
Tied like rags upon an invisible thread
Suspended ever changing from an ever changing sky
More shades of grey than words I know

And when the sun
Ignites as far as I can see
A brief and brilliant green such as emeralds could only dream
Sure as this November morning makes each breath a smoky prayer
I know this rolling valley is the wherever I should exactly be

Cut stones shifted by anonymous hands
Nameless legacy bequeathed from each to each
Now held by my own
What lingers here for however long

Richer than any fame
Black earth by sparkling pebble beds
Fed by springs that have no end
Remembered by some other unknown soul

All who left their mark upon this land.

where i worked

the hill

pd lyons poetry: Why We Like Straight-Forward-Poetry

pd lyons poetry: Why We Like Straight-Forward-Poetry: Why We Like Straight-Forward-Poetry Subject: RE: [Straight Forward Poetry] Too early for blueberries   Dear ...

yellow x 2

New Riders At The Palace/sunset show

New Riders at the Palace. Four dollars fifty cents; Sunset show. Hanging on East Main hour n a half to go. Around the corner by the Shamrock bar, light a joint and walk about. Pass by two guys from California. Walk together for a while passing the joint between us. They go into the Palace Hotel. I stand in line for the doors to open. Hare Krishnas make the rounds up and down the line say hare Krishna, hare Krishna and they give you a cookie or something sweet, sometimes give you a book or a booklet cool pictures to bring home and paste up on the wall trippy coloured god-head with many many many blue tinged girls.Turns out the guys from California were in the band one was the drummer and the other played steel or pedal or something i cant remember now cause its over forty years gone by. Used to tell people it was Garcia but i don't know, i mean i didn't know who they were then so how could i have ever said for sure at any point?

Who is the non-symbolic me?

My concern is that Jung’s approach is an indulgence in ones own or his own personal mythology. Concepts that put a further layer of fantasy between person and what is. Granted it is wonderful to have all these deep and wonderful images with which to identify aspects of oneself, the world, the universe. I myself loved it, the adventure of anima, animus,shadow, hero. But aren’t we just playing at stories and fantasy then calling it truth. A certain element of applied fallacy, agreed falsehoods dressing the psyche in elegant emperor clothing? Would it be better to develop courage to sit our selves and our patients down without grandiose or compartmentalizing the experience of self? To say this it it. This is the simplicity of what is going on. To lead on to the authentic experience in direct fashion, no need for fantastical symbols. If we have a non-symbolic relationship to our life would we not then have an authenticity of that life? Who is the non-symbolic me? The archetypes may very well rule our unconscious. They are us living an unconscious life, a life of belief, wishes, lustful desire, fear, aversion caught in a downward spiral. But like illusion slips away as we become more conscious, authentically living a life that is what it is not what it symbolises. So as we move away from symbolic and embrace the what is, our awareness of what is, our consciousness, our true authentic self, which has been with ‘us’ all along – begins to relax into each moment of its awareness. There is no relaxing in the past or in the future. there is no freedom no truth in symbolism – in a dream, a wish, a belief. Seeing our life as a series of symbols keeps us frightened of the dark, the monsters. It is our own belief, concepts, fantasy, which causes the superstitions with which our true self; confined and constricted, suffers the stress of trying to live these untruths within these artificially created yet all too real pains of restriction.


“The last thing you want to do is encourage a schizophrenic to do dream work” -  Dr. Renee Nell

so i decide to write again.

10 Feb 2013

2 coffee morning. Yesterday lost the wallet. Somewhere between here and Navan Town. Feel real stupid. Its a rather large hold a check book size. Fortunately no cash, no credit or bank cards, no bank info at all... but my passport,US drivers license and Irish drivers license and also the little booklet from the Buddhists recording the date and my Tibetan refuge name. Anyway am amazed at having lost it. Thinking, thinking where, how, when could it have happened, lost nicked. Today I'll have to retrace the day going to shops, garda station, parking garage security. Pulled the car apart, looked all over the house, checked every possible jacket pocket you know until realizing i must depend on the kindness of strangers, i must accept the fact that I’ve lost my identity. There's no phone number in the wallet, the address on my Irish license is from three years ago, and i cant even comfort myself that maybe someone finds it and wants to get it back to me. Anyway its the feeling of stupidity, the feeling of why me, the sense of helplessness and the temptation to berate myself for this act of senility. So 2 coffee morning. All over the world it would be a 2 coffee morning or it would be if every one had that option. All over the world people are losing things more painful than my loss of an identity of a person who doesn’t even exist anyway.

pd lyons poetry: now available on kindle – yea oh yea

pd lyons poetry: now available on kindle – yea oh yea: now available on kindle – yea oh yea now on kindle now available on kindle: amazon.com/author/pdlyons