this strong poem by my friend Jay Ramsay arrived in my inbox this morning White stone Buddha stands statuesque, against a gold curtain of light: one palm raised heart-aligned, the other, releasing down… Divine balance: a human raised to an angel standing liberated on a cloud— a stream of immortals walking on water buddhas seated in spirit above the speaker, a woman in meditation with her curious child doubled then tripled above, in her Higher Self set against the stars. We as we are. Two children reading, an old woman sewing… But what is that child doing behind bars with blood on his little shirt, chained legs behind him ? What are the Chinese police doing crashing in on a woman’s family evening ? And that man in prison pyjamas tied to a chair leaning back towards the only shaft of light there is penetrating his cell all day ? A doctor lifting out the bloodied pumping heart, the patient’s throat craned back in agony ? Numb, she holds her parents’ ashes in a pathetic box. Pieta cradles the lifeless body of her son. A woman stands arms stretched back up behind her, five bricks hanging on a chain around her neck. What is their crime, exactly ? Terrorism ? Anarchy ? Spiritual practice. Can you believe it ? This is the gulag of Falun Gong. Once they thronged the streets, squares, parks peacefully greeting the morning or evening too potent for their paranoid government. Thou shalt not believe in cultivation if it threatens our fascist state. Diabolical intervention: first, the crackdowns then arrest, detainment, torture, incarceration secret transport by train… Nazi Germany again, only worse. Concentration camps become hospitals ‘where live prisoners are quarried for their body parts’ sold on the internet medical market… You need a fresh heart, or matching kidney, maybe ? Today, tomorrow ? No problem— this star-crossed Falun Jew will do nicely. Public trance. Police trance. Media trance. What does it take to awaken to the rule of Satan ? Backwards mastering… Illuminati aliens calling themselves communists crucifying their own people because they hate the light. They hate the spirit because it’s greater than they are or can ever be. They hate God, they have no progeny but the obedient machine…that makes them serene. These are the fallen, who have forgotten everything but how to fill the void with themselves. This is the race that wants to rule the world. And they stamp on parade, they creep like ice indifferent to the tide, glacial as chemicals, these are the ghouls that feast on us, feeling nothing this is the planet of No Heart our children will inherit, until we break the trance. St. John, burn them in your Revelation raise their cries like labour pains of love; where the guards scream and scatter sideways she levitates in her unbroken dream, above. Jay Ramsay Sept. 19th 2013
Posted on: Thu, 03 Oct 2013 08:50:57 +0000
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