On the death of George

 

I am in your head

On the Death of George

of course his name is that of the mother
it is so fine to be able to talk to Geo
and know that i am talking to the mother so to speak

imagining a particular being
able to be aware of my thoughts
not troubled by them
no longer the ego in the bag of skin
tuning in when it is about
Him and not worried that it is sometimes Her.

i didnt know Geo very well but i knew him for a long time
i know geo ( gaia ) all my life and only  through the focus of my life
who  i am, i can imagine saying to George, is a composite of the voices that reply to me both inside my thoughts and inside my atmosphere.

I tell Geo, now you are in both places, from your perspective as my idea of you.

and i visualise that crooked smile, mobile lines,
those twinkle packed eyes.

auauauauauaee

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Parsing aka unpacking the Poem.

of course his name is that of the mother
it is so fine to be able to talk to Geo
and know that i am talking to the mother so to speak

Geo geode geography – that particular rock we call earth, the mother. “George”, the man’s name, is also calling Earth mother – in my way of thinking. In my way of thinking Babble ( words words words) returns to Babel, Babel:  Bab = the gate, el = Life force (formerly mythically apprehended as “god” ). In Babel all words with related phonemes have a meaningful connection. Babel is the peaceful joyful paradise in my head ( where hell and torment is also found.) Humans try to comprehend the secrets of the universe and in their arrogance destroy peaceful co-existence. ( Biblical myth of Tower of  Babel falling and making many languages instead of one.)

imagining a particular being
able to be aware of my thoughts
not troubled by them
no longer the ego in the bag of skin

For me , my dead continue to exist in my head,

tuning in when it is about
Him and not worried that it is sometimes Her.

Having been embodied they have no curiosity, disgust or amazement other than mine.
My Jesus theory is that every baby born is That emanation of Life Force, and returns to Life Force, every human on the other side of death is one with what is. The suffering and the joy remain in the emotional realm which can only be experienced in material form, matter, Mater, mother, Earth and her beings. Bliss is a non active state. Angels and harps anyone? Clouds of glory in beautiful sunsets are the heavenly hosts in my book.

i didn’t know geo very well but i knew him for a long time.
i know geo ( gaia ) all my life . Only  through the focus of my life.
“Who  i am”, i can imagine saying to George, “is a composite of the voices that reply to me, both inside my thoughts and inside my atmosphere.”

I commune with my dead and with trees, leaves, patterns in the pavement, the river, people – my thoughts are inside my head; “my atmosphere” the world outside my head, is also inside my head – in my perceptions of and interaction with it.

I tell Geo, now you are in both places, from your perspective as my idea of you.

All my dead are in my head as my idea of them, I communicate with them. The world around me becomes their reply, I see smiles in the cracks of the pavement, acknowledgement in the movement of leaves in the tree. Perhaps I am thinking of how spirits are like birds – a bird flies close by me. Perhaps i am thinking of legendary witches – I see a witch made of leaves caught in the tree caterpillars’ web nest, persisting winter after winter.

and i visualise that crooked smile, mobile lines,
those twinkle packed eyes.

auauauauauaee

The physical absence of those who have dematerialised is incontrovertible. My heart grieves.

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