We live in he delusion that war is something we fear and abhor. The truth is that it is something we nurture within the depths of our denied selves. James Hillman in his book, “A Terrible Love of War”, reveals the real fascination we have with human conflict and the emotional connections we have with violence. Blind to our inner attachment to war as an epic drama, we continue to deny our complicity in the ongoing mechanism of making conflict an integral part of our corporate life. Syria, Iraq, The Ukraine, and Israel/Gaza, with their images of innocent human suffering have reminded me of both Hillman’s commentary and Terry Gilliam’s artistic perspective on war, “The Adventures of Baron Munchausen”, upon which I based my poem “Ares’ Secret”:
The dark shadow hovers above.
While the righteous minions
distract the populace,
made numb by theatrics,
the distortion of facts
by mirrors and half truths,
the right balance of fear
is blended with anger.
The intense light reluctantly gives way.
The Apollonian rays,
intent on erasing
dimensionality
from rationality,
dissolve into grayness
merging into oneness
with their counterpart selves.
The dread specter appears at center stage.
The diffuse lunar light,
sensually touching him,
illumines an old man,
martial but strangely mad,
in a way commanding
attention due a god
long struck from memory.
Thus began a journey into the soul.
Memories long forgot,
traces of feelings stirring,
connecting one to all,
they became his captives
in the search for freedom
the illusive victim
of other people’s war.
Violence begins when the self is split.
Thought from sensation,
reason from feeling rent,
passion no longer knows,
nor thinking understands
the rules have been changed
in evolution’s wake;
nature no longer checks
the impulse to destroy.
Freedom’s price is the agony of choice.
The body knows its want
while the distrusting mind,
floating above it all,
ignores her plaintive call
leaving her to discover
seduction by another
whose drum-beat stirs her heart.
Reason can not defeat the lure of war.
The cuckold mind is blind,
its purity of thought
nothing but reflections
conversing with themselves
while passions burn white-hot,
no longer resisting
the need to feel alive.
The ugly truth and beauty live together.
Their not so secret bond,
forged in fires of need,
is the stuff of commerce
arousing lust for more,
the product of his toil
she markets with allure
while the world succumbs.
The seducer becomes the seduced.
Her beauty captures war,
their dance soaring higher
while her mate grows angry
knowing this dalliance,
hiding baser intent,
will bind war to commerce
at the price of honor.
Even the moon’s after-glow flees the stage.
There is nothing to light,
the actors having fled
the wrath of those who slay
the gods who act out truth
bigger than life and death,
when fear controls the mob
while people in the know
grope about in darkness.
The true warrior persists in his mission.
Residing in the soul,
he demands a hearing;
breaching walls fear erects,
confronting ignorance,
regaining honor lost,
War braves the light of day
for all to see the truth.
Men of reason forcefully denounce him.
Calling him archaic,
disrespectful of life,
and blatantly sexist,
they devise plans for peace
ignoring the passions
erupting from hunger
for a day in the sun.
Passions cool quickly in the face of tedium.
Reality sets in
when one’s life is at risk
and all around crumbles
under the weight of death
hovering over you
in the guise of eagles
screaming God and country.
“Whom to believe?” that is the question.
The truth hidden from view,
the complex web of profit,
unspoken understandings
between adversaries,
ties together foes
in a conspiracy
of escalating death.
The trusted herald hides his allegiance.
Swift messenger Hermes,
drafted to serve the cause,
carries half truths and lies
to the insulated
victims of their own sloth,
living in delusions
of moral purity.
Only war can tell the truth about war.
Living within the soul,
yet unrecognized,
he roams about the world,
an agent of no one
an extension of all,
serving only the cause
of our own darkest fear.
Violence ends when the self is made whole.
Mind and passion as one
know the limits of each,
thus act in harmony
doing what must be done,
not prisoners of rage,
freed to fight life’s battles
serving the higher good.
Choosing to fight or not is no option.
Birth makes us warriors,
set on the battleground
whereon we are tested,
our very souls at risk
lest we sacrifice them
to cover our escape
into security.
Jesus knew the secret fear hides from us.
Confusing strength with force,
The intimidating,
And overpowering
destroyer of living,
you possess neither one,
becoming the victim
of death and destruction.
Strength is the power to move without hate.
The discipline of love,
measuring its actions,
does what it must to win
the victory of life
over hatred’s domain,
sacrificing itself
for its integrity.
The true warrior seeks his destiny.
Arjuna fearing war,
Jesus facing trial,
you and I before death
share humanity’s fate,
confronted by our Gods,
find there is no escape
to be or not ourselves.
The arrow of time knows one direction.
Life’s path going forward,
its end the stuff of hope,
another beginning,
tolerates no standing,
no watching the parade
passing by cheering crowds
of the already dead.
Words are conventions with little power.
Talk of peace goes nowhere,
meant only to obscure
the terrible secret
lurking within the soul,
the martial beat of drums
calling us to embrace
our fearsome love of war.
Hot air rises above the halls of learning.
Heaven roars with laughter,
catching the absurdity
of “Just War” arguments,
knowing only justice
orders human affairs,
while Earth struggles to build
its own peaceful kingdom.
Peace is but a punctuation mark in time.
Life consists of movement,
colliding entities
driven by cosmic forces,
unbidden intruders
altering the direction
carefully plotted out
by blindsided egos.
Fate determines the where and when of life.
The choice of action is ours,
the decisions and deeds,
whatever the outcome,
belong to us alone,
bearers of liberty
groaning under the weight
of our humanity.
The dark shadow dissolves in morning light.
Once more two dimensions
obliterating depth
obscure any vision
of a different world,
while power struts the stage,
playing the tragic fool
while the audience sleeps.
Ron Cebik
October 17, 2007
An Amazing Man
When my speech began to deteriorate, I discovered I could still make my thoughts and ideas known through the written word (actually a digitized version using word processing) and
later text to speech engines. A short while ago, I met a 57 year old man who was unable to communicate through the spoken word due to an autistic condition that locked him up in a prison from which he could look out but not speak to those without. Yet, amazingly, he could absorb and process ideas, language, and thoughts which he has shaped into a spiritual understanding of the world and his own being. It was the information technology, in the form of electric communication boards, and later key boards, and finally text to speech applications to computers and ipads that opened the doors of his prison and enabled him to share his thoughts with a wider world. Tom writes poetry. Each Christmas and special occasion, he produces a poem to express both his thoughts and feelings. This year he shared his poem with me, “WOULD YOU RECOGNIZE JESUS?” In it, he goes beyond the technology that has freed him to communicate, to the intimacy of human contact. Thank you Tom for touching my life.
This is the time of year the Christians
Celebrate the birth of Jesus.
A tiny bay who changed the world.
A world that was much different
Than the one we know today.
The world we are in now is busy making things go
Faster, bigger, louder and over the top sensational.
We text, we tweet, we twitter.
We I Pad, we I Pod, we Facebook.
We compute!
It is getting rare to communicate with voice or see a face.
Marvelous, what we can do!
Perhaps a little restraint and purpose is needed.
What was Jesus like?
He didn’t care about material things.
Slowly he traveled about teaching and healing.
He took time to stop to comfort and acknowledge
The less fortunate.
He operated on a totally personal level
Face to face with voice!
He was sent by God to show us how to live our lives.
What if he were born today?
Probably the stable story wouldn’t attract much attention.
Maybe a short news bite, in this media obsessed world.
Would he come as a real “Jesus Christ Superstar?”
Sensational, above all others?
How else would he be noticed?
We are very wary of things that are not scientifically proven.
Maybe we need to slow our pace and again connect
To a more personal contact!
Would you recognize Jesus?
Tom Page, 2013