THE APOLLONIAN IDEAL

According to Nietzsche’s writing, my ideals would be called Apollonian

The Apollonian ideal according to which I live engenders

The isolation I have known

Sometimes despising it

Bare loneliness

Chasing learning, reading, practicing music, listening to music, writing

Pensive

All alone

Moving from one state to another

Across the borders of nations

Chasing schools, careers, saying goodbye

Assimilating the norms of new places

All alone, living alone, sleeping alone

Traveling alone—for business or edification, or it all

Times spent in solitude

Now enamored, in amour, estoy enamorado

Another soul in my solitude

Awakening love, awakened love, loving life, my life, the other

Loving even the Apollonian life I chose, choose still

In love with it all, enamorado de todo

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ARCHITECTURAL NOTES OF ONE MEMORABLE EVENING

The jazz band transformed the narrow, ceramic-tiled club

They rearranged the ratio of people to sound to dark woodwork

The club’s architecture became the chord structures’ foundation to melody

The harmonic structure transported solos all the way up to the ceiling, blew the roof off

And into the sky, out to the streets, I imagined

I didn’t understand the people jabbering and blabbering through it

I stood rapt in the packed club, transported, transformed

Maybe the people had heard them before

(The trumpet was a fixture in town)

In the intense content, I, even I, was content after the two hours.

I noted that any given musician only,

Playing measures measured over time,

Time after time, would finally time out.

Variety shows the composition of the universe

Different faces, voices, combos, intonations

Render exquisite the transportation, the transformation

Of the architecture of a club’s tone, music and staff, vibe and patron

The very foundations—flying and buttressing the harmonic structure

Of one memorable evening

THE MEASURE OF MY GAIT

But for one skill set

Bitterly lost from medical causes

But for my body’s vibrancy

Lost from age

I feel better and better in time’s passing

An ancient tree grows high and wide

I know heights, now

I never knew in youth

The breadth of my awareness

Expanded and expands still from youth’s constrictions

The young’s flash and intensity of passion

Have calmed, calming me, contenting my present

My measured gait is not due to decrepitude

I carry the weight of my awareness,

Thoughts, contentedness, purpose, perceptions

Measuring my stride through life

Enraptured in the valley-view of my past

The mysterious ascending current flowing toward my future

In the present’s contented, open mentation

FOR EVERYTHING YOU ARE

I have been alone, but haven’t felt lonely

You have been single, but with a family

Now we are together, now my life is full

For everything you are, I am ever grateful

 

I am grateful, too, for all of your support

When I go through trials, you give me comfort

Your voice is always, “Yes;” you won’t allow me doubt

You assure me everything will all work out

 

I give thanks to God for everything that is you

In an uncertain world, you and your love is true

I just wanted you to know the way I feel

My love for you and faithfulness to you are real

You make my world complete through all you are and all you do

EXPECTATIONS OF THE GREAT SOUL

Aristotle’s “great soul,” high-minded,” “magnanimous” person expects, deserves

Great things—Which are . . . ?

The world’s greatest benefit is the attribution of honor

People find wealth, fame, and power attractive

But such things, and such people, are fatuous

The attribution of honor above all rests on the good person

Sadly, is this the way of the world?

Good people love the good, and honor attaches to love

Craving for honor can detach from love

Fatuous honor so acquired

Judgments, judgmental, praise and antipathy

The necessary tasks in self-perfection

Secular sins for psycho-babble, hence popular parlance

 

The great soul bears intervals of fortune with equanimity

And so expects not position, occupation, income

I expect, expected, position, occupation

I spat out my bitterness and contempt

“Take away the thought, ‘I have been harmed,’

“And you take away the harm.”

Taking Epictetus to heart, I rethought my expectations, my bitterness

The great soul, if he or she exist

In all things remains equanimous

I struggle; good men can

Perhaps in another world, or at another time

I’ll be at peace

Some glad morning

TIME

Stuck in traffic, you can’t bear how slow time passes

Looking back over a long life, the passage of time seems short

Counting years passed, the numbers stagger credulity

We don’t count time except in retrospect

We fritter time away unaware

Alarmed by decades passed,

We pay more attention to the moment

Attending to time and how we spent it

Loving the present, we choose to fill it with what we love

We especially lose time in eternity

Looking to eternal life, we pay little attention to what is at hand

Loss, lost

We see too late that eternity is present, is in the present, is the present

Which never ends

THE TREASURE OF MY HEART

I bought a t-shirt when I visited Stonehenge

A carved Mayan god of volcanic rock at Chichen Itza

On the Parthenon mount, a ceramic replica of a Grecian urn

A cross in Notre Dame Cathedral

At the Parliament of the World’s Religions, a golden Amitabha

And at a second Parliament, Buddhist prayer beads

 

I was blessed, as are many, with an inheritance gift

For some, it would mean a new car

Others, a big house

Still others, a resort on the Riviera

For me, it was Stonehenge, Notre Dame, and the Parthenon

(Chichen Itza and the Parliaments were largely on my own dime)

“Where your treasure is, there your heart will be”

My treasure was, indeed, spent at the promptings of my heart

 

I wanted to listen for ancient mystic Celts

Touch the stars the Mayans recorded

Walk where Socrates, Sophocles, Aristophanes, Themistocles, Pericles, and the peripatetics perambulated

Breathe in the Spirit of Christian beauty

Hear Indigenous teachings, Vedanta, ritual dance, eat at a Sikh Langar, commune with fellow pilgrims

And did, the expense paying its dividends where neither rust nor moth can corrupt

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