Archive January 2008
Tonspion
Legale kostenfreie Downloads: Epitonic
Legale kostenfreie Downloads: Garageband
Legale kostenfreie Downloads: Cityslang
Legale kostenfreie Downloads: Linkliste Musikblogs
Legale kostenfreie Downloads: MP3.de
Legale kostenfreie Downloads: Downloadmusik.de
RCRD LBL - kostenlose Musik-Downloads
Free Albums - jeden Tag kostenlose Musik
Legale kostenfreie Downloads: Purevolume
Musik bei Stage6
Clipspion: Aus dem Web zusammengetragene Musik-Videos
Musikvideos bei Rhapsody: Streams im Real-Format
Yahoos Musikdienst "Launch"
Popzoot.tv: Video-Magazin mit durchsuchbarer Datenbank
Tauschnix-Initiative
Heise-Downloads: Stream-Audiosoftware
Chip-Download: Hit-Recorder
Chip-Download: Streamripper
Chip-Download: StationRipper
WinAmp-Player
WE7
Open Directory: Verzeichnis deutscher Web-Radios
Add this link to:
Meetings With An Indian Railway God - Against All Odds
This is a true story that occurred to my life,
Which goes to show
What a limitless power it is -
The urge of Mind's sway.
I am a German boy of an
Old hoof-smiths' gender,
The first in line to fall out of his forefathers' moulds
Due to the innovations of modern times surpassing
Our handling of the beasts of burden of yore.
And as major push towards a life of wanderings and explorations,
That, in the end, led me to encounter
This story of which I am telling here,
May be counted the fact that, when as a baby, my mother couldn't
Have me suckle her breasts,
Due to some gall or bile boiling up in the system,
Thus, leaving me for a whole life to be
In search of that mother's breast.
So I went to suck foreign mothers' milk in,
By drawing in tongues and mentalities aheap
Of other peoples and cultures from the
Far extremes of most distant times of the ancient wise
To the most lucrative spaces of humanity's root fields.
And I landed, eventually, in Southern India,
In the city of Madurai,
Dressed up like a local, in white
Gallantly draped cloth.
Coming in by train. I
Met at the Madurai station,
While idly loitering around after arrival,
Their local railway station master - one imposing figure.
We were dressed both the same style, he and I,
And he might have liked my going after
His country's fashion, thus sifting me out.
He took me upstairs to the station's cafeteria,
And it was there and then that I realized
What stupendously wise people some are who
Thrive among the races
Of India's great populace.
This station master was such a cosy pychnic -
Garrulously talking away
In lovely tones telling me and my travel companion,
Who had an amuleted dog with him,
Wise, well-focused words in a stream of various contexts -,
And most amazingly -
All what he said was about one thing -
Cats and dogs:
Yes, he knew all about
What's common and what's different with those pets,
With their behaviours, their likes and dislikes,
And everything about them.
But not only that - he left me with
The feeling that this was a man
Who could tell you about anything -
Any other topic - you name it! - as expediently -
Things one wouldn't have come to think of - otherwise.
From the cafeteria Madurai's station master then walked to downtown
Together with us two tourists
Finally to bid farewell at the junction to his home.
In those days I then had commenced to
Study to read the Tamil alphabet.
Thus it had come about that some Tamil man told me
That Madurai station master
Was commonly known in town as
The Railway God of Madurai.
I was, at that time, at the tender age of twenty.
For the next ten years to come
I had not taken to travelling at all
Spending time in my German home.
But I had never forgotten, whenever
I recalled my trips to India,
About one impressive Tamil man - and his eloquent wisdom:
This man was the one they called the Railway God of Madurai.
And many many times it was that
I told stories to friends
About my endearing encounter with this one impressive Indian figure.
Another ten years later I moved out from Germany
And I settled down in a town
On the southern island of Mindanao
In the Philippines.
And again, I had told to many of my new friends there
The story of my one-time meeting in Madurai
With one whom they called their Railway God.
Another eight years later,
I came to visit the town of Madurai
Once again, and I went to look for the old station master.
I stepped inside the office room, where,
At the Madurai station it read 'station master',
But the old man I was looking for,
Was not there, instead four flabberghasted young men
Asking me what I was up to there.
They wouldn't give me any clues, and seemed to be engaged
In a power dispute among each other at the time.
So I just left it all at that.
Another two years later in time, travelling once more,
Again I happened to be
For a few days' stay in that same city of Madurai.
I had made, in the meantime, some acquaintances
With local boys there, all very friendly to me.
During that one stay then,
Suddenly I was invited by the boys
To join a Hindu funeral party.
'If I would like to come - and see
How we Hindus deal with death? '
So I went with them, and
Already on the way to the house of the deceased person,
I somehow felt a premonition in my chest.
I asked my friendly guides -
Really but knowing yet nothing, just giving it a try -
If the dead person were the old
Railway station master of their town.
And lo! to my very surprise,
This is what they confirmed:
'Yes, station master! the station master has died, '
So they replied,
'And his sons want you to be there for their father's funeral.'
And there I was, face to face, with my
'Most Remembered Indian of All Times', once more,
As he was seated, all dead,
In his grandfather chair there, with his horned glasses on,
Looking toward the main door.
There were dozens of mourners,
Women, men, and children, lining up on all sides,
In and around the departured one's house,
And they were, as it seemed,
All waiting for one,
Waiting for me - to anoint the forehead of
The Railway God of my memories.
This is a true story that occurred to my life,
Which goes to show
What a limitless power it is -
The urge of Mind's sway.
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
The Will In The Animal
People's lives are led in this magic mix of our world,
So you say,
By intuitions from consequences
We choose to involuntarily take part in,
And you say,
For a major part
People's lives are led
By these fair & unfair provisions of Providence
We inevitably take shares in,
And by intimidations and by acts of aggression for self-maintenance,
So you say, our lives are led, too.
I once asked modern Socrates about this thing,
That bald-headed bold-hatted clear & interesting thinker with a sting
You also met already once
In tiny far away Forest Ville.
He remarked: 'But where is the will of the animal in this concept? '
Well, well I said, and am pondering now:
What makes any whale suffer to go back up the Thames again, after a lapse of 92 turns of the sun?
I now feel the wind from the will in scientific modern man when he spreads
The life of a whale straying in wilful people's waterways must be one misled.
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
Changing Places Between Divine And Human
If God were a man, he might descend on earth,
and open shop down here,
like all the other fellows do,
and charge his tokens for his rays of sun
that he, incessantly rolling the spheres,
so lavishly is shining on
each and every one of us masterpieces, down here,
of his creation.
But there were no signs yet,
God ever wanted to take this hold on man's mind.
Infinitely straying through cosmos, indeed, must be the greater joy.
God obviously didn't want to populate
His spheres with unfailing robots of good luck,
alive only, to be fading away with boredom of existence.
Nor wouldn't anyone have come up with the idea of praying,
if not for fear to be overlooked by Him
at the time of His showering blessings,
if the greatest thing on earth really were only,
to look after all subalterns all of the time,
and to set all the hopeful among us grapplers
on their best possible courses.
Since we're not made to pay for lending the spots of our engaging
bubbles brains
To God's spotless Mind so cosmic,
can we really be more than mere tenants on these our individual fields?
If man were to be God, given the knowledge,
He as man has already gathered,
he'd set up a globe covering net of energy converters, for his free sun
rays
to run also His power machines
he as man has invented and uses, for free.
And if man were to be as good a God,
as he so readily loves Him to be called good,
he'd simply chip in His own talents and abilities, likewise for free.
Each of us, then, panvoluntaristically, working hand in hand with
everyone,
to allow for a free flow of all the 'give & take'
on these our lifes' challenging tumbling grounds,
along the rivers of essential and wanton goods,
divinely common-standard,
which, feeding and decorating us,
do make us happy evermore?
Could it be that, over scenic waterfalls of
such a river once for all flowing free,
any upcoming items of pioneering novelty,
for the sake of improving the human lot,
were to come splashing in,
showering their spray of refreshment,
first off as booty for most entertaining televised earth's quizzlings,
applauded by the lingering masses,
who stand by the monitored shores clapping their hands,
waiting for their own plunge in the eventually renewed waters of
share-all-for-free to come?
And if man were to be God,
hadn't he enough leisure time at hand,
to go and look for, and, eventually stem out,
the root of any persistent evil,
if that primal man's evil-rooted money had
thus been managed to be overcome?
Man seems made to improve.
Animalhood improved to be man,
without wasting in sacrifice the animals away.
Were it not likewise for manhood to improve to be God,
without wasting in sacrifice
the men away -
by a regulated growing in the wisdom of the plants?
What better happiness of the sexes could there be,
if man were to be a God?
Does it strictly take God as a man to make man a god?
Could I, just a simple man, somehow make Him to care to allow man -
to soften their grip on life
by abolishing money?
* * *
I recommend readers to take a look at my Votelet page and eventually cast a personal vote at http: //www.network54.com/Votelet/38264 on the issue mentioned in this poem
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
Hecate Invocation (traditional)
[Hekate is a Goddess of the Moon and the Underworld of ancient Greece
and Rome]
Goddess of the cross-roads,
Goddess of Manic-Depression,
Dweller in the deep places of the earth and mind,
Traveller in the land between worlds!
Torch-bearer! Protectress of the very old and the very young;
Protectress of those used and abused;
Healer of those who are torn apart;
She will be there for us when we call on her and at the end.
Grandmother to lost children and to the downtrodden.
Nurse to the suckling infant,
Comfort to the lone man or woman in the darkest night.
She who seeks vengeance for her children who are wronged!
Wanderer and prowler!
Sorceress who lives at the edge of the mind.
Drawer-up of the secret compost from the unused internal well.
She who has no relatives on the earth save for her children.
Without Mother or Sister.
Lady on the brink, both bi-polar and uni-polar!
They call her mad, and it is she who terrifies the disbeliever and the
unworthy!
Bringer of nightmares!
But she it is who sooths the sleepless and disheveled spirit.
Mother of night!
Dark Power of the moon!
Keeper of the shadow!
Walker of the endless highways!
She unites those who follow her as her children; the Hekite.
Bearer of the sacred poppy.
Shape-shifter, Transformer.
Keeper of the hounds of Hel and the three-headed dog Cerebus!
She walks abroad in the hour of the wolf and under the Dark Moon!
Hear my call O Lady and cover us with your starry cloak.
Let the unborn moon seed in my heart this night.
And let her growing light shine upon our intention;
That she be at our full deliverance,
So Mote it be!
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
Uuno Kailas - Contemplation (translation)
Above my head a new day doesn't clear up, it brings the old clouds.
And each new day here is a small eternity.
It's lingering at my door, like a poor wife, to walk off, -
or it is, as if it were rising from my dreams, as though it were a
ghost.
It might not have anything to give to me out of its hands of being one
that died away.
I don't have an eye ogling for heaven or earth,
I see but the range of the clouds.
It doesn't dissolve, it doesn't clear up;
the new day brings the old clouds.
Life isn't getting on, not by the span of a hand -
there's only flowing time's stream.
My life! your grand solstice has come.
Like an island, now my heart is - after swaying with the waves - a
sea, so immobile, having embraced a shadow-life.
The wine of the veins, the blood, does not strike a fire as before.
The land's spring time calls the country's grasses and trees to life,
and so my other brothers, -
I, for one, remained leafless, -
but, oh my life! I grant you have a solstice.
Although the eye does search for the east -
it does not do so from the extremes of time's stream.
Its look does not dash as far as for the shelter of a morning,
to the moment a-coming.
It does not believe in the good luck that a wave brings, not in
events of accident.
Away from the squirmings of hope,
and from the shores shimmering of a new day,
it turned itself around facing another stream and another side of east.
For me, time has nothing to give,
not out of its hands of a stranger.
Now my heart only carries on its fate by itself.
The sea of phenomena doesn't wash its banks temptingly.
It claims the silence and hears only that.
If mornings still shine on in it, and the blue in the sky,
this spring, by itself, had but been as what had been that fall.
An island of a deep sea, it is similar to a pearly shell:
if a good pearl is to be created, it will be created so out of its
pain.
Like stocks of semen that live in their dying, it sleeps - and does
not sleep:
it is sipping power from its sleep.
And once being free of pain, it will wake up to a new life -
like a mute flute, it is waiting for its melody.
transl. by Erhard Lang from Finland's 'fire-bearer' poet Uuno Kailas'
(1901 -1933) original in the latter's native Finnish:
CONTEMPLATION
Ei seesty pääni päällä, tuo vanhat pilvet päivä uus.
Ja joka päivä täällä on pieni ikuisuus.
Se viipyy ovellani, kuin köyhä vaimo, menee pois, -
tai on, kuin unistani se nousis, aave ois.
Ei mitään antaa saata se mulle kuolleen-käsistään.
En taivast' enkä maata, vaan pilvipiirin nään.
Ei haihdu se, ei seesty;
uus päivä vanhat pilvet tuo.
Ei vaaksaa elo eesty -
vain virtaa ajan vuo.
On tullut, elämäni, suur päivänseisaukses sun.
Kuin saarta, sydäntäni nyt - jälkeen aaltoilun - on varjo-elon meri,
niin liikkumaton, syleillyt.
Ei suonten viini, veri, kuin ennen polta nyt.
Maan ruohoja ja puita maan kevät kutsuu elämään ja veljiäni muita, -
mä lehdettömäks jään. -
Mut, elämäni, pitää sun päivänseisausta suon.
Vaikk' etsii silmä itää - ei äärelt' ajan vuon.
Ei kiidä aamun huomaan sen katse, hetkeen tulevaan.
Ei usko aallon tuomaan se onneen, sattumaan.
Pois toivon kuplain luota ja aamun rantain päilyväin se kääntyi toista
vuota ja toista itää päin.
Ei aika mulle antaa voi mitään vieraan-käsistään.
Nyt kohtaloaan kantaa vain sydän itsessään.
Ei ilmiöiden meri sen rantaa huuhdo houkuttain.
Se hiljaisuuden peri ja kuulee sitä vain.
Jos sille siintelevät viel' aamut, taivaan sinisyys, on itselleen se
kevät kuin ollut on se syys.
Se, saari meren syvän, on näkinkengän kaltainen:
jos luo se helmen hyvän, luo kivustaan se sen.
Kuin siemenien suku, jok' elää kuolemisessaan, se nukkuu - eikä nuku:
juo voiman unestaan.
Ja kerran tuskaa vailla se herää uuteen elämään -
nyt mykän huilun lailla vain vartoo säveltään.
Uuno Kailas
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
Magic- Live -Catches One Unawares
Oh this grand, oh so vibrant cosmic swinging and flurrying
With all its expressive - and abstract - hidden huge influences being
carried along! !
As vast a world as is ours,
It yet always seems to be as tiny
In these rounded, ever widening fields of our immense cosmos
We're brooding in -
This is what engulfs all our things down here,
Far and wide, seen and unseen! ! !
As well, it does hold engulfed
Me, too, and my world, and yours and you.
Would you, Unknown Entity, for once again, energetically join forces,
and, for a minute or two,
Take up your abode in my mind, benevolently?
For you now opening up, slip into one like myself
- And may you enjoy making up a man like me as you're superceding
On me of flesh and blood,
and come to stay in my heart!
Am I prepared so that you could stand me? -
Finally you'd be one here that I, as a human, could bow to?
Would you be also one I may freely converse with and befriend? Or am I
too small by size to dare entertain
A wish aspiring for your heights?
Or is there a place elsewhere, aside from Mind,
That you, mystic One in All by all in one,
Would pitch up your tent and camp?
Another regal abode, befitting for you to come down to,
Aside here from mind?
Where you could have a Oneness of all your subtlest fibers
Gladly reflected, re-creating yourself in a small vessel?
On this one spritely pearl of globe come oh so alive?
In Mind only - I, for one, just can't see another -
Everything under the sun, May easily stand up together in a line.
Seers and shamans of different ancient peoples
Have named different means
Of ensuring the potency of Magic Spells.
Some are said to have gained the glorious realm of wonders
Strictly by devotionals with most beloved Goddesses and Gods.
And one can easily imagine that those
Who make for lofty fields of miracles,
By mere spells of cosmic knowledge and
Algebraic laws of magic ritual,
Through rightful rites -
Are those who would want to make the least of noise
Whilst their miracles are happening, -
Not a curious eye to be baffled thereby,
while the coming of their miracles might
Hardly be noticed by themselves -
Self-grown fruit of will as these are,
Expressed only at the sudden end
Of an ultimate chain of action in Mind.
As sweet a fruit the action to be,
As sweet a fruit to Graciously be granted by some insider eye of higher
insight? -
Is this what they meant
when I heard them say,
'God is good'?
Many have wanted to know what exactly it is
That makes real of
Non-trickster magicians' work:
Each and every one of those, rarely
Whenever met to face the question,
Just mysteriously answered,
'True Magic lives by the magic of its secret.'
And they all stop short of telling
That it is only to avoid the shattering of their magic's frame
To be built up in a singular of cell, theirs,
That the secrets must be kept by all means.
For no leakage in the Mind will drain their cause only
Unless it is bumped at by the low-flying ignorant,
Once they got wind of it.
Magic deeds that, without fail, can
Spell out a realistic performer's desire
Right through the Mind,
Must they not be verily magic playing live.
With cosmic will power swerving down
To bend and shape circumstances of life -
Magic must come easy, I feel, if it were to happen -
As easy as a magic performance is being done?
For things to be happening one's own way - magically?
Things seen strictly as accidental coincidences
By a non-magician's eye!
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
The All-Human Story Of Isis
- Isis - sister & wife of arch-king -
Osiris - who had first installed peace & happiness
in most ancient Egypt's society,
by virtue of the country life's magical guidance
through priestly divinized cosmic minds
which, by ritual laws, were 'poured' into the most highly cherished
legendary figures,
set up as statues in palace-temples where,
along with constant chanting of the respective gods' thousands &
thousands
of various descriptive cosmic & earthly appellations & names,
which in the temple's innermost dome gathered up as one mind,
they were regularly being waited on:
most lusciously bathed, clothed, adorned, fed, and in many other
pleasing ways sought to make happy,
so as for them, when faced eye to eye with their audience,
to shower their various personal blessings, onto them.
Isis' evil, envious brother-in-law - Set - had Osiris eventually done
away with
by planned fraternicide, on which Isis, very sad, went to retrieve
Osiris' remains. Isis wanted to restore her husband's remains
for a big burial, to assure the smooth underworld gliding
of his deceased mind-compound, to be royally positioned
next to that of gods, but Isis' endeavour was thwarted
again by evil Set, on which Isis just gave up her life, to, right there
and then,
join Osiris at least to herself, leaving behind only the word
that her soul would transfix itself into a hawk; this is why all
Egyptian pharaos,
descending from Osiris, who thenceforth was declared god of the
underworld,
from then on wore decorative falcon masks whenever
they appeared in public, as being
hawk-eyed sons of queen-turned-goddess Isis,
and as such thus pledging their vow to do revenge
against Set and to uproot the seed of evil the latter had sown.
Thereafter, pharao Akhenaton came to shine
all-inclusive Sun God Ra's forgiving light of power on each & everyone
in Egypt,
finally closing the chapter of their ill-fated royal ancestor.
After a time of the expansive Romans meddling with the Egyptians,
the former eventually became followers of the divine martyr Jesus the
Nazarene,
while the latter embraced the principles of divine seer Muhammad.
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
Why Things Don't Think Of Us, Too, In Return?
Why not let troubled things talk and hold council with you?
Or do you relish the birth-pangs' banging between clashes?
Things can't talk, yes, or can they? !
You may only proffer your own fantasy
To give them a mouth-piece?
What are we then?
Just simply a piece of flesh, sensing the numbness of the chair we sit on?
Or are we the brain in the chair? !
I found it not to be a madman's pass-time, only, to let things talk to me through myself:
That perilous leaning tower did exactly not tumble over me when I walked past,
As I had beseeched it not to do so.
And be it that I was just delayed for its fateful fall for speaking my prayers.
And, as a trusting thanks-giver, I find,
I'm yet faring best with things.
And how sweet things may talk to one!
And then they won't talk more than I want them to.
And let us not forget: people are things, too!
And they say, all is in one.
Things called it god.
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
Events That Make The Years Go Counted
Aeschylos, for one, was a famous dramatist in antique Greece,
At a time when humankind was adolescing,
his mind, like the high-flying minds of
a few others of contemporaries
of his young time, was sprouting youthfully spritely.
While now we humans are all seen leaning on crutches of all kinds of
shapes, rather than moving by one's own means:
on round wheeling crutches, without hoofs,
for the moving,
on keypadded toyboxes, forestalling one's own mind power of telepathy,
for the telecommunicating, having messages, tediously stalled out,
forklifted around through pied interface pipers
bent on exchanging looks of costly hertzian beams.
Whereas Mind's beams and God's star interfaces,
just free for the taking,
still don't charge any of us,
even one were to take a longer
more complex ride on highways of
the global net of telepathy.
How wayward could have times been in antiquity, when almost all things
of general knowledge that we, today, take for granted,
had still been open for the speculations;
thanks to Christ there were no inquisitions yet in the name of a lord
then!
But Aeschylos, if asked, wouldn't have come up with
that he was born in 525 BC. The number of the pre-Christian era years
being only a scientific projection,
counted out from our present standpoint in time.
Not that the ancient would have counted their years backward? ? !
What if we were to start counting our years backward now! ! ?
But Oh, weren't it then high time enough for us to do so? Hodieee! ! !
There is already 2000 years to go now, to reach on innocent point zero.
And for the numbers, if it were only for them,
there were no excuses,
don't let me be misunderstood.
Is this only a joke to anyone?
(Once a genuine longing for a new point-blank year-zero Great start of
new Hope of paradisical times were to set in,
in alignment with a new year numbering:
belatedly one easily could convert, for example, year 2006 into year
1994 Before the start of the New Era.
And go ahead and count the following year as 1993 Before the start of
the New Era...)
And, likewise belatedly, finally take down this 2000-year-old crucified
soul of God's son, for no more for Him always to have to ascend that
painful wretched cross of a throne
spilled over and over with blood,
each time a member of mind in His
calls out to the self in God's mind.
Are we really that much ridden by dumb blood of old wont? ? !
And this one now is no joke to me:
Why not just repair to toppling the system,
at one blow once and for all,
and to saying: 'Tomorrow we'll start at year zero,
all over again,
of a new order'? ? !
Radical changes of radical features naturally also presuppose radical
changes behind the features.
Now, which great thing,
to be built on such a heavy foundation,
durable enough to last through all times,
could it then be
that were to be counted out by a new round of our years starting at
zero,
by us and by all our future generations from us onwards,
after we would have taken down that crucifixion of our old system and
its lord? ?
I, for one, can see honestly only one thing
grand enough to be worthy of having all started all over from year
zero:
New Year Zero will be the first year after the general worldwide
abolition of money,
wholly replaced, as such, by a system of panvoluntaristic flow of all
'give and take'
practiced in perfect consensus
all over the world..
And Jesus Christ will be smiling ever more,
more than ever before,
not anymore having to wear that old worn-out crown of thorns any more,
each time a remembering face looked up
in a prayerful mood to him.
And all psychotropic drugs - that great cheat of a monster problem of
today -
will be considerately dealt out
per individual user & stuff licences, from year new zero onwards,
through the very ones who now still heat up the years through their
modern inquisitions of the Mind.
Only then young Aeschylos will have won all of his dramas,
and even such ones he not yet dared to dream about.
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
One-liner: The Mind Is One Network
How could one imagine what it
sounded like when starting to
learn a foreign language,
merely from the books, and had
never been to the place
where they speak that tongue,
nor had heard it spoken
at any time otherwise?
Might one still know, just by
way of approximating imaginations,
how it sounded like?
'But it's only so in your imagination! '
the voices of your close-by,
echoes of mind, come reverberating
back to your ears
from the ignorant world.
By any means,
could it be true
what they'll be telling you,
that you're imagining things - only -
and this would have nothing to do with
reality? !
I, for one, can't believe anyone
to have a right to say he or she
be a sole owner of mind,
though I do hold there's some secret about mind.
Does any scientist know what it is?
- Are we then well-advised, therefore, better not
to be telling anyone about the greater things,
in for being cooked in mind,
but not yet full done? ? -
I, for one, want to express
that I strongly feel that
we - all of us -
as we stand and fall -
are all connected up together,
connected by one and the same mind,
and I strongly feel,
that one may well listen in,
listen in to this one mind
- way through the distances,
and even way through time
and the times.
So, why wouldn't we be able to
innerly hear, factually true,
another's speak,
be it even that the speaker were
on another stellar galaxy's
enlivened global planetary? !
How much more so with innerly
hearing your next-door woman,
or the unknown soulmate
out in the open
wide streets of life?
And even all the dead got
all their seed minds, I feel,
left there behind,
out in the far lanes of
vast stellar memory planes
of landscapes and plains
in the cosmic mind,
all units being more or less safely
stored away there,
for the future accesses,
by their living partners, or
of those yet to live,
in mind.
If only we the living
were more acknowledgable
of the unique oneness
impressed on our
own most precious one mind,
beyond all the minded
objects of realized materializations -
in mind.
This is a one-liner: the mind is one network.
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
Fantasies Of The Soul In Pictures - 27 Variations Of Female Pairs Of Soles
walking with a lush turf carpet under joyous flappers
to feel what exactly you're stepping up to next thing
The Honourable Feet of Indian Tribal people
playing their game straight from the soul
every day a new exploration to a young sole!
hey, I'm a real soulmate, yes, me is!
if it comes to the fruits of nature, I simply go for food that is also soul food
decently soleful approach - worthy of a monumental grandeur full of soul
standing up aloof with my feet rooted deeply in their very soul
one soul & two pairs of one sole on one soil
gracefully swaggering herself into viewers' heart & soul
let your soles relish the blessings of rain while going down life's lane all along the soul's feel for nature's showerings
Daughter as strong-souled as Nene - from the roots to the hat
hey, what's that cribbling in our soles telling, hinting at something that's there behind?
my hot soul getting onto a fast sole to buy some coolant to all this spice
no way of having this end up a boring match - with this my friend who is of an equal soul - all the way up to the soles
Am I not barely beautiful from head to toe in between all this glossy blue wrapping of mine?
...and my homestead makes my soles tickle, true, in a very special way
so funny, if not for the toes to laugh along with, we might explode..
how could our landscaping not be beautiful, with our very own so soleful approach
the lady in the field - the most beautiful sole - all around up to her friendly soul
Hey, who was that then - saying we were children of poverty - themselves the poorest of beings with no smiles on lips nor toes?
Hey, why let your soles fly like that - don't you also sense a tickle of close-by?
None of those hapless squires will thus ever believe it's me whom they'll see when in the beloved company of my chosen lord of soul, that I'm as gorgeous as are my beautiful feet while actually, by my soles, they do bespeak the royal taste in him
through the subtle vibes of the elements, a well-soled dancer gets into perfect unison with what her dance is to express; rubber-soled drummer-partner! - your pace might not stay in keeping with my swift soul's tact!
most soulful expressions of human motions and moods - fenced by proper toe twists for a full measure of soul
..this is my home, and it feels so good, even how small is my sole!
* * * *
Each and every stanza above is also one sub-title of mine of as many images of soulfully portrayed females, dancing, standing, in repose, or on the move, on their bare feet. The images are, for most of them, scenes pictured by French photographer Ravince on the island of Madagascar, some are from India, one from Bangladesh, whereas the two portraits of classical dancing feet are of a Cambodian artist.
The pictures to the stanzas may be viewed on my imagery site at
http: //www.flickr.com/photos/libidopter
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
Stunning Stunt Smash-Hit Lesson
He had been known as a daredevil ever since.
That one day he had done it a few times,
his newest stunt meant to be outbeating himself.
Up and up again he went there onto his trapeze,
That he had set hanging at such a height
So he could still make it so-and-so
To dropp himself down in a fall, and -
This was his challenge really! -
By way of his arts learning how
To do in the fast drop
The proper turns of his supple body
For it to come landing in a graceful pose
Unhurt on touching down to the ground -
An artists feat he was set to master -
He had done it that day a few times -
Some four of his closest friends were
Watching on from down in the arena.
He succeeded twice.
Once he had already hurt himself
In one attempt in between.
With the fourth attempt
He got hurt so bad
Falling on his head so inadvertently
That they had to carry him away -
His life fifty-fifty.
None of his spectators
Eager to see him be successful
Had seen him fall at that fourth attempt.
He must have then dropped himself
Immediately after reaching onto the trapeze
Yet before anyone's eyes could have followed him up there.
His last landing came to be a fatal failure
Because, at the instance of his jumping,
He was not yet being secured
By the soft net of his onlookers' positive looks
To be spun Invisibly in the arena's
Overall Mind atmosphere
Composed of five well-wishing heads
Four of which the jumper unluckily had foregone.
He had jumped too early -
Afraid of his own fear.
He wanted to outbeat his fear
By jumping before fear could have reached his heart.
But he was not aware of the carrying
Importance of a supportive mind landscape.
A lesson that would have made him
Not only survive the jump from the daring height
But improve his skill of landing deftly.
The sad thing with all of this:
Even the poor daredevil's fatal death did not
Impart the wit of the tragedy's lesson
To his four friends.
As none of them, either, grasped
The good effects of vibrations from a friendly
Positively complex mind surrounding.
Our ill-fated daredevil was no dreamer,
But I dreamt too late of his tale.
The dreamer's wish now were that another
Pioneering boy briskly mindless of the importance
Of beneficial eyes and clapping hands
Would wake up to a healthy
Common sense of success.
And I'd wish that this story would
Show to all the others too -
No cowards either -
What stunning lesson
This stunning stunt smash-hit lesson holds
About our wondrous Mind!
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
What If The Stars Were Barred From Glittering
If scientists could put it to the test,
They might eventually want to check it out - for a minute or two,
To learn and see what effect the test could entrail:
Placing a huge repellent shield around and
Above the earth's highest skylines,
Wholly thus enveloping our globe's atmospheric layers
With the target being to see what could happen
If all the stars that are
Constantly beaming their shining faces down on all of us here
Were barred for just a moment or two
From their lightning-speed glittering through
Onto our world from out there in their
Open vastness of cosmunicative space.
- Somehow I feel thankful that it took another DaVinci,
For them not to be able to do
More of monstrous technological feats, like this one
envisioned here. -
Since we have to be afraid they might not be able
To reverse such a mighty fatal star-blocker shield,
Once set up,
And not be getting out back anymore to
Where we, the heads of the Earth, are
Standing on our feet now,
All of us earthlings getting stuck up in
A stars uprooting operation -
Plunging us for good into mental black-out.
Or would anyone of us - scientist or amateur - have
Premonitioned that, all of a sudden,
Every man on earth was to suffer
Total loss of all mental contents,
Now any time so much taken for granted
To always be there ready for our brains' taking,
All our customized reasoning powers,
Acquired rules of logic, and
All of everyone's memories and
Good-times resolutions
Instantly being blocked and barraged and
Rendered helplessly inaccessible?
All beings, all together, so mysteriously, all of sudden,
Becoming one heart and one soul -
Love without a thought for
Survival exponentially on the increase -
In a wholly new form of human co-existence
Mushrooming up after the hypothetical
Experimental push of just one tremendous
But fatal space-explorer button?
Mysteriously feeling no more need, all of a sudden,
For the many many stories of old
That they themselves, WE, as
All our forefathers alike, so far,
Ever had enjoyed making up in
The wonted communicable mind?
Mind thus knocked out along with all stars,
The very nodes of Mind's network blocked?
And wouldn't it be that without the stars' shining
Even the dogs stopped barking at each other? ! -
What a terribly vain boredom I feel would be
Spreading all over the places on our lush Earth
There where that starlit life once had come to
Sprout and to flourish so wonderful
- Then dying to see the light of stars on darkened days again!
And the irony of all of such a sudden
Darkness that were to come over us,
While Father Sun couldn't understand his world anymore:
Even all the remainders of highest intelligence,
On top of all creations - here on Earth -
All these many bits and bytes of all sorts of
Itemized, materialized memory and communications ware,
Serving these crafty days,
More and more densely to
Hold human mind together
In one shell spanning the
Networks of mind stuff,
All of these were likewise,
In the same one strike, but
Turned into being overstatedly gay and flamboyant
Redundant articles of litter,
Electronic carapaces of human mind's extensions
Scattered plain useless throughout,
What just a moment before the shooting up of the star barrage,
Before the sky-rocketing of the total star-blocker shield,
Were master aides for use in
One of the most intelligently comfortable animal settlements
On all manned planets,
With their former makers' and all the
Smartly organized matters' users' brains knocked out -
Knocked out to a total standstill -
Suddenly all connections in mind coming to a sudden full stop,
With the stars left out Mind's functions dropped off -
The gadgets remaining to be only
Excrements from a lost past
Only a hurt now to the dull eyes of
Millions and millions of unusable stand-by brains
That now all stopped their wonderings and
Ponderings and correlating with things.
The only one thinkable positive thing about it,
If anything at all:
Suddenly we could be, for the first time ever,
Re-living that speechless original awe of the animals
That some of them seem still to feel
When faced vis-a-vis this most elegant flower of life,
Our uplifted being's outstanding head.
Completely different heads then
Looking out from yesterday's mirrors,
Though yet looking all the same as before.
With our mother planet and ourselves robbed of the stars' shine,
Even the looks and features of people, in a generation or two,
Might but get lesser touches of nature's inborn beauty, alas!
For how could the old time-tested characters
That had all been once alive
Now in a starless world ever
Have chances of re-incarnating into
New contemporaries that were fit to
Continue the old surge of their lives' passion
When the akashic records cannot
Burn their genetic messages anymore through to
Where they were meant to go to _
Into new possibly most proper vessels of
Physical details dancing through time and space.
When it is that the dreaded global
Stars shield would be rendering defunct
The complete cosmic library of codeces
For of all of life's character patterns,
Getting withheld along with the stars
From all who had ever incarnated through time before,
Once or through some more of life times,
In spite of the patterns safely being
Stored away in seed forms
There on cosmic mind's very intrastellar shoals of ether,
For determining possible future births of
Each and every past being -
After each and everyone's star written code.
The consequences of trying to see if it would make any
Difference with us here on our globe
If there were none of all these beautiful stars shining,
As they have been shining ever since
And are shining now, and hopefully will be for ever,
- Luckily a mere hypothetical disaster envisioned here only,
As it serves to be a perfect example for
Highlighting the true nature and functioning of Mind -
Seems to be an endless-liner
That, luckily, one doesn't have to repeat perusing
After once having comprehended what its message was -
About this our so glorious mind.
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
Uuno Kailas - At The Frontier (translation)
The frontier opens like a lane across the ice but it's broken up.
In front is Asia, the East.
Behind what is the West and Europe:
I am watching it, border guard.
Behind is a beautiful father country
with its towns and villages.
Your son protects you, my country,
highest of treasures.
The howling wind in the night
brings snow from behind the border -
Lord, grant my father, my mother to have a quiet dream!
Give grains into the barn chestbox,
from these to the cattle too!
Your hands may bless the fields! -
Here I shall protect these.
Dreary, cold is the winter's night,
frosty breathes the East.
There exist servitude and forced labor;
the stars are watching it.
From afar, from the steppes
rises the image of Ivan the Terrible.
A spirit of disaster, it forebodes:
morning is to see blood.
But the gray fathers from out of their graves come riding on horses of
ghosts;
with bear-hunter spears in their fists storming towards the border. -
Spirits of fathers, blissful ones,
hear the word of your son -
if I were to betray it, you come hither as an army of revenge -:
The enemy's iron-sole shall not trample shamefully
the abode of your heroes rest, -
I shall protect my country's border!
Never will strangers take away your precious legacy.
They may come as a wind hound from their steppes!
Getting onto the soil here.
Strong-breasted as a bear I shall run against the lances
protecting woman's spinning-wheel and the cradle of children!
The frontier opens like a lane across the ice but it's broken up.
In front is Asia, the East.
Behind what is the West and Europe:
I am watching it, border guard.
by Finnish poet
Uuno Kailas (1901 - 1933)
transl. by Erhard Lang
here the poem's original Finnish version:
RAJALLA
Raja railona aukeaa.
Edessä Aasia, Itä.
Takana Länttä ja Eurooppaa:
varjelen, vartija, sitä.
Takana kaunis isänmaa
kaupungein ja kylin.
Sinua poikas puolustaa, maani,
aarteista ylin.
Öinen, ulvova tuuli tuo rajan takaa lunta -
Isäni, äitini, Herra suo nukkua tyyntä unta!
Anna jyviä hinkaloon,
anna karjojen siitä!
Kätes peltoja siunatkoon! -
Täällä suojelen niitä.
Synkeä, kylmä on talviyö,
hyisenä henkii Itä.
Siell' ovat orjuus ja pakkotyö;
tähdet katsovat sitä.
Kaukaa, aroilta kohoaa Iivana Julman haamu.
Turman henki, se ennustaa:
verta on näkevä aamu.
Mut isät harmaat haudoistaan aaveratsuilla ajaa;
karhukeihäitä kourissaan syöksyvät kohti rajaa. -
Henget taattojen, autuaat,
kuulkaa poikanne sana -
jos sen pettäisin, saapukaat koston armeijana -:
Ei ole polkeva häpäisten sankarileponne majaa
rauta-antura vihollisen, -
suojelen maani rajaa!
Ei ota vieraat milloinkaan kallista perintöänne.
Tulkoot hurttina aroiltaan!
Mahtuvat multaan tänne.
Kontion rinnoin voimakkain ryntään peitsiä vasten
naisen rukkia puolustain
ynnä kehtoa lasten!
Raja railona aukeaa.
Edessa Aasia, Itä.
Takana Länttä, Eurooppaa;
varjelen, vartija, sitä.
Uuno Kailas
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
Communist Express Avenues Of Poetical Attitudes
In an arch communist country's slimmer camps
you'll find youth of different levels of obesity
crammed up together, all being there to
slim down so as to meet different figures of body weight:
One is in for making up into a weasel-like policeman ever quick,
and needs to speck down a bit,
another's boss wouldn't like his bakery apprentice be too fat,
since he might eat away in the very instance
too much of what's being baked at a time.
Now let us suppose that in that very same
country of common ultimate order of weight,
next to the slimmer camps,
there were also poets polishing camps
crowding up with the spirits of
highflying youthful beautiful mind essence
with different figures and faces.
Now, versus the scenery in the slimmer camps,
here to make out who's who,
in this projected state-of-art poetry smith'ry,
we'd have to look beyond the adepts' bellies.
There we'll have to question them, one after the other:
'What poems - yours? '
'Is there an underlying purport of why
you would want the world to get to your story,
so neatly wrapped up? '
'You want to shock the world. - right,
a good teacher does have to arouse her student,
even rash sometimes, when fallen asleep.
'Or you might be strictly after
releasing yourself from a shocked state of mind,
and the publications are mere
by-products of your attempted self-healings? ' -
'So, you write poems about broken love relations.
It hadn't happened better to yourself in life? -
- Oh, I see, you're just thankful it never did happen,
and you're so happy about it that you need to say it
in glorious poems, to catch the real feel of it! '
'I want to help our world's young generation to avoid
making the mistakes we have made when
we were young and dumb, and I think I can
convey my message best when presented in entertaining
exaggerated sample stories that
deal with the various problems at hand.'
'I am so confused by this overwhelming life
we're so heavenly invited in to lead,
on this overpowering earth.
I need to push off heavy loads from my soul.
I will become a good poet, and
write it all down, whatever oppresses my heart,
write it down on a golden paper, go to a remote river-side,
form steadfast dainty tiny boatlets out of thick big green leafs,
and, vowing then to be freeing myself
for my envisioned destination in life,
I'll set my mental compositions, thus, afloat.
For perusing some strictly personal contents of
my poetical mind I wouldn't require any of
readers to do so through the human eye,
even though I, as a human, couldn't see and
present those other than through the biased senses,
but I feel that the higher spirits of nature,
close to God evermore, glancing through
the wuthering shades between the trees
along the river-path of those well-destined
pieces of poetry of mine
will not fail to receive my messages.' -
'I want to give something to the world by writing poems.
Poetry says it best!
But what exactly it is that I'll be giving - I couldn't say yet.
I'm still in the making myself, you see.'
* * * *
Supposed I were the one conducting the
interviews with these common adepts in poetry,
there in the communists poets polishing camp,
given all these smart answers by them,
I could but only ask them:
'But why then are you all here in this camp?
By your answers, you all seem to
know very well by yourselves,
without further camp instructions,
what courses you're set on,
each of you as creative humans and as poets likewise! '
And listen, listen! .... what these communists could answer back:
'But haven't you noticed, there in the outside,
that we're all living in a commonplace world,
and that everyone is camping up with others.
So why wouldn't we, the poets, too, camp up as one! ? '
* * * *
- - - -
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
Sunday Mass For The Vain
'I should have planned
Better with you,
But since, by this Sunday,
Already you've come
Thanking,
I feel
I should'nt push through,
So as
Not, for your vanity,
To entice discontentment
In you, '
someone pondered about another
In the Lord
At Sunday Mass,
And so, Sunday Mass didn't usher in the changes
Amass.
Sometimes, could a dive in the divine jive
Be timed
Out of time
And awry
With our daily hypersonic life
Out on the open plains?
Or
Sometimes, might it be useless to be, on Sundays only,
Attending mass
At a time
When one ought to be
Seeking the inner temple
Day in, day out,
Lost on an
Ill-guided stroll in time
In a dark cavern
Of a rude world,
Mondays, Tuesdays,
Wednesdays, Thursdays,
Fridays, Saturdays, too,
To be praying,
For the one with powers
To take over
The rudder
Ruder, now,
But in the end
Smoothing out all things? !
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
Light Night Breeze To One Who Calls Himself A Friend
My erratic son, why were we going down?
Better to always watch out for safety passages
in time with the joints' key holder,
and most especially so,
when busied in the go-down haul
by nightfall yet;
suddenly one might find
oneself stuck in the dark
shut up there until sun up.
Once at night on the other side of life
they're all but night revellers, at the very best.
And under pink canopies of
star-lit human amusing
we're surging higher & higher
Way out of reach & way out of ear-shot;
once trapped in despair at night,
there it is for the one to
remain locked away
overnight
until a new morn will dawn.
Where in the world are seen
such amusing stars of the
night, yet to be caring about
the forlorn & cast away,
who in their very
awkwardness only were but
hostile elements
for us the free, who need
to get out after dark,
to fill up the emptied vessel
of the soul
in our well-deserved times-out?
Stifled & betrifled,
the torpid victim of the
night may only pray for the
spirit of the brave & wise to
come down on him,
so not as to get even more
miserable entrapped by night
yet being entangled
in heart-rending nightmares
with the wits lost already.
One black glimpse from the
eye of a depressed
desperate
forlorn in the night
emits such a negative
magnetism
that can be sending a knock-out
blow to all fire of life
within any of us
out there on the bright side
of the night
in the blue light of our moon
that is blooming with lush desires.
And don't petty yourself for
being left unconsidered,
caveman son of egotism in
your pitch-black night lair,
when you yourself have
counted yourself out
from all brightening star
tracks that lead us in joy
through the night;
you had been out of time
with all the others
who know to inform
themselves well during the day.
Take this dark lesson of
yours now as a ready-made
chance of your night
to make a better man out of you,
as there's nothing more for
you to do on this field of
yours turned barren
besides waiting and waiting
at this turn
for a new season to come around
when once again it will be
also the season of all
blunderers for sowing their
seed of new life,
and for brooding total re-make.
And believe me, my fallen son,
locked up there in the go-down:
try and help one cramped
soul out of its hole
while yourself being in for a
high in the night,
and the coarse winds from
off the speeches of this
sorry one
verily might blast all your so
passionately concerted
endeavors at once,
in one saddened moment.
It's a sheer waste of one's
self
to keep on hoping on
once already somewhere
having become a goner;
better yet to be hopping on
onto another,
for there to hope & hope on.
This time around, be
smarter, ill-guided son,
make sure, no more to
make for the party's goner!
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
Is Death Really Of The Nature Of Life, Dear God?
Are we really present in this body
when we pass at night
through our lands of dream?
Supposed we wanted to
know what 'we' really are
beyond the pleasing hurting physics.
If sleep is a continually needed stop for reshaping-up,
metered out over one and same vehicle of life,
that, as we all are, is
struggling so wearily
by all means of inner qualities,
in an ever growing turmoil of outer nature,
while really trying hard, somehow,
time and again, in all possible kinds of habitat,
to raise sharp-defining matches on flatly impossible conditions,
and all of this
just to survive this blunt massive gravity
that endlessly causes each and everything,
in its unrelenting grip of the elements of creation,
to whirl about:
Is not death then just the
well-deserved resting of a bored player who,
finally having managed the
clearing of the table of his
game set-up of chances,
eventually run stale-mate,
settling to relax for a while,
either sitting idle on the spot or
doing other things in
another world of schemes meanwhile,
getting ready, eventually,
for a new round of the old game,
there back home again
hopefully with an
enjoyable set-up of the
allotted player marbles?
Oh dear God high above,
would You allow me for once
to shake and thrust that
tumbler of fate's dice
myself?
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
The Bowing Millennium Miracle
Three young kids from hillside Madagascar, a boy
and his smart elder sister while
showing the ways of the world to their big-headed
infant sibling
took to a windy plateau of slashed high plains
for some breezy repose
from the wanderings in the heat of day.
There in that pocket of valley,
near the place of the Mada kids' reposing
the pilot of an aeromobile
flitting through skies from
continents way over yonder,
suddenly suffering a fit of
mechanical heart trouble,
deemed it proper to
venture his one last possible recourse
out of his high-daring carrier's
impending exitus terminal,
a safely ended emergency landing.
'Hey Rija, look, what is
this? ! ' cried Noro, the boy,
who first noticed their
alien surprise visitation.
'Here comes a giant bird, oh
look how huge it is!
But doesn't it look dull-eyed? ?
It seems to settle here,
where there's no waters nor woods.
What for? ? ? '
'Oh look! ', exclaimed
Rija, 'it's opening its entrails.'
'Oh yes, it seems terribly over-fed
and feels like disposing of
its waste out here.'
'It has preyed and fed on living beings, ones
just like you and me,
see this!
And they are still alive and
yet moving. The bird must
be coming from the
Southern polar land of
penguins with its cold
sunless caves.'
'Yes, their faces are all lime-gray,
just like of those stone-washed
strange white cave-lizards
that never see the day of light,
down there at the far end on our
neighbour island Nosy Bee.'
'Now this monster of a bird
seems to have recovered,
look, Rija! '
'It instantly healed its open
skin wound up after gushing out
its litter, but look, there it
seems set aflame, all red
all of a sudden.'
The plane exploded.
- - - - - -
'Our folks in the village
won't believe us, if we tell
them what we've seen! ! '
'The real big giants seem to
also catch gigantic
sick fevers. Have you ever
heard of any of us
going through such a terrible
attack of bad fever,
that, before giving up his spirit,
even his very body were
burnt away wholly
by the inner flames,
like this giant's? '
'But now, just look at these
objects of cave-dweller
faces, ridded out the dying
giant before, and their strange
thick hairy leaves
all wrapped around them.'
'Oh yes, they are coming
towards us, all with their
feet shod in kind of camel-hoofs.'
'And they're all flapping
some kind of shiny toy
gadgets in the sun. What is
THIS? '
'It looks like mirrors with
boxes attached that they're flipping.
What for are the boxes on the mirrors?
Maybe they can trap the mirrored
image inside the box.
Just remember the magic box
of old Shaman
Andranantana,
he can do many more things
than just keeping your image
in his box.'
'But why would THESE here, aliens,
cavern folks from far away,
be doing this, flapping magic
mirrors here on our fathers' lands? '
'We're lucky that we called
early this morning again
our loving spirits and elves.
They will stand by our side.
These here might want to
disown our lands or
own our souls -
but don't be afraid, Rija,
our spirits and elves will
never forsake us.
Their very lives is the joys
in life with us as tending to
them, while they, in return,
are playing with us at will,
by their powers that they
will share with loya
This is a true story that occurred to my life,
Which goes to show
What a limitless power it is -
The urge of Mind's sway.
I am a German boy of an
Old hoof-smiths' gender,
The first in line to fall out of his forefathers' moulds
Due to the innovations of modern times surpassing
Our handling of the beasts of burden of yore.
And as major push towards a life of wanderings and explorations,
That, in the end, led me to encounter
This story of which I am telling here,
May be counted the fact that, when as a baby, my mother couldn't
Have me suckle her breasts,
Due to some gall or bile boiling up in the system,
Thus, leaving me for a whole life to be
In search of that mother's breast.
So I went to suck foreign mothers' milk in,
By drawing in tongues and mentalities aheap
Of other peoples and cultures from the
Far extremes of most distant times of the ancient wise
To the most lucrative spaces of humanity's root fields.
And I landed, eventually, in Southern India,
In the city of Madurai,
Dressed up like a local, in white
Gallantly draped cloth.
Coming in by train. I
Met at the Madurai station,
While idly loitering around after arrival,
Their local railway station master - one imposing figure.
We were dressed both the same style, he and I,
And he might have liked my going after
His country's fashion, thus sifting me out.
He took me upstairs to the station's cafeteria,
And it was there and then that I realized
What stupendously wise people some are who
Thrive among the races
Of India's great populace.
This station master was such a cosy pychnic -
Garrulously talking away
In lovely tones telling me and my travel companion,
Who had an amuleted dog with him,
Wise, well-focused words in a stream of various contexts -,
And most amazingly -
All what he said was about one thing -
Cats and dogs:
Yes, he knew all about
What's common and what's different with those pets,
With their behaviours, their likes and dislikes,
And everything about them.
But not only that - he left me with
The feeling that this was a man
Who could tell you about anything -
Any other topic - you name it! - as expediently -
Things one wouldn't have come to think of - otherwise.
From the cafeteria Madurai's station master then walked to downtown
Together with us two tourists
Finally to bid farewell at the junction to his home.
In those days I then had commenced to
Study to read the Tamil alphabet.
Thus it had come about that some Tamil man told me
That Madurai station master
Was commonly known in town as
The Railway God of Madurai.
I was, at that time, at the tender age of twenty.
For the next ten years to come
I had not taken to travelling at all
Spending time in my German home.
But I had never forgotten, whenever
I recalled my trips to India,
About one impressive Tamil man - and his eloquent wisdom:
This man was the one they called the Railway God of Madurai.
And many many times it was that
I told stories to friends
About my endearing encounter with this one impressive Indian figure.
Another ten years later I moved out from Germany
And I settled down in a town
On the southern island of Mindanao
In the Philippines.
And again, I had told to many of my new friends there
The story of my one-time meeting in Madurai
With one whom they called their Railway God.
Another eight years later,
I came to visit the town of Madurai
Once again, and I went to look for the old station master.
I stepped inside the office room, where,
At the Madurai station it read 'station master',
But the old man I was looking for,
Was not there, instead four flabberghasted young men
Asking me what I was up to there.
They wouldn't give me any clues, and seemed to be engaged
In a power dispute among each other at the time.
So I just left it all at that.
Another two years later in time, travelling once more,
Again I happened to be
For a few days' stay in that same city of Madurai.
I had made, in the meantime, some acquaintances
With local boys there, all very friendly to me.
During that one stay then,
Suddenly I was invited by the boys
To join a Hindu funeral party.
'If I would like to come - and see
How we Hindus deal with death? '
So I went with them, and
Already on the way to the house of the deceased person,
I somehow felt a premonition in my chest.
I asked my friendly guides -
Really but knowing yet nothing, just giving it a try -
If the dead person were the old
Railway station master of their town.
And lo! to my very surprise,
This is what they confirmed:
'Yes, station master! the station master has died, '
So they replied,
'And his sons want you to be there for their father's funeral.'
And there I was, face to face, with my
'Most Remembered Indian of All Times', once more,
As he was seated, all dead,
In his grandfather chair there, with his horned glasses on,
Looking toward the main door.
There were dozens of mourners,
Women, men, and children, lining up on all sides,
In and around the departured one's house,
And they were, as it seemed,
All waiting for one,
Waiting for me - to anoint the forehead of
The Railway God of my memories.
This is a true story that occurred to my life,
Which goes to show
What a limitless power it is -
The urge of Mind's sway.
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
The Will In The Animal
People's lives are led in this magic mix of our world,
So you say,
By intuitions from consequences
We choose to involuntarily take part in,
And you say,
For a major part
People's lives are led
By these fair & unfair provisions of Providence
We inevitably take shares in,
And by intimidations and by acts of aggression for self-maintenance,
So you say, our lives are led, too.
I once asked modern Socrates about this thing,
That bald-headed bold-hatted clear & interesting thinker with a sting
You also met already once
In tiny far away Forest Ville.
He remarked: 'But where is the will of the animal in this concept? '
Well, well I said, and am pondering now:
What makes any whale suffer to go back up the Thames again, after a lapse of 92 turns of the sun?
I now feel the wind from the will in scientific modern man when he spreads
The life of a whale straying in wilful people's waterways must be one misled.
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
Changing Places Between Divine And Human
If God were a man, he might descend on earth,
and open shop down here,
like all the other fellows do,
and charge his tokens for his rays of sun
that he, incessantly rolling the spheres,
so lavishly is shining on
each and every one of us masterpieces, down here,
of his creation.
But there were no signs yet,
God ever wanted to take this hold on man's mind.
Infinitely straying through cosmos, indeed, must be the greater joy.
God obviously didn't want to populate
His spheres with unfailing robots of good luck,
alive only, to be fading away with boredom of existence.
Nor wouldn't anyone have come up with the idea of praying,
if not for fear to be overlooked by Him
at the time of His showering blessings,
if the greatest thing on earth really were only,
to look after all subalterns all of the time,
and to set all the hopeful among us grapplers
on their best possible courses.
Since we're not made to pay for lending the spots of our engaging
bubbles brains
To God's spotless Mind so cosmic,
can we really be more than mere tenants on these our individual fields?
If man were to be God, given the knowledge,
He as man has already gathered,
he'd set up a globe covering net of energy converters, for his free sun
rays
to run also His power machines
he as man has invented and uses, for free.
And if man were to be as good a God,
as he so readily loves Him to be called good,
he'd simply chip in His own talents and abilities, likewise for free.
Each of us, then, panvoluntaristically, working hand in hand with
everyone,
to allow for a free flow of all the 'give & take'
on these our lifes' challenging tumbling grounds,
along the rivers of essential and wanton goods,
divinely common-standard,
which, feeding and decorating us,
do make us happy evermore?
Could it be that, over scenic waterfalls of
such a river once for all flowing free,
any upcoming items of pioneering novelty,
for the sake of improving the human lot,
were to come splashing in,
showering their spray of refreshment,
first off as booty for most entertaining televised earth's quizzlings,
applauded by the lingering masses,
who stand by the monitored shores clapping their hands,
waiting for their own plunge in the eventually renewed waters of
share-all-for-free to come?
And if man were to be God,
hadn't he enough leisure time at hand,
to go and look for, and, eventually stem out,
the root of any persistent evil,
if that primal man's evil-rooted money had
thus been managed to be overcome?
Man seems made to improve.
Animalhood improved to be man,
without wasting in sacrifice the animals away.
Were it not likewise for manhood to improve to be God,
without wasting in sacrifice
the men away -
by a regulated growing in the wisdom of the plants?
What better happiness of the sexes could there be,
if man were to be a God?
Does it strictly take God as a man to make man a god?
Could I, just a simple man, somehow make Him to care to allow man -
to soften their grip on life
by abolishing money?
* * *
I recommend readers to take a look at my Votelet page and eventually cast a personal vote at http: //www.network54.com/Votelet/38264 on the issue mentioned in this poem
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
Hecate Invocation (traditional)
[Hekate is a Goddess of the Moon and the Underworld of ancient Greece
and Rome]
Goddess of the cross-roads,
Goddess of Manic-Depression,
Dweller in the deep places of the earth and mind,
Traveller in the land between worlds!
Torch-bearer! Protectress of the very old and the very young;
Protectress of those used and abused;
Healer of those who are torn apart;
She will be there for us when we call on her and at the end.
Grandmother to lost children and to the downtrodden.
Nurse to the suckling infant,
Comfort to the lone man or woman in the darkest night.
She who seeks vengeance for her children who are wronged!
Wanderer and prowler!
Sorceress who lives at the edge of the mind.
Drawer-up of the secret compost from the unused internal well.
She who has no relatives on the earth save for her children.
Without Mother or Sister.
Lady on the brink, both bi-polar and uni-polar!
They call her mad, and it is she who terrifies the disbeliever and the
unworthy!
Bringer of nightmares!
But she it is who sooths the sleepless and disheveled spirit.
Mother of night!
Dark Power of the moon!
Keeper of the shadow!
Walker of the endless highways!
She unites those who follow her as her children; the Hekite.
Bearer of the sacred poppy.
Shape-shifter, Transformer.
Keeper of the hounds of Hel and the three-headed dog Cerebus!
She walks abroad in the hour of the wolf and under the Dark Moon!
Hear my call O Lady and cover us with your starry cloak.
Let the unborn moon seed in my heart this night.
And let her growing light shine upon our intention;
That she be at our full deliverance,
So Mote it be!
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
Uuno Kailas - Contemplation (translation)
Above my head a new day doesn't clear up, it brings the old clouds.
And each new day here is a small eternity.
It's lingering at my door, like a poor wife, to walk off, -
or it is, as if it were rising from my dreams, as though it were a
ghost.
It might not have anything to give to me out of its hands of being one
that died away.
I don't have an eye ogling for heaven or earth,
I see but the range of the clouds.
It doesn't dissolve, it doesn't clear up;
the new day brings the old clouds.
Life isn't getting on, not by the span of a hand -
there's only flowing time's stream.
My life! your grand solstice has come.
Like an island, now my heart is - after swaying with the waves - a
sea, so immobile, having embraced a shadow-life.
The wine of the veins, the blood, does not strike a fire as before.
The land's spring time calls the country's grasses and trees to life,
and so my other brothers, -
I, for one, remained leafless, -
but, oh my life! I grant you have a solstice.
Although the eye does search for the east -
it does not do so from the extremes of time's stream.
Its look does not dash as far as for the shelter of a morning,
to the moment a-coming.
It does not believe in the good luck that a wave brings, not in
events of accident.
Away from the squirmings of hope,
and from the shores shimmering of a new day,
it turned itself around facing another stream and another side of east.
For me, time has nothing to give,
not out of its hands of a stranger.
Now my heart only carries on its fate by itself.
The sea of phenomena doesn't wash its banks temptingly.
It claims the silence and hears only that.
If mornings still shine on in it, and the blue in the sky,
this spring, by itself, had but been as what had been that fall.
An island of a deep sea, it is similar to a pearly shell:
if a good pearl is to be created, it will be created so out of its
pain.
Like stocks of semen that live in their dying, it sleeps - and does
not sleep:
it is sipping power from its sleep.
And once being free of pain, it will wake up to a new life -
like a mute flute, it is waiting for its melody.
transl. by Erhard Lang from Finland's 'fire-bearer' poet Uuno Kailas'
(1901 -1933) original in the latter's native Finnish:
CONTEMPLATION
Ei seesty pääni päällä, tuo vanhat pilvet päivä uus.
Ja joka päivä täällä on pieni ikuisuus.
Se viipyy ovellani, kuin köyhä vaimo, menee pois, -
tai on, kuin unistani se nousis, aave ois.
Ei mitään antaa saata se mulle kuolleen-käsistään.
En taivast' enkä maata, vaan pilvipiirin nään.
Ei haihdu se, ei seesty;
uus päivä vanhat pilvet tuo.
Ei vaaksaa elo eesty -
vain virtaa ajan vuo.
On tullut, elämäni, suur päivänseisaukses sun.
Kuin saarta, sydäntäni nyt - jälkeen aaltoilun - on varjo-elon meri,
niin liikkumaton, syleillyt.
Ei suonten viini, veri, kuin ennen polta nyt.
Maan ruohoja ja puita maan kevät kutsuu elämään ja veljiäni muita, -
mä lehdettömäks jään. -
Mut, elämäni, pitää sun päivänseisausta suon.
Vaikk' etsii silmä itää - ei äärelt' ajan vuon.
Ei kiidä aamun huomaan sen katse, hetkeen tulevaan.
Ei usko aallon tuomaan se onneen, sattumaan.
Pois toivon kuplain luota ja aamun rantain päilyväin se kääntyi toista
vuota ja toista itää päin.
Ei aika mulle antaa voi mitään vieraan-käsistään.
Nyt kohtaloaan kantaa vain sydän itsessään.
Ei ilmiöiden meri sen rantaa huuhdo houkuttain.
Se hiljaisuuden peri ja kuulee sitä vain.
Jos sille siintelevät viel' aamut, taivaan sinisyys, on itselleen se
kevät kuin ollut on se syys.
Se, saari meren syvän, on näkinkengän kaltainen:
jos luo se helmen hyvän, luo kivustaan se sen.
Kuin siemenien suku, jok' elää kuolemisessaan, se nukkuu - eikä nuku:
juo voiman unestaan.
Ja kerran tuskaa vailla se herää uuteen elämään -
nyt mykän huilun lailla vain vartoo säveltään.
Uuno Kailas
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
Magic- Live -Catches One Unawares
Oh this grand, oh so vibrant cosmic swinging and flurrying
With all its expressive - and abstract - hidden huge influences being
carried along! !
As vast a world as is ours,
It yet always seems to be as tiny
In these rounded, ever widening fields of our immense cosmos
We're brooding in -
This is what engulfs all our things down here,
Far and wide, seen and unseen! ! !
As well, it does hold engulfed
Me, too, and my world, and yours and you.
Would you, Unknown Entity, for once again, energetically join forces,
and, for a minute or two,
Take up your abode in my mind, benevolently?
For you now opening up, slip into one like myself
- And may you enjoy making up a man like me as you're superceding
On me of flesh and blood,
and come to stay in my heart!
Am I prepared so that you could stand me? -
Finally you'd be one here that I, as a human, could bow to?
Would you be also one I may freely converse with and befriend? Or am I
too small by size to dare entertain
A wish aspiring for your heights?
Or is there a place elsewhere, aside from Mind,
That you, mystic One in All by all in one,
Would pitch up your tent and camp?
Another regal abode, befitting for you to come down to,
Aside here from mind?
Where you could have a Oneness of all your subtlest fibers
Gladly reflected, re-creating yourself in a small vessel?
On this one spritely pearl of globe come oh so alive?
In Mind only - I, for one, just can't see another -
Everything under the sun, May easily stand up together in a line.
Seers and shamans of different ancient peoples
Have named different means
Of ensuring the potency of Magic Spells.
Some are said to have gained the glorious realm of wonders
Strictly by devotionals with most beloved Goddesses and Gods.
And one can easily imagine that those
Who make for lofty fields of miracles,
By mere spells of cosmic knowledge and
Algebraic laws of magic ritual,
Through rightful rites -
Are those who would want to make the least of noise
Whilst their miracles are happening, -
Not a curious eye to be baffled thereby,
while the coming of their miracles might
Hardly be noticed by themselves -
Self-grown fruit of will as these are,
Expressed only at the sudden end
Of an ultimate chain of action in Mind.
As sweet a fruit the action to be,
As sweet a fruit to Graciously be granted by some insider eye of higher
insight? -
Is this what they meant
when I heard them say,
'God is good'?
Many have wanted to know what exactly it is
That makes real of
Non-trickster magicians' work:
Each and every one of those, rarely
Whenever met to face the question,
Just mysteriously answered,
'True Magic lives by the magic of its secret.'
And they all stop short of telling
That it is only to avoid the shattering of their magic's frame
To be built up in a singular of cell, theirs,
That the secrets must be kept by all means.
For no leakage in the Mind will drain their cause only
Unless it is bumped at by the low-flying ignorant,
Once they got wind of it.
Magic deeds that, without fail, can
Spell out a realistic performer's desire
Right through the Mind,
Must they not be verily magic playing live.
With cosmic will power swerving down
To bend and shape circumstances of life -
Magic must come easy, I feel, if it were to happen -
As easy as a magic performance is being done?
For things to be happening one's own way - magically?
Things seen strictly as accidental coincidences
By a non-magician's eye!
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
The All-Human Story Of Isis
- Isis - sister & wife of arch-king -
Osiris - who had first installed peace & happiness
in most ancient Egypt's society,
by virtue of the country life's magical guidance
through priestly divinized cosmic minds
which, by ritual laws, were 'poured' into the most highly cherished
legendary figures,
set up as statues in palace-temples where,
along with constant chanting of the respective gods' thousands &
thousands
of various descriptive cosmic & earthly appellations & names,
which in the temple's innermost dome gathered up as one mind,
they were regularly being waited on:
most lusciously bathed, clothed, adorned, fed, and in many other
pleasing ways sought to make happy,
so as for them, when faced eye to eye with their audience,
to shower their various personal blessings, onto them.
Isis' evil, envious brother-in-law - Set - had Osiris eventually done
away with
by planned fraternicide, on which Isis, very sad, went to retrieve
Osiris' remains. Isis wanted to restore her husband's remains
for a big burial, to assure the smooth underworld gliding
of his deceased mind-compound, to be royally positioned
next to that of gods, but Isis' endeavour was thwarted
again by evil Set, on which Isis just gave up her life, to, right there
and then,
join Osiris at least to herself, leaving behind only the word
that her soul would transfix itself into a hawk; this is why all
Egyptian pharaos,
descending from Osiris, who thenceforth was declared god of the
underworld,
from then on wore decorative falcon masks whenever
they appeared in public, as being
hawk-eyed sons of queen-turned-goddess Isis,
and as such thus pledging their vow to do revenge
against Set and to uproot the seed of evil the latter had sown.
Thereafter, pharao Akhenaton came to shine
all-inclusive Sun God Ra's forgiving light of power on each & everyone
in Egypt,
finally closing the chapter of their ill-fated royal ancestor.
After a time of the expansive Romans meddling with the Egyptians,
the former eventually became followers of the divine martyr Jesus the
Nazarene,
while the latter embraced the principles of divine seer Muhammad.
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
Why Things Don't Think Of Us, Too, In Return?
Why not let troubled things talk and hold council with you?
Or do you relish the birth-pangs' banging between clashes?
Things can't talk, yes, or can they? !
You may only proffer your own fantasy
To give them a mouth-piece?
What are we then?
Just simply a piece of flesh, sensing the numbness of the chair we sit on?
Or are we the brain in the chair? !
I found it not to be a madman's pass-time, only, to let things talk to me through myself:
That perilous leaning tower did exactly not tumble over me when I walked past,
As I had beseeched it not to do so.
And be it that I was just delayed for its fateful fall for speaking my prayers.
And, as a trusting thanks-giver, I find,
I'm yet faring best with things.
And how sweet things may talk to one!
And then they won't talk more than I want them to.
And let us not forget: people are things, too!
And they say, all is in one.
Things called it god.
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
Events That Make The Years Go Counted
Aeschylos, for one, was a famous dramatist in antique Greece,
At a time when humankind was adolescing,
his mind, like the high-flying minds of
a few others of contemporaries
of his young time, was sprouting youthfully spritely.
While now we humans are all seen leaning on crutches of all kinds of
shapes, rather than moving by one's own means:
on round wheeling crutches, without hoofs,
for the moving,
on keypadded toyboxes, forestalling one's own mind power of telepathy,
for the telecommunicating, having messages, tediously stalled out,
forklifted around through pied interface pipers
bent on exchanging looks of costly hertzian beams.
Whereas Mind's beams and God's star interfaces,
just free for the taking,
still don't charge any of us,
even one were to take a longer
more complex ride on highways of
the global net of telepathy.
How wayward could have times been in antiquity, when almost all things
of general knowledge that we, today, take for granted,
had still been open for the speculations;
thanks to Christ there were no inquisitions yet in the name of a lord
then!
But Aeschylos, if asked, wouldn't have come up with
that he was born in 525 BC. The number of the pre-Christian era years
being only a scientific projection,
counted out from our present standpoint in time.
Not that the ancient would have counted their years backward? ? !
What if we were to start counting our years backward now! ! ?
But Oh, weren't it then high time enough for us to do so? Hodieee! ! !
There is already 2000 years to go now, to reach on innocent point zero.
And for the numbers, if it were only for them,
there were no excuses,
don't let me be misunderstood.
Is this only a joke to anyone?
(Once a genuine longing for a new point-blank year-zero Great start of
new Hope of paradisical times were to set in,
in alignment with a new year numbering:
belatedly one easily could convert, for example, year 2006 into year
1994 Before the start of the New Era.
And go ahead and count the following year as 1993 Before the start of
the New Era...)
And, likewise belatedly, finally take down this 2000-year-old crucified
soul of God's son, for no more for Him always to have to ascend that
painful wretched cross of a throne
spilled over and over with blood,
each time a member of mind in His
calls out to the self in God's mind.
Are we really that much ridden by dumb blood of old wont? ? !
And this one now is no joke to me:
Why not just repair to toppling the system,
at one blow once and for all,
and to saying: 'Tomorrow we'll start at year zero,
all over again,
of a new order'? ? !
Radical changes of radical features naturally also presuppose radical
changes behind the features.
Now, which great thing,
to be built on such a heavy foundation,
durable enough to last through all times,
could it then be
that were to be counted out by a new round of our years starting at
zero,
by us and by all our future generations from us onwards,
after we would have taken down that crucifixion of our old system and
its lord? ?
I, for one, can see honestly only one thing
grand enough to be worthy of having all started all over from year
zero:
New Year Zero will be the first year after the general worldwide
abolition of money,
wholly replaced, as such, by a system of panvoluntaristic flow of all
'give and take'
practiced in perfect consensus
all over the world..
And Jesus Christ will be smiling ever more,
more than ever before,
not anymore having to wear that old worn-out crown of thorns any more,
each time a remembering face looked up
in a prayerful mood to him.
And all psychotropic drugs - that great cheat of a monster problem of
today -
will be considerately dealt out
per individual user & stuff licences, from year new zero onwards,
through the very ones who now still heat up the years through their
modern inquisitions of the Mind.
Only then young Aeschylos will have won all of his dramas,
and even such ones he not yet dared to dream about.
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
One-liner: The Mind Is One Network
How could one imagine what it
sounded like when starting to
learn a foreign language,
merely from the books, and had
never been to the place
where they speak that tongue,
nor had heard it spoken
at any time otherwise?
Might one still know, just by
way of approximating imaginations,
how it sounded like?
'But it's only so in your imagination! '
the voices of your close-by,
echoes of mind, come reverberating
back to your ears
from the ignorant world.
By any means,
could it be true
what they'll be telling you,
that you're imagining things - only -
and this would have nothing to do with
reality? !
I, for one, can't believe anyone
to have a right to say he or she
be a sole owner of mind,
though I do hold there's some secret about mind.
Does any scientist know what it is?
- Are we then well-advised, therefore, better not
to be telling anyone about the greater things,
in for being cooked in mind,
but not yet full done? ? -
I, for one, want to express
that I strongly feel that
we - all of us -
as we stand and fall -
are all connected up together,
connected by one and the same mind,
and I strongly feel,
that one may well listen in,
listen in to this one mind
- way through the distances,
and even way through time
and the times.
So, why wouldn't we be able to
innerly hear, factually true,
another's speak,
be it even that the speaker were
on another stellar galaxy's
enlivened global planetary? !
How much more so with innerly
hearing your next-door woman,
or the unknown soulmate
out in the open
wide streets of life?
And even all the dead got
all their seed minds, I feel,
left there behind,
out in the far lanes of
vast stellar memory planes
of landscapes and plains
in the cosmic mind,
all units being more or less safely
stored away there,
for the future accesses,
by their living partners, or
of those yet to live,
in mind.
If only we the living
were more acknowledgable
of the unique oneness
impressed on our
own most precious one mind,
beyond all the minded
objects of realized materializations -
in mind.
This is a one-liner: the mind is one network.
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
Fantasies Of The Soul In Pictures - 27 Variations Of Female Pairs Of Soles
walking with a lush turf carpet under joyous flappers
to feel what exactly you're stepping up to next thing
The Honourable Feet of Indian Tribal people
playing their game straight from the soul
every day a new exploration to a young sole!
hey, I'm a real soulmate, yes, me is!
if it comes to the fruits of nature, I simply go for food that is also soul food
decently soleful approach - worthy of a monumental grandeur full of soul
standing up aloof with my feet rooted deeply in their very soul
one soul & two pairs of one sole on one soil
gracefully swaggering herself into viewers' heart & soul
let your soles relish the blessings of rain while going down life's lane all along the soul's feel for nature's showerings
Daughter as strong-souled as Nene - from the roots to the hat
hey, what's that cribbling in our soles telling, hinting at something that's there behind?
my hot soul getting onto a fast sole to buy some coolant to all this spice
no way of having this end up a boring match - with this my friend who is of an equal soul - all the way up to the soles
Am I not barely beautiful from head to toe in between all this glossy blue wrapping of mine?
...and my homestead makes my soles tickle, true, in a very special way
so funny, if not for the toes to laugh along with, we might explode..
how could our landscaping not be beautiful, with our very own so soleful approach
the lady in the field - the most beautiful sole - all around up to her friendly soul
Hey, who was that then - saying we were children of poverty - themselves the poorest of beings with no smiles on lips nor toes?
Hey, why let your soles fly like that - don't you also sense a tickle of close-by?
None of those hapless squires will thus ever believe it's me whom they'll see when in the beloved company of my chosen lord of soul, that I'm as gorgeous as are my beautiful feet while actually, by my soles, they do bespeak the royal taste in him
through the subtle vibes of the elements, a well-soled dancer gets into perfect unison with what her dance is to express; rubber-soled drummer-partner! - your pace might not stay in keeping with my swift soul's tact!
most soulful expressions of human motions and moods - fenced by proper toe twists for a full measure of soul
..this is my home, and it feels so good, even how small is my sole!
* * * *
Each and every stanza above is also one sub-title of mine of as many images of soulfully portrayed females, dancing, standing, in repose, or on the move, on their bare feet. The images are, for most of them, scenes pictured by French photographer Ravince on the island of Madagascar, some are from India, one from Bangladesh, whereas the two portraits of classical dancing feet are of a Cambodian artist.
The pictures to the stanzas may be viewed on my imagery site at
http: //www.flickr.com/photos/libidopter
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
Stunning Stunt Smash-Hit Lesson
He had been known as a daredevil ever since.
That one day he had done it a few times,
his newest stunt meant to be outbeating himself.
Up and up again he went there onto his trapeze,
That he had set hanging at such a height
So he could still make it so-and-so
To dropp himself down in a fall, and -
This was his challenge really! -
By way of his arts learning how
To do in the fast drop
The proper turns of his supple body
For it to come landing in a graceful pose
Unhurt on touching down to the ground -
An artists feat he was set to master -
He had done it that day a few times -
Some four of his closest friends were
Watching on from down in the arena.
He succeeded twice.
Once he had already hurt himself
In one attempt in between.
With the fourth attempt
He got hurt so bad
Falling on his head so inadvertently
That they had to carry him away -
His life fifty-fifty.
None of his spectators
Eager to see him be successful
Had seen him fall at that fourth attempt.
He must have then dropped himself
Immediately after reaching onto the trapeze
Yet before anyone's eyes could have followed him up there.
His last landing came to be a fatal failure
Because, at the instance of his jumping,
He was not yet being secured
By the soft net of his onlookers' positive looks
To be spun Invisibly in the arena's
Overall Mind atmosphere
Composed of five well-wishing heads
Four of which the jumper unluckily had foregone.
He had jumped too early -
Afraid of his own fear.
He wanted to outbeat his fear
By jumping before fear could have reached his heart.
But he was not aware of the carrying
Importance of a supportive mind landscape.
A lesson that would have made him
Not only survive the jump from the daring height
But improve his skill of landing deftly.
The sad thing with all of this:
Even the poor daredevil's fatal death did not
Impart the wit of the tragedy's lesson
To his four friends.
As none of them, either, grasped
The good effects of vibrations from a friendly
Positively complex mind surrounding.
Our ill-fated daredevil was no dreamer,
But I dreamt too late of his tale.
The dreamer's wish now were that another
Pioneering boy briskly mindless of the importance
Of beneficial eyes and clapping hands
Would wake up to a healthy
Common sense of success.
And I'd wish that this story would
Show to all the others too -
No cowards either -
What stunning lesson
This stunning stunt smash-hit lesson holds
About our wondrous Mind!
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
What If The Stars Were Barred From Glittering
If scientists could put it to the test,
They might eventually want to check it out - for a minute or two,
To learn and see what effect the test could entrail:
Placing a huge repellent shield around and
Above the earth's highest skylines,
Wholly thus enveloping our globe's atmospheric layers
With the target being to see what could happen
If all the stars that are
Constantly beaming their shining faces down on all of us here
Were barred for just a moment or two
From their lightning-speed glittering through
Onto our world from out there in their
Open vastness of cosmunicative space.
- Somehow I feel thankful that it took another DaVinci,
For them not to be able to do
More of monstrous technological feats, like this one
envisioned here. -
Since we have to be afraid they might not be able
To reverse such a mighty fatal star-blocker shield,
Once set up,
And not be getting out back anymore to
Where we, the heads of the Earth, are
Standing on our feet now,
All of us earthlings getting stuck up in
A stars uprooting operation -
Plunging us for good into mental black-out.
Or would anyone of us - scientist or amateur - have
Premonitioned that, all of a sudden,
Every man on earth was to suffer
Total loss of all mental contents,
Now any time so much taken for granted
To always be there ready for our brains' taking,
All our customized reasoning powers,
Acquired rules of logic, and
All of everyone's memories and
Good-times resolutions
Instantly being blocked and barraged and
Rendered helplessly inaccessible?
All beings, all together, so mysteriously, all of sudden,
Becoming one heart and one soul -
Love without a thought for
Survival exponentially on the increase -
In a wholly new form of human co-existence
Mushrooming up after the hypothetical
Experimental push of just one tremendous
But fatal space-explorer button?
Mysteriously feeling no more need, all of a sudden,
For the many many stories of old
That they themselves, WE, as
All our forefathers alike, so far,
Ever had enjoyed making up in
The wonted communicable mind?
Mind thus knocked out along with all stars,
The very nodes of Mind's network blocked?
And wouldn't it be that without the stars' shining
Even the dogs stopped barking at each other? ! -
What a terribly vain boredom I feel would be
Spreading all over the places on our lush Earth
There where that starlit life once had come to
Sprout and to flourish so wonderful
- Then dying to see the light of stars on darkened days again!
And the irony of all of such a sudden
Darkness that were to come over us,
While Father Sun couldn't understand his world anymore:
Even all the remainders of highest intelligence,
On top of all creations - here on Earth -
All these many bits and bytes of all sorts of
Itemized, materialized memory and communications ware,
Serving these crafty days,
More and more densely to
Hold human mind together
In one shell spanning the
Networks of mind stuff,
All of these were likewise,
In the same one strike, but
Turned into being overstatedly gay and flamboyant
Redundant articles of litter,
Electronic carapaces of human mind's extensions
Scattered plain useless throughout,
What just a moment before the shooting up of the star barrage,
Before the sky-rocketing of the total star-blocker shield,
Were master aides for use in
One of the most intelligently comfortable animal settlements
On all manned planets,
With their former makers' and all the
Smartly organized matters' users' brains knocked out -
Knocked out to a total standstill -
Suddenly all connections in mind coming to a sudden full stop,
With the stars left out Mind's functions dropped off -
The gadgets remaining to be only
Excrements from a lost past
Only a hurt now to the dull eyes of
Millions and millions of unusable stand-by brains
That now all stopped their wonderings and
Ponderings and correlating with things.
The only one thinkable positive thing about it,
If anything at all:
Suddenly we could be, for the first time ever,
Re-living that speechless original awe of the animals
That some of them seem still to feel
When faced vis-a-vis this most elegant flower of life,
Our uplifted being's outstanding head.
Completely different heads then
Looking out from yesterday's mirrors,
Though yet looking all the same as before.
With our mother planet and ourselves robbed of the stars' shine,
Even the looks and features of people, in a generation or two,
Might but get lesser touches of nature's inborn beauty, alas!
For how could the old time-tested characters
That had all been once alive
Now in a starless world ever
Have chances of re-incarnating into
New contemporaries that were fit to
Continue the old surge of their lives' passion
When the akashic records cannot
Burn their genetic messages anymore through to
Where they were meant to go to _
Into new possibly most proper vessels of
Physical details dancing through time and space.
When it is that the dreaded global
Stars shield would be rendering defunct
The complete cosmic library of codeces
For of all of life's character patterns,
Getting withheld along with the stars
From all who had ever incarnated through time before,
Once or through some more of life times,
In spite of the patterns safely being
Stored away in seed forms
There on cosmic mind's very intrastellar shoals of ether,
For determining possible future births of
Each and every past being -
After each and everyone's star written code.
The consequences of trying to see if it would make any
Difference with us here on our globe
If there were none of all these beautiful stars shining,
As they have been shining ever since
And are shining now, and hopefully will be for ever,
- Luckily a mere hypothetical disaster envisioned here only,
As it serves to be a perfect example for
Highlighting the true nature and functioning of Mind -
Seems to be an endless-liner
That, luckily, one doesn't have to repeat perusing
After once having comprehended what its message was -
About this our so glorious mind.
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
Uuno Kailas - At The Frontier (translation)
The frontier opens like a lane across the ice but it's broken up.
In front is Asia, the East.
Behind what is the West and Europe:
I am watching it, border guard.
Behind is a beautiful father country
with its towns and villages.
Your son protects you, my country,
highest of treasures.
The howling wind in the night
brings snow from behind the border -
Lord, grant my father, my mother to have a quiet dream!
Give grains into the barn chestbox,
from these to the cattle too!
Your hands may bless the fields! -
Here I shall protect these.
Dreary, cold is the winter's night,
frosty breathes the East.
There exist servitude and forced labor;
the stars are watching it.
From afar, from the steppes
rises the image of Ivan the Terrible.
A spirit of disaster, it forebodes:
morning is to see blood.
But the gray fathers from out of their graves come riding on horses of
ghosts;
with bear-hunter spears in their fists storming towards the border. -
Spirits of fathers, blissful ones,
hear the word of your son -
if I were to betray it, you come hither as an army of revenge -:
The enemy's iron-sole shall not trample shamefully
the abode of your heroes rest, -
I shall protect my country's border!
Never will strangers take away your precious legacy.
They may come as a wind hound from their steppes!
Getting onto the soil here.
Strong-breasted as a bear I shall run against the lances
protecting woman's spinning-wheel and the cradle of children!
The frontier opens like a lane across the ice but it's broken up.
In front is Asia, the East.
Behind what is the West and Europe:
I am watching it, border guard.
by Finnish poet
Uuno Kailas (1901 - 1933)
transl. by Erhard Lang
here the poem's original Finnish version:
RAJALLA
Raja railona aukeaa.
Edessä Aasia, Itä.
Takana Länttä ja Eurooppaa:
varjelen, vartija, sitä.
Takana kaunis isänmaa
kaupungein ja kylin.
Sinua poikas puolustaa, maani,
aarteista ylin.
Öinen, ulvova tuuli tuo rajan takaa lunta -
Isäni, äitini, Herra suo nukkua tyyntä unta!
Anna jyviä hinkaloon,
anna karjojen siitä!
Kätes peltoja siunatkoon! -
Täällä suojelen niitä.
Synkeä, kylmä on talviyö,
hyisenä henkii Itä.
Siell' ovat orjuus ja pakkotyö;
tähdet katsovat sitä.
Kaukaa, aroilta kohoaa Iivana Julman haamu.
Turman henki, se ennustaa:
verta on näkevä aamu.
Mut isät harmaat haudoistaan aaveratsuilla ajaa;
karhukeihäitä kourissaan syöksyvät kohti rajaa. -
Henget taattojen, autuaat,
kuulkaa poikanne sana -
jos sen pettäisin, saapukaat koston armeijana -:
Ei ole polkeva häpäisten sankarileponne majaa
rauta-antura vihollisen, -
suojelen maani rajaa!
Ei ota vieraat milloinkaan kallista perintöänne.
Tulkoot hurttina aroiltaan!
Mahtuvat multaan tänne.
Kontion rinnoin voimakkain ryntään peitsiä vasten
naisen rukkia puolustain
ynnä kehtoa lasten!
Raja railona aukeaa.
Edessa Aasia, Itä.
Takana Länttä, Eurooppaa;
varjelen, vartija, sitä.
Uuno Kailas
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
Communist Express Avenues Of Poetical Attitudes
In an arch communist country's slimmer camps
you'll find youth of different levels of obesity
crammed up together, all being there to
slim down so as to meet different figures of body weight:
One is in for making up into a weasel-like policeman ever quick,
and needs to speck down a bit,
another's boss wouldn't like his bakery apprentice be too fat,
since he might eat away in the very instance
too much of what's being baked at a time.
Now let us suppose that in that very same
country of common ultimate order of weight,
next to the slimmer camps,
there were also poets polishing camps
crowding up with the spirits of
highflying youthful beautiful mind essence
with different figures and faces.
Now, versus the scenery in the slimmer camps,
here to make out who's who,
in this projected state-of-art poetry smith'ry,
we'd have to look beyond the adepts' bellies.
There we'll have to question them, one after the other:
'What poems - yours? '
'Is there an underlying purport of why
you would want the world to get to your story,
so neatly wrapped up? '
'You want to shock the world. - right,
a good teacher does have to arouse her student,
even rash sometimes, when fallen asleep.
'Or you might be strictly after
releasing yourself from a shocked state of mind,
and the publications are mere
by-products of your attempted self-healings? ' -
'So, you write poems about broken love relations.
It hadn't happened better to yourself in life? -
- Oh, I see, you're just thankful it never did happen,
and you're so happy about it that you need to say it
in glorious poems, to catch the real feel of it! '
'I want to help our world's young generation to avoid
making the mistakes we have made when
we were young and dumb, and I think I can
convey my message best when presented in entertaining
exaggerated sample stories that
deal with the various problems at hand.'
'I am so confused by this overwhelming life
we're so heavenly invited in to lead,
on this overpowering earth.
I need to push off heavy loads from my soul.
I will become a good poet, and
write it all down, whatever oppresses my heart,
write it down on a golden paper, go to a remote river-side,
form steadfast dainty tiny boatlets out of thick big green leafs,
and, vowing then to be freeing myself
for my envisioned destination in life,
I'll set my mental compositions, thus, afloat.
For perusing some strictly personal contents of
my poetical mind I wouldn't require any of
readers to do so through the human eye,
even though I, as a human, couldn't see and
present those other than through the biased senses,
but I feel that the higher spirits of nature,
close to God evermore, glancing through
the wuthering shades between the trees
along the river-path of those well-destined
pieces of poetry of mine
will not fail to receive my messages.' -
'I want to give something to the world by writing poems.
Poetry says it best!
But what exactly it is that I'll be giving - I couldn't say yet.
I'm still in the making myself, you see.'
* * * *
Supposed I were the one conducting the
interviews with these common adepts in poetry,
there in the communists poets polishing camp,
given all these smart answers by them,
I could but only ask them:
'But why then are you all here in this camp?
By your answers, you all seem to
know very well by yourselves,
without further camp instructions,
what courses you're set on,
each of you as creative humans and as poets likewise! '
And listen, listen! .... what these communists could answer back:
'But haven't you noticed, there in the outside,
that we're all living in a commonplace world,
and that everyone is camping up with others.
So why wouldn't we, the poets, too, camp up as one! ? '
* * * *
- - - -
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
Sunday Mass For The Vain
'I should have planned
Better with you,
But since, by this Sunday,
Already you've come
Thanking,
I feel
I should'nt push through,
So as
Not, for your vanity,
To entice discontentment
In you, '
someone pondered about another
In the Lord
At Sunday Mass,
And so, Sunday Mass didn't usher in the changes
Amass.
Sometimes, could a dive in the divine jive
Be timed
Out of time
And awry
With our daily hypersonic life
Out on the open plains?
Or
Sometimes, might it be useless to be, on Sundays only,
Attending mass
At a time
When one ought to be
Seeking the inner temple
Day in, day out,
Lost on an
Ill-guided stroll in time
In a dark cavern
Of a rude world,
Mondays, Tuesdays,
Wednesdays, Thursdays,
Fridays, Saturdays, too,
To be praying,
For the one with powers
To take over
The rudder
Ruder, now,
But in the end
Smoothing out all things? !
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
Light Night Breeze To One Who Calls Himself A Friend
My erratic son, why were we going down?
Better to always watch out for safety passages
in time with the joints' key holder,
and most especially so,
when busied in the go-down haul
by nightfall yet;
suddenly one might find
oneself stuck in the dark
shut up there until sun up.
Once at night on the other side of life
they're all but night revellers, at the very best.
And under pink canopies of
star-lit human amusing
we're surging higher & higher
Way out of reach & way out of ear-shot;
once trapped in despair at night,
there it is for the one to
remain locked away
overnight
until a new morn will dawn.
Where in the world are seen
such amusing stars of the
night, yet to be caring about
the forlorn & cast away,
who in their very
awkwardness only were but
hostile elements
for us the free, who need
to get out after dark,
to fill up the emptied vessel
of the soul
in our well-deserved times-out?
Stifled & betrifled,
the torpid victim of the
night may only pray for the
spirit of the brave & wise to
come down on him,
so not as to get even more
miserable entrapped by night
yet being entangled
in heart-rending nightmares
with the wits lost already.
One black glimpse from the
eye of a depressed
desperate
forlorn in the night
emits such a negative
magnetism
that can be sending a knock-out
blow to all fire of life
within any of us
out there on the bright side
of the night
in the blue light of our moon
that is blooming with lush desires.
And don't petty yourself for
being left unconsidered,
caveman son of egotism in
your pitch-black night lair,
when you yourself have
counted yourself out
from all brightening star
tracks that lead us in joy
through the night;
you had been out of time
with all the others
who know to inform
themselves well during the day.
Take this dark lesson of
yours now as a ready-made
chance of your night
to make a better man out of you,
as there's nothing more for
you to do on this field of
yours turned barren
besides waiting and waiting
at this turn
for a new season to come around
when once again it will be
also the season of all
blunderers for sowing their
seed of new life,
and for brooding total re-make.
And believe me, my fallen son,
locked up there in the go-down:
try and help one cramped
soul out of its hole
while yourself being in for a
high in the night,
and the coarse winds from
off the speeches of this
sorry one
verily might blast all your so
passionately concerted
endeavors at once,
in one saddened moment.
It's a sheer waste of one's
self
to keep on hoping on
once already somewhere
having become a goner;
better yet to be hopping on
onto another,
for there to hope & hope on.
This time around, be
smarter, ill-guided son,
make sure, no more to
make for the party's goner!
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
Is Death Really Of The Nature Of Life, Dear God?
Are we really present in this body
when we pass at night
through our lands of dream?
Supposed we wanted to
know what 'we' really are
beyond the pleasing hurting physics.
If sleep is a continually needed stop for reshaping-up,
metered out over one and same vehicle of life,
that, as we all are, is
struggling so wearily
by all means of inner qualities,
in an ever growing turmoil of outer nature,
while really trying hard, somehow,
time and again, in all possible kinds of habitat,
to raise sharp-defining matches on flatly impossible conditions,
and all of this
just to survive this blunt massive gravity
that endlessly causes each and everything,
in its unrelenting grip of the elements of creation,
to whirl about:
Is not death then just the
well-deserved resting of a bored player who,
finally having managed the
clearing of the table of his
game set-up of chances,
eventually run stale-mate,
settling to relax for a while,
either sitting idle on the spot or
doing other things in
another world of schemes meanwhile,
getting ready, eventually,
for a new round of the old game,
there back home again
hopefully with an
enjoyable set-up of the
allotted player marbles?
Oh dear God high above,
would You allow me for once
to shake and thrust that
tumbler of fate's dice
myself?
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
The Bowing Millennium Miracle
Three young kids from hillside Madagascar, a boy
and his smart elder sister while
showing the ways of the world to their big-headed
infant sibling
took to a windy plateau of slashed high plains
for some breezy repose
from the wanderings in the heat of day.
There in that pocket of valley,
near the place of the Mada kids' reposing
the pilot of an aeromobile
flitting through skies from
continents way over yonder,
suddenly suffering a fit of
mechanical heart trouble,
deemed it proper to
venture his one last possible recourse
out of his high-daring carrier's
impending exitus terminal,
a safely ended emergency landing.
'Hey Rija, look, what is
this? ! ' cried Noro, the boy,
who first noticed their
alien surprise visitation.
'Here comes a giant bird, oh
look how huge it is!
But doesn't it look dull-eyed? ?
It seems to settle here,
where there's no waters nor woods.
What for? ? ? '
'Oh look! ', exclaimed
Rija, 'it's opening its entrails.'
'Oh yes, it seems terribly over-fed
and feels like disposing of
its waste out here.'
'It has preyed and fed on living beings, ones
just like you and me,
see this!
And they are still alive and
yet moving. The bird must
be coming from the
Southern polar land of
penguins with its cold
sunless caves.'
'Yes, their faces are all lime-gray,
just like of those stone-washed
strange white cave-lizards
that never see the day of light,
down there at the far end on our
neighbour island Nosy Bee.'
'Now this monster of a bird
seems to have recovered,
look, Rija! '
'It instantly healed its open
skin wound up after gushing out
its litter, but look, there it
seems set aflame, all red
all of a sudden.'
The plane exploded.
- - - - - -
'Our folks in the village
won't believe us, if we tell
them what we've seen! ! '
'The real big giants seem to
also catch gigantic
sick fevers. Have you ever
heard of any of us
going through such a terrible
attack of bad fever,
that, before giving up his spirit,
even his very body were
burnt away wholly
by the inner flames,
like this giant's? '
'But now, just look at these
objects of cave-dweller
faces, ridded out the dying
giant before, and their strange
thick hairy leaves
all wrapped around them.'
'Oh yes, they are coming
towards us, all with their
feet shod in kind of camel-hoofs.'
'And they're all flapping
some kind of shiny toy
gadgets in the sun. What is
THIS? '
'It looks like mirrors with
boxes attached that they're flipping.
What for are the boxes on the mirrors?
Maybe they can trap the mirrored
image inside the box.
Just remember the magic box
of old Shaman
Andranantana,
he can do many more things
than just keeping your image
in his box.'
'But why would THESE here, aliens,
cavern folks from far away,
be doing this, flapping magic
mirrors here on our fathers' lands? '
'We're lucky that we called
early this morning again
our loving spirits and elves.
They will stand by our side.
These here might want to
disown our lands or
own our souls -
but don't be afraid, Rija,
our spirits and elves will
never forsake us.
Their very lives is the joys
in life with us as tending to
them, while they, in return,
are playing with us at will,
by their powers that they
will share with loya
Add this link to:
Archive January 2008
