Art by Norman E. Masters
TRUE POETRY IS THE AUTHENTIC VOICE OF CREATIVE SPIRIT communicating through the medium of our human kind. And every individual genuine poem embodies a highly specific Pearl of Universal Truth, Goodness, Beauty, and Freedom. So any given form of poetic expression should be judged according to such criteria and to such criteria alone. For, if it is clearly a Divine Insight being manifested -- then it must be treated as a Spiritual Gem far more precious than any purely material diamond or sapphire. Indeed, a real vibrantly alive poem is a most sacred creation. And its essential Message comes from a Dimension of Being and Becoming far beyond that of the actual words it contains. Because such words are no more than veils hiding the real essence of the poem -- which is why only those who are capable of drawing aside such verbal veils can ever share the particular aspect of the infinite it portrays -- a cosmic aspect which is nothing less than the briefest of glimpses through the all-loving and all-knowing eyes of the Ultimate Source of that Limitless Process which is the Cosmos.
Can you sense that we are called to our best selves? To breach the prison of mediocrity, The tainted dreams, Death-pangs of an age when men, bound by genes, Acted out their deadly, Primaeval dramas? Rest in a quiet place, look down, See the organised normality of that which is, Patterned tracks of trackless days, All set out, accepted, literal, Cold inertia of centuries bearing us away. But see again, the earth moves! Beneath the fields, roads, bricks, the whole proud infrastructure, The living earth breathes, The hills and valleys rise and fall in measured grace. The life-force, Gaia, slumbers within and beneath us! How easily we are distracted. Coloured lights, melodies, habits, domesticity and movement, Each have a place in the wider scheme, But each a price and toll upon the inner life, Whence turns the spirit, maker of new realities. We know not the limit of our nature. The past, shaper of us all, bears not our potential. There is nothing we cannot will, No catastrophes we cannot surround with our humanness, Transmute to affirmation. There is, however, a modest price. To gain we must give, to grow, feed, to achieve, work. The paths may be steep, but the views panoramic. Glad indeed are travellers, seers, seekers after truth, Weaving with their lives limitless futures. Or, contrast the dying days, The slow fall into senility and nothingness. The usual is a compelling road, A rudderless vessel drifting, souls becalmed, Dissipated potential, wages of indifference. But, drawing us on, are ways to see and grow and be, A world to realise, another leave, Re-birth within that breaks the ancient mould, Slow and steady turning of purpose Alignment of self with all the heady tasks of a new age. This, then is our dedication: To life in its manifold forms, elegant and earthy, To personhood, delicate reservoir of the infinite, To growth of spirit, vision, caring, love, Futures ascending heights of being. At heart there is a single question: What have we the vision to be?
"The Sacred Struggle for the Solar-Age is now on! This is the Evolutionary Moment when the whole Old World dies! -- when we have to let go of everything except our Deepest Selves. But this is also a Time of Birth -- the Birth of the Solar-Age which is emerging in and through us, the New Humanity. Let none of us be found wanting at this hour!" -- Michael Tobin