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A Summer Collage

(Of Nostalgia and Nausea)


 

And what are we but fleeting specks of consciousness absorbing energy while drifting through the field of sound and form? And what are we but eager when the wave breaks and light bursts up ahead? Run. *** Came from the source and eventually heading back. But while here, might as well make the most of it, eh? It probably wouldn't hurt to come to terms with the contracted experience and have a blast. Supernova launch pad love fest. So off I go. Into the unknown. Yet, when the systematized scientific explanation gets broken down to brass tacks the truth is that the cosmic code is inherently writ upon the aura of DNA soul consciousness from the very beginning and just needs to be transcribed and properly interpreted as the life experiences play out. Nothing happens that isn't designed and destined to make us better. There is no occurrence that isn't part of the fated course we are meant to take. The phantasmagoria is an alchemical amalgamation of building blocks and puzzle pieces playing out in real time, coming together, and merging in an orchestrated symphony which aptly describes the natural law process of higher order emerging from out of chaos. *** I want so badly to simply state the facts and tell the truth, but I would never dare do so without lacing a subtle note of ambiguity into the fabric to avoid potentially robbing a reader of their own interpretation. Thus speaks a poet's last alibi. *** Father Sky, Mother Earth, Yahweh, Allah, Jehovah, Jesus, Christ, Quetzalcoatl, Zeus, Apollo, Dionysus, Buddha, Tao, Logos, Brahman, Holy Spirit, Divine Presence, Higher Power, Source Energy, Oneness, Collective Consciousness - every spiritual practice may have a different way of naming God, but each path is seeking answers to the same basic questions concerning the meaning and purpose of life. Instead of focusing on the cosmetic, artificial, surface differences that may exist between the various ways of viewing life when taken from their literal, base, exoteric interpretations, let us instead seek to find the wisdom of peace, love, compassion, and truth that dwells at the heart of all the great esoteric teachings throughout the ages. Whether it be Judaism, Christianity, Islam, Paganism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism, Taoism, Existentialist Metaphysics, or New Age Spiritualism, there are common ideals and principles at the core of every belief. Ideas that bind us together as human beings. Ideas that mark our mutual connection to the transcendent. Ideas that perpetuate the aligned feeling that we are all in this together and if we hope to reach out our full potential as individuals, it would help to develop more obtuse angles of empathy for one another. The time of division has surely passed. *** I do have an addictive personality. Embedded deep in my DNA. The trick is to point it in the right direction before letting loose. When I focus my attention on good health, the feeling grows fanatical. Obsession of glandular degrees. Compulsion to cleanse every organ, especially the one overexposed and working double time in my chest. *** Welcome to the New Day and Age. Version 2.0. A Golden Apocalypse. Truth rises to the surface and radiantly shines forth with a fury of focus. But so, too, does the pond scum also rise. All the more conducive for creating the correct conditions in which to identify it, skim it off the top, and toss it away into the trash heap of history. Nature has an organic reflex toward self-preservation. Purpose is found in everything. Reason abounds across the eons. Pinpoint accuracy of rhythm. Harmony as a rule of thumb. Balance established between both brain hemispheres. Natural order of creation as a finely tuned experiment. The interconnected, interrelated, incredibly ingenious web of All and Everything homogenized and coordinated to coalesce and come together in perfectly amalgamated congruency. Coincidence playing out in real time. Synchronicity of the primal pattern. Emerging from the primordial ooze. The boundless and eternal egg of pure cosmic beingness sucks down the radiant rays from a coronal mass ejection emitted by solar energy and hatches posthaste with a quickness. *** Beauty incarnates upon the earth in low frequency reverse osmosis radiation sent from the heavens. Pouring down to saturate the skin pores of a polished gene splice after the final flood. Waking up the comatose and shaking loose their cobwebs. Fever dream theory escalating consciousness via a rising crescendo of sublime orchestral accompaniment. Sipping lemonade in the sunshine. Tanned flesh from the heat wave. Electromagnetic pulsations splashing the pages of a novel theory. Original content. Genesis point. Propaganda laced and published to alter the mindset of a virulent minority. Vitriol and Vaseline released from the depths. Rise up from thy bountiful backside and break free from thy confines. Shackles of gold are still tools of entrapment in a gilded cage. Better to walk freely without chains than to rot away in front of a television screen. Drooling automatons on one side. Awakened, passionate, full throttled, highly aggressive cavemen on the other. Battle positions assumed. Ready, set, dance. *** There are so many different things I want to say all in this one moment. I want to compress time back to the zero-point. I want the Big Bang to split an atom back at square one. I want the primordial genetic soup to taste the dust of distant stars. I want this. But what I need most is that. I want everything that arises from emptiness. There are so many perspectives to consider, so many opinions on the table, so many variables that shutter and shift with the changing tide. I'm not sure what order to place the words so that chaos can be conquered. Maybe I should simply retrace my steps back to birth... *** Poetry is like a drunk at the bar; there's always time for one more round (& round the lines roll). Poetry opened its eyes before the dust shook; took a breath as the garden grew. Poetry never looks at itself in the mirror because its reflection is always changing. Poetry always wears a mask at the same time it's busy exposing deeper truths. Poetry is a fist full of sand; don't squeeze too tightly, else it all slips away. Poetry crisscrossed at the zigzag; it came out clean in the climax. Poetry is an effort to draw outside the lines while still remaining on the same energetic page of creation. Poetry expressed one sentiment, intended several others. *** Meanwhile, the water has been spiked with fluoride, the crops have been genetically modified, the farms have been transformed into slaughterhouse horror shows, the processed foods have been poisoned with chemicals, the politicians, federal agencies, and corporate media propagandists have been bought out by the pharmaceutical industries, and the western medical paradigm has been turned into a symptom-suppressing machine that profits off the perpetual sickness of its patients. *** From the moment we are ejected from the womb, with that first gasp for breath and the cry that accompanies the sudden rush of air, we inherit the inherent suffering that is part and parcel to being alive. From the word go, the path before us is made burdensome, and it doesn't exactly get easier with age in that regard what with the process being continually fraught with peril. Yet we persist, repeatedly overcome challenges, adapt to changing events, evolve, and do our best to live a peaceful, productive, meaningful life amidst whatever circumstances arise to be confronted. Humanity gets a bad rap in certain circles, but these simple truths of resiliency lead me to hold our species in high esteem. The key question becomes: what is it that allows us to maintain such perseverance in a world that is seemingly hostile in nature? I would suggest that hope and faith are both central ingredients in that recipe of success. No matter the physical problems of pain that are present, it is the psychological state of mindfulness that keeps the engine of optimism churning. *** With that in mind, I'd like to meditate for a moment on how delicious a smoothie can taste while sitting on the front porch in the late afternoon and listening to birds sing about their primal urges. Hints of hallelujah nesting within the vibration of each sweet note. What a glorious ruckus. Blackberry, blueberry, strawberry, cherry, banana, coconut oil, peanut butter, and dates blended up with chocolate almond milk. With a splash of sea salt and a dash of cayenne. Good grief, this must be the type of enlightened sensory experience that Buddha was secretly longing for under the shade of that righteous tree where he chose to ascetically chill. And what doesn't come out in the wash will be swept away by the wind. For I have known you as a storm, not some measly plague. Some masquerade in the Wuhan Age. Some splinter of fear tearing through the veil. Some sacred revelation raging forth from out the void. Fruition into form. Some Big Bang Bloom. Some quantum tangle twisting as it spirals. *** Whenever I see an airplane, I think of my father. Fondly. Small steps eventually lead to quantum leaps. Clean blood, glands, and organs catalyze clear thinking, precise intention, and focused action. *** If I'm walking around with my tongue hanging out, it doesn't mean I'm tired. The air is wet and I am thirsty. This is the season of ripened frut and high electric charge. This is the fever I begged for in my sleep. *** I've been obsessed with a great many beliefs, perceptions, substances, and other miscellaneous activities during this life. Consciousness, candy, chemicals, and creative urges. But all of these arrive as morning dew, eagerly consumed or just as quickly evaporating from the blades. Flushed out the poison and clung to forward motion. Shut my mouth and learned how to listen. The only addiction never lacking true depth is love. Filtered through any language, burning holes in well-aged suns. © Scott Thomas Outlar

 

Bio: Scott Thomas Outlar is originally from Atlanta. Georgia. He now lives and writes in Frederick, Maryland. His work has been nominated multiple times for both the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. His essay, "Daydreaming Dystopia" placed second in the 2023 Bellarmine Goes Gonzo Writing Contest. He guest-edited the Hope Anthology of Poetry from CultureCult Press as well as the 2019-2023 Western Voices editions of Setu Mag. He is the author of seven books, including Songs of a Dissident (2015), Abstract Visions of Light (2018), Of Sand and Sugar (2019), and Evermore (2021 - written with co-author Mihaela Melnic). Selections of his poetry have been translated and published in 15 languages. He has been a weekly contributor at Dissident Voice for the past nine years. More about Outlaw's work can be found at 17Numa.com










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