I feel that something truly amazing has happened to me. Up until recently I was relatively unfamiliar with Blake's work. I knew I'd enjoyed his poems when I read them in highschool and could maybe recall a quote or two, but that was the extent of my knowledge. Then I experienced something unlike anything I'd ever known: I was at my desk, struggling to contain my frustration with Kant's obsession with the categorical imperative, when I was suddenly thrown into a trance-like state. I immediately began writing a poem. The words came to me faster than I could put then on paper. I've never written poetry before and when I read what I wrote, it was as though it wasn't mine. A voice inside my head told me that I needed to read the works of William Blake. So I began to look through an online collection of his poetry and was stunned by how similar it was to that which I'd just written. In the weeks leading up to that event I'd been focusing a lot of my attention on examining Biblical scripture--primarily, Genesis, and had developed a very gnostic interpretation of its meaning. The more I read of Blake the more I felt we shared in our vision. Since then I've been studying Blake nonstop. I believe his spirit is very much alive and that he offers himself to those who seek understanding. I would love to hear others' accounts of sensing some connect with this enlightened soul. It would be great if you could share any work hes inspired you to create. Here's one poem of mine:
The East and Back
Break the Heart, unchain the mind,
Disturb the Beast who feeds in time;
And you another path shall see—
Deliverance from misery.
The dreaded Beast shall soon be tamed,
Lashed by the scourge within thy brain;
Darkened by the human storm,
But in the calm it be transformed.
Soon ye both shall walk as one,
Be there rain, or be there sun.
No cloud shall ever mask again,
By making foe, which is thy friend.
A broken Heart beats truer healed.
To break the Heart, so breaks the seal—
Perverse manacles, contorting souls,
So not t'obstruct the truth men sold.
In these men, so shall ye find,
Mere wasted thoughts and wasted minds.
Their shoulders bear the strain of time,
Yet still they keep their flawed design.
Alas, the end be very soon,
And then this land will be for you.
And when you rest there on the grass,
You, by a Serpent, shall be passed.
He tastes the dust to give him sight,
Of visions black and visions white.
Bound to dust—his cursed plight,
For speaking wrongly what was right.
And with a solemn gratitude,
You bless him for his evil food.
Though the Fruit made ill thy heart,
It deconstructed Heaven’s art.
An empty freedom, God did see,
The day His kin embraced the Tree.
So out of Eden they were sent,
That all might find what Eden meant.
The East and Back
Break the Heart, unchain the mind,
Disturb the Beast who feeds in time;
And you another path shall see—
Deliverance from misery.
The dreaded Beast shall soon be tamed,
Lashed by the scourge within thy brain;
Darkened by the human storm,
But in the calm it be transformed.
Soon ye both shall walk as one,
Be there rain, or be there sun.
No cloud shall ever mask again,
By making foe, which is thy friend.
A broken Heart beats truer healed.
To break the Heart, so breaks the seal—
Perverse manacles, contorting souls,
So not t'obstruct the truth men sold.
In these men, so shall ye find,
Mere wasted thoughts and wasted minds.
Their shoulders bear the strain of time,
Yet still they keep their flawed design.
Alas, the end be very soon,
And then this land will be for you.
And when you rest there on the grass,
You, by a Serpent, shall be passed.
He tastes the dust to give him sight,
Of visions black and visions white.
Bound to dust—his cursed plight,
For speaking wrongly what was right.
And with a solemn gratitude,
You bless him for his evil food.
Though the Fruit made ill thy heart,
It deconstructed Heaven’s art.
An empty freedom, God did see,
The day His kin embraced the Tree.
So out of Eden they were sent,
That all might find what Eden meant.
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Re: THE GENIUS SPEAKS TO ME, and you?
Tue, April 10, 2007 - 7:58 PMIf any of that needs clarification, I'm more than happy to offer it. -
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Re: THE GENIUS SPEAKS TO ME, and you?
Thu, June 28, 2007 - 5:32 AMMakes total sense.
I often feel his presence & inspiration.
The first time was at a Druid event at Samhain. We did a powerful sweat & I crawled out & I was lying in the cold wet grass under the roaring clouds & mad stars & I thought of him. & it seemed like he was there. Since then I've often felt he's around in some way, wild but supportive. I'm not a spiritualist who thinks that the dead have nothing better to do than float around interfering in our lives but in this dreamlike reality anything could be...
I offer:
Big Bill Blake.
Blake’s chest is filled by a wind roaring through time that does not heed convention or calamity
His mind knotted around a divine pressure behind his eyes, like a hangover or a coming fever
Face, frowning & laughing at the same time & no-one knows what thoughts are moving there
He doesn’t care what may or may not be visible to his audience, only that they understand.
His hands move suddenly, then they are still again, he can’t remain motionless in this atmosphere’s gloom
Head on fire, eyes burning, voice rising & falling in the song that he must sing
Everything alive within the horizon is stretching into the light, but we don’t ever see
Some say he’s crazy, but they only see danger in feelings set free into the wild of nature’s embrace.
It’s the Garden of Eden, every day, but nobody wants that to be true right now
A rat race run by parasites all too scared to wake up now & see the sun
The impossible is commonplace to them & innocence & freedom are hopelessly overwelmed by their serious intentions
If someone mentions the war in heaven then they nod so wisely as if they really understood
But there is no war & no wall to contain the soul, only a down cast gaze in the heat of the mind made forge
Where chains of belief & disbelief are equal in their power to condemn the human race to slavery
& a chain is a chain whether it be forged from iron, lead or uranium, titanium or gold
Mere words you have been told are not enough to show the unseen landscape of humanity’s true heritage.
No ghost, no machine, no animal red in tooth & claw, no root no vine, no precious race
Only a heart beating light, a mind made transparent, unimagined, untrammelled, set free
The guilty globe of waking life, roaring with the primary pulsation of the senses is burst open
Like a soap bubble peeling itself apart from the point of penetration setting free the refractions from its surface
& a red haired man shouts & waves his arms about, he jumps up & down pointing at a wildflower, he says:
"The cistern contains; the fountain overflows. One thought fills immensity.
What is now proved was once, only imagin'd: every thing possible to be believ'd is an image of truth."
I say: we are enslaved by an idea that we have about ourselves & we mock those who dare to question it.
Barry Patterson, June 2006
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