Journey to Ixtlan

“Seeking Questions” as inspired by a Tumblr meme that spoke about people being questions instead of answers. It seems to me that we’re also the answers in search of questions. Too often there is an abundance of circumstances. The answers are all around us. The questions are the illusive factor as they would explain the intentions of a hidden world.


Seeking Questions

I'm an answer seeking questions
end result you'd never guess
against the background of random chance
inside a box made from the past
now response begs for origins
something familiar when I'm the freak
no longer holding to the mold
exploding outward for all to see
the puzzle is scattered on the board
the box lid has been forever lost
perhaps God knows who I should be
what query would return my life.

The outcome is plain enough
though exploration still unwinds
in territory more frequented
by the youth less afraid
my generation walked the same paths
with few admitting that they did
in dark halls we whispered truths
while telling lies to a larger crowd
now the young strive in the light
revealing trails once concealed
kept from sight to most men
or only trod on by the brave.

Now I'm left with only claims
not sure how I came to be
or what purpose the divine
has for my continued life
meandering has brought me here
honesty grasped along the way
sharing more than perhaps I should
while unsure of the beginning quiz
perhaps you have the illusive query
something to wrap around these bits
scattered as a whole to represent
the person with more to share.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180314.

I considered what’s said and not said while relating to others. Perhaps it would just be me damned if I said everything I thought or felt. The poem “Inner Voice” is the poetic outcome of this pondering.


Inner Voice

The angels ask for my silence
holy lawyers for my soul
wanting only for the inner
to remain, not find voice

imps would welcome the true message
expressed out loud, no matter where
to state the core of my being
would invite trouble's stare

I never know who may hear me
lurking in the shadows there
the private would be public
damning all caught in the trap

then consider the spiritual
connections across the universe
when a name is said out loud
an invitation hits its mark

I'll keep my feelings bottled up
not give them voice to the world
in the quiet I'll find solace
that stillness hides the inward storm

the vex of trouble, the pang of link
these I'll avoid by my silence
to be seen and not heard
my angels forgive the inner voice.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170610.

The poem “In The Catacombs” is about the parts of ourselves that are kept from the larger world. These include prejudices, addictions, illnesses, political views, gender identity, sexual orientation, and romantic orientation. I purposely listed these in a rough order of revelation ease. I am also inclined to believe that the last ones most connect people even as they are the things kept from view until the last.

The poem isn’t the classic Valentines Day fare, but I think that truly loving somebody means accepting much of what may lay in their catacombs, especially the stuff way in the back that defines their definition of self and their relations to the world.


In the Catacombs

If I gave you measure to call me out
put a label square on my head
would it shift what you think
about that space inside my mind

catacombs where fields once lay
shadows in the place of sun
bones strewn instead of flowers
I was always this my friend

what has happened in the neat world
with tidiness gone, replaced with dread?
fear's child has shown its face
spawn of assumption's vanity

these are the thoughts that cross my mind
when I consider whether to open doors
allowing others to see the mess
supposed catacombs of the self

allow me to give you a tour
look to those parts that you'd abhor
I'm not saying that you will
(better safe than sorry screams my soul)

there are skeletons that bear a taint
wicked beyond the normal mark
dank artifacts of society
I'd be better off to discard

elsewhere the bones are of disease
of the mind or body each
a challenge faced while I live
overcome to some degree

this room is filled with politics
anatomy of give and take
where I stand may be irksome
this I hear from the other side

the last vaults are what I fear to show
where the bones lay piled on the floor
this is where I am most myself
how I define what God has wrought

who I love and how I romance
predilections expressed in private
how I see myself to be
in terms mind to anatomy

where attraction sparks my eye
with whom I seek to unwind
this and more makes up the sum
hidden deep in the catacombs.

© 2017, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170214.

I’ve lost people in my life because of who I am relative to who they are. The poem “Not to Lie” considers the battle between escaping taint and being true to oneself. Note… I am blessed by many that who are both themselves and accepting of who I am, so I don’t discount them in this poetic consideration.


Not to Lie

The taint clings as second skin
unequal yoke in their eyes
separating self and my kin
by choices meant not to lie
the words spoke are the truth
not meant to state otherwise
yet still they offend the world
am I so different to matter not?
I can only be myself
deviation from the norm
though others wish for white washed paint
to be the mirror to their domain
I can only bend so far
to cast myself into their skins
before my scream to the skies
(inwardly if not out loud)
that I am more than alibis
they ask for me to tow the line
with safety asking for the same
that path forward would be my lie
by life contrary to themselves
human beings are cast aside
seen in shades beyond the pale
colored glasses cannot shield
divergence from routine
when I speak to who I am
so I’ll again my sole intent
not to tempt or mislead
the taint is theirs to lay on me
only seen in their eyes
I’ll find my kind in their wisdom
who loves myself for who I am.

2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20161106.

Life can be a struggle to hold the stuff together. Life is lived on the edge of something raw, wanting to express itself. Civility becomes an arrangement for people to play well together. I started writing “Monster Inside” because of an experience in my life. When I sought to finish the poem I realized that it is as much about myself.


Monster Inside
Poem for Day 290 – 20151018

Do you really believe the things you say?
In a moment of sanity,
pick one at random for this poll,
would you scream the same thing then?
If you said that thing while in sobriety,
clearness of mind and soul alike,
would it resonate with a truth
that you embrace in delirium?

You said it twice more perhaps,
so do not tell me it is a passing thought.
There is resolution in your remarks,
and this scares itself is terror to me.
The moment of tension reveals much,
as do those of anger and rage.
Are you that person I saw then,
a monster hiding under human skin?

Has the masque fallen away today?
I've seen this before and wondered.
How much of this always lurks,
hidden from sight by seeming normality.
The final laugh is on me you'll see,
as I look in the mirror there,
Is this how you view me,
another soul with a monster inside?

© 2015, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.

I watched Jason Statham in the 2013 “Redemption”. One of the films characters, a nun, remarks “I use God as an excuse not to look at myself”. Heavy stuff. The poem “Just Me” was inspired by this thought.


Just Me
Poem for Day 062 – 20150303

Where can I hide
from a world I disbelieve?
Submerge myself fully in
life's best retreats!

Throw I some religion,
heavy with guilt transmitted.
Laden on the belongings,
shiny toys most beloved.

Now I only know burden,
oppression of the heart.
Distracted by bangles,
too many to be counted.

Pledge my soul to the heavens,
burn the sage on the hearth.
Build the stack of belongings,
to the sky it will climb.

The more I raise up the holy,
the shallower it becomes.
Treasure of the kings,
dust blown by the wind.

Who are the shadows
to whom I'm pledged?
Rust and tatters remain
of treasures put aside.

Support is a wonderful thing
But it is not me, not me at all!
Don’t need no god
Don’t need no things.

Strip away the divine,
Strip away precious things
What do I have left?
Just me.

© 2015. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved

I was looking through pictures on Tumblr and came across some wonderful tats. These inspired me to write the poem “Art of my Soul”. I hope fully express the magic that tattoos bring to whose who wear this art!

Art of my Soul
Bonus Poem for Day 016 - 20150116

Marks of time, lashes of the soul,
each has a story
with the commonality of me.

Flash was the source,
stencil transfers the pattern,
through pain I receive the stain.

Symbols branded in ink,
visions of my inner self turned outward,
anguish and humor swirl about.

My life laid before you,
behold my passions, my fears,
proclaimed in script of the skin.

They speak louder than words,
voices that can only be quieted
when you close your eyes.

They are forever with me,
ink and dot, lines combined
into the art of my soul.

© 2015. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.

Another from 2007!

What is the self? Is there a higher self, a self free of egoism that called fully associated with a capital "S"? This article includes my thoughts on where the local self ends and where the Self may begin.

The self is commonly associated with the ego and reality as sensed through the five senses. There is also the concept of Self as something greater than this physical existence. Is there a connection between these two?

The Self is experienced as that part of ourselves that is transcendent from the mundane life experience (aka ego). It contributes to the ego experience but is not defined by the ego experience. A rough analogy would be the total sum of words available in the dictionary (the totality of Self) and the words you use everyday (ego). However, the Self extends beyond a single dictionary. In a larger analogy the Self would be an entire library of reference material outside of the day-to-day words and knowledge used. Can your mind grasp all of the knowledge present in even a small library? Do you deny that the knowledge present in the library does not exist because it is not present in your mind? If you cannot operate a machine, does this prove or disprove that a manual exists for the machine or that the machine can indeed be operated?

I string out this analogy because it approximates the relationship between the Self and ego. The Self is characterized as the all-knowing or other-knowing extension of ourselves. Self is NOT religious. Self is rarely seen directly. The most close we get to Self is in the spontaneous 'aha!'s that creativity produces. All of the personal history and randomness cannot account for the truly creative insights we have. The magic of 'seeing' beyond the five senses cannot be completely attributed to personal history and randomness. The creativity and other-knowing come from 'somewhere else'. Some people characterize this place as Self.

Some people only know of the Self because others have spoke of it. For others, the Self is directly experienced in those times of knowing and creativity outside of the realms of precursor experience and randomness. What is your own experience?