Passage: The Poetry Of

By Azure Russell Rappa

A beautifully incredible journey of words. He equates his life to Sisyphus, not because he never paid homage to the Gods and Goddesses, but their decree that he should roll a boulder uphill to the top only to watch his futile labor roll downhill and start again for the rest of his life as punishment. “Everyone suffers for suffering is relevant.” The third time he was in the audience of the Dali Lama he asked, Is it possible for someone to be raised w/all the best teachers, healers, spiritual advisors, food, arts, entertainment and bodily needs met, and be enlightened? Without hesitation the Dali Lama says, “No, knowledge comes thru suffering.” Now Sisyphus in rolling that boulder for all those years of suffering came to understand all things in life to experience self liberation foiling the Gods and Goddesses, and died a happy man.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Dec 12, 2019
• ISBN: 9781483484303

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Rappa

Copyright © 2018 Azure Russell Rappa.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

ISBN: 978-1-4834-8431-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-8430-3 (e)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 11/13/2019

Thankyou universe

                 there’s a temple of falling water called

                     the ocean.

                         mother to which all rivers

                         nurse and smaller bodies of

                         water recall being,

                             in another life,

                 in dream states.

                     whose frail rain from a lake of damp

                             granite evaporates,

                                 painting my memory

                 with its taste.

                 looking into the face,

                     through the eyes of an angel,

                         this earth.

                             glitter falling sifted,

                 ceaseless amber sequins burning,

                     a dragon’s eye closing on the horizon,

                 trickling bells calling the unseen,

                                     stars,

                     diving like guitar strings

                         into mirrored pond songs.

                 for every fathom of fear they descend

                     these delicate skeletons playfully

                         pretend,

                 abiding as midwives

                 through the dark of the moon,

                 their birth from the calm.

                                 resurfacing

                 to breathe green cathedral forests

                     in a continent of goddesses and gods.

                         this earth, is, the center,

                             of the universe.

                     evening,

                         when the mesa shades the sun.

                 its fading leaching forth the desire of

                 incandescent fiber,

                             refusing seeping indigo.

                 i look to venus,

                             knowing she leads this

                 galaxy’s languishing procession,

                 knowing the comfort of love within those

                 stars from wherever you are.

                                 be it an island,

                 or a small window.

                 we can touch each other through venus,

just  reach  up…

                 mendacious fields of midnight-shade

                 amidst the blossoming loom moon haze,

                                   through

                 an hour that steals the breath,

                 burning softer than an unwritten kiss.

                 so sleep,

                     and soon, comes the smooth grey

                 morning shore,

                 moist,

                     soothing,

                         cool to our wounds.

                 with a peaceful procession of dolphins

                 whose muted oscillating iridescence

                 gracefully ascends,

                                 piercing the

                 grey cellophane.

                 layers left in gentle descent,

                                 dragging rows

                                     of even wrinkles glistening

                   an earth of a drum circle.

                   every rhythm intertwined and

                   riding the wind,

                               pagans dancing

                   with the dust devils their

                   innocent entrancement burrowing

                   from the earth,

                               and it did rumble.

                   under the scent of sun and

                   sweat bodies so close in joyous

                   dance each of all a conductor

                   reverberating the om, eternal om,

                   threaded memory of the

                   web,

                       web of life since the

                   first dawn of the first om,

                                   and,

                   it was eternal.

                   and it shook me to my knees.

                   and it broke open my face like

                   a vessel and it poured and

                   poured the tears of all of

(continued)

                     forever outward, then inward,

                     through the thrum of herb

                     soaked salve drawing all poison

                     clear cleansed light and more

                     light till i lay empty in

                     silence,

                         deafened by bliss,

                     soothed by the rhythm,

                                 my ear

                                     hot,

                     on the earth,

                                 shaking, with

                     the wind and people, composed

                     by the om.

                               the dust

blessing our peace.

                   there were 10 thousand people man.

                   meditating in silence till noon,

                   and at that time someone sitting

                   cross-legged in the center pointed

                   straight up and the silence was

                   broken by an Aaaawwwe… as

                   people fell to their backs,