if I say I am sad, I lie


Sometimes one gets frustrated trying to find clean and accurate phrases to wordify this immaculate suchness – ‘n’ – the ‘what-is.’

Language – this English one at any rate – is quite useless for this purpose.  Whatever is uttered immediately needs qualification, adjustment, explanation.

Perhaps poetry is the medium, but its technologies aren’t known to me.
(Are they knowable at all?)

The problem is the subject-object split.

If I say, “I am sad”, for example, I lie.
I cannot find an owner of sadness (or any-thing else).

Sadness simply is ‘what-is.’

Perhaps one could say, “I is sadness.”
But that would be grammatically clumsy. And also irrelevant, because the ‘I’ seeks no reason for it; ‘I’ has no aversion towards it; has no need to express it.
The sensation of sadness is an energetic body-brain response to apparent conditions, often appropriate and inevitable in the grand scheme of dream-scenarios – as is all suffering, at the bottom line.

And, like the dreams, changing, always changing.

How then to write about That which never changes?

Poetry is the medium.
Like creativity, knowing nothing about how to ‘do it’ is probably the only way for it to happen.


5 thoughts on “if I say I am sad, I lie

  1. A little post-script:

    Since posting these *echoes* I have been surprised to find that some of the word-strings have been called ‘poetry’ by readers kind enough to leave a comment.

    I love that poetry happened when I wasn’t looking. But I still can’t find a poet here!


    ~ miriam louisa

  2. Prose poetry requires no “poet”, no “knowing how” – it just flows from the Eternal and the hand moves… As you call it – “she who scribbles.” 🙂

    Interesting timing on our posts today! “Sadness” seen from different perspectives of awareness… The same, yet different scribblers. 🙂

    Love, C

    1. I honestly don’t have a clue where it flows from dear C, it just Presents itself fully formed and needing no editing. Yes – the hand just moves, scribbling happens. Then someone says, “Poetry!”

      This piece was written at the height of some classic family dysfunction – my expectations of ‘happy family’ ideals were being trashed. There was aching sadness, but my inquiry failed to find any owner of the emotion.

      I didn’t do anything to expose, analyze, heal or transform it; in looking for the one who was sad and finding no one, the sadness simply ceased to be a ‘problem.’

      Over the years this has remained my ‘strategy,’ whatever energy-experience presents itself – even happiness and contentment. All experiences are found to lead one away from the simple self-shining Beingness of being.

      Thank you dearest for your comment – and for the heart-fully honest writing at your blog. 🙂

      Love always
      ~ ml

  3. “poetry is the medium”

    ¿Qué es poesía?
    Una inagotable fuente,
    caudaloso torrente o aluvión;
    locura, exuberancia,
    inteligencia, pasión.

    Río de fluir sereno y amable;
    tormenta, huracán; el mar insondable
    y ella misma habla, canta, murmura,
    susurra y razona,
    y sus razones son mil.

    (from ‘Recuerda’ AM) (slightly shortened)
    (‘inagotable’ – inexhaustible
    ‘aluvión’ – flood, torrent
    ‘insondable’ – unfathomable)

    1. Dear AM – I so wish I could understand your poem – thank you for it, and for the few words you have translated for me, which, along with my minimal understanding of Spanish, help me feel the gist …

      Blessings on this beautiful Sunday.
      ~ ml

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