self inspection

Personally, I believe our physicality has meaning.  In fact, it irritates me when people carry their fears of misjudgment to the point of denying appearance any worth at all.  Many magazines for example, suggest that that image staring back as us is out of our jurisdiction.  That it doesn’t matter because who we are is within it, but not a part of it.  Thus our bodies and faces, these insignificant shells, should not be questioned, judged, or changed—just whole-heartily accepted.  Journalists who write such articles often use the term “love” to describe this relationship.  But what they are suggesting is far from it.  My face, my physicality, is not a separation from me.  It is my kiss, my sex, my smile, my movements, my posture, the way I look when I laugh—in addition to my thoughts and emotions, these are me.  I cannot love that from which I withhold meaning.  I cannot love my face if I blindly claim it as separate from who brings it life. 

So, yes, I see my reflection, and I look. Who cares?  I am fascinated by the fact that I am actually “here” or “there,” caught in that image staring back at me. Our concrete existences serve to both project and enclose us—and I believe we are entitled to love them for it.  Through our bodies, we can enjoy a sensual, tangible reality:  able to run, scream, swim the ocean waves, feel the touch of another, feel the sun warm our blood.  And yet, all the limits of physicality, all the judgments that are wrong—these provide us with a beautiful mystery.  The light of something more to our identities can glow through us, while always remaining perfectly hidden, safe, and cherished.  Because we are externally captured, we are free to grow and change beyond what anyone can see.  We are free to claim unfathomable depths beneath our skin.  

© Sean Chen 2007

SNOWFLAKES

 

Like manna from the icy skies
On heaven’s breath the snowflake flies.
Its perfect shape uniquely formed
From cloudy womb to earth it stormed

 

Chantilly lace that’s meant for flight
To run the race when temperature’s right.
Wispy waifs of dancing ice
Alluring arabesques entice.

 

A ticket on the atmosphere
A pillow fight of Christmas cheer
Crystal feathers floating down,
Blanketing the frozen ground.

 

Kindred flakes in snowy layers
Like frosted cakes, are answered prayers.
Sculpted by artistic winds
No two the same, there are no twins.

 

Nature’s creativity
Enraptures its complexity
The simple beauty of the flake,
A duplicate would be a fake.

 

Each is made with tender care.
A gift that nature chose to share.
Our secret family recipe,
To spread originality.

 

 

                                                           © Sean Chen 2007

 

 

Aren’t you guys sick of my poetry?  Thanks to all new recent subscribers, I genuinely enjoy reading your thoughts and tidbits as well.

“The perfect man… a poet on a motorcycle.  You know, the kind who lives on the edge, the free spirit.  But he’s also got to have the soul of a poet and contain an inquisitive mind.”

When I am on my bike I feel free… albeit temporarily and blissfully.  I wonder when the endless cycle of self-oblivion will cease to consume me… at least while I am still in my prime.  Silly capitalism… but we all do need the money, like a crack whore needs crack.  And so, I plug myself into the machine and can only hope that I don’t get sucked in.  Very rare is it these days to find someone so invested in life beyond the scope of the daily grind.  So to delay the impending boredom, I sometimes find myself imagining what it would be like if I were filthy stinking rich.  What would it be like to have money literally drip from every orifice?  True it would look rather odd, if not disturbing… but wouldn’t that be a sight to behold?  Selfishly, and unrealistically, my thoughts stray far from reality…

Sans the money dripping from every orifice (as most chicks don’t dig errant bodily fluids or emissions), I wonder what kind of life I would lead.  More than likely I would live the life of a world traveler.  In essence I would be able to go wherever I wanted to and suckle off the teat of luxury.  I can imagine it now, swimming in the Baltic, diving off the cliffs of Taiwan, Regatta Sailing in the South Seas, enjoying a sunset view from a gondola ride, horseback riding along Surfer’s Paradise, etc, etc.  When I’ve tired of that, I’d spend an idle turn of paradise eating ripe red grapes from the fingers of a beautiful and scantily clad companion and sip nothing but the finest wine from her belly button…  make sweet and tender love in the light of an Italian afternoon or the thunder of a Spanish Rainstorm.

© Sean Chen 2006

Emptiness

He was split from his soul because of his beliefs, but it was his past beliefs that had bound the two to begin with.  For days on hours on nights he looked through the window, constantly tapping away at its windowsill, as if in guarded expectation.  He kept telling himself it was for the next step, and indeed it was.  But a step up or a step back?  When the window went dark (seldom did that happen), this was what he glimpsed...

He saw a man slowly coming to grips with the brutal reality of life.  He saw himself lose his idealism, his hope, his former innocence.  He saw money, he saw emptiness... He saw emptiness in himself and how he lived his life, constantly trying to extract the essence of things without fully understanding the reasons for pursuit.  Boiling them down to that single drop of reward, ignoring the warmth of the steam given off.  He sought satisfaction, but could find it no where within reach.  Many years he had hoped that finding a companion was the answer, but only now does he realize that she would be sucked into his own black hole of dissatisfaction.

Distraction

It seems that every step of my life has been a chronological preparation for the next.  Perhaps too much focus has been on being ready for the future, the same mistake of just extracting the essence of things.  How woeful it is when I forget to open the window and let in the fresh air.  The little balls of pollen scrubbing away the filth left by my own greed and pride.  Pride... somehow I will eventually find a way to keep you in check.

Integrity, the other face of Pride.  Without you, life degrades to the basis of being.  So close so often have I come to giving you up, even just recently I almost threw you away so I could have a better chance of "making it in this world."  Life would be no challenge without you, and I only now realize that challenge.  One does wonder whether a touch of drama are essential to happiness… thus essential for distraction.  Distraction is essential for happiness.