Well, Eve, what do you say causes humanity to bleed at the roots?

    This below landed in my email feed while I was stressing myself in a rather yang beat up on Israel Substack forum featured in yesterday’s post:

We are Bleeding at the Roots
By: D.H. Lawrence

POETIC OUTLAWS, published by Eric Rittenberry
NOV 18, 2023

Augustine said that God created the universe new every day: and to the living, emotional soul, this is true. 
Every dawn dawns upon an entirely new universe, every Easter lights up an entirely new glory of a new world opening in utterly new flower. And the soul of man and the soul of woman is new in the same way, with the infinite delight of life and the ever-newness of life. 
So a man and a woman are new to one another throughout a life-time, in the rhythm of marriage that matches the rhythm of the year.
Oh what a catastrophe, what a maiming of love when it was made a personal, merely personal feeling, taken away from the rising and setting of the sun, and cut off from the magic connection of the solstice and equinox. 
This is what is the matter with us. 
We are bleeding at the roots, because we are cut off from the earth and sun and stars, and love is a grinning mockery, because, poor blossom, we plucked it from its stem on the tree of Life and expected it to keep on blooming in our civilized vase on the table…
Vitally, the human race is dying. It is like a great uprooted tree, with its roots in the air. We must plant ourselves again in the universe.

You can find this passage in Lawrence’s profound essay — A Propos of Lady Chatterley's Lover (1929) 

 

Jim Duffey

Writes Jim’s Substack
These words are such a healing balm after having. just read a bit of the "morning blather" regarding the current wars men are inflicting on our home, Planet Earth. The innocent among us are collateral damage, nothing more. Until those among us with a greater sense of empathy manage to wrest power from the blood lusting male "leaders" it appears indeed, that man is doomed. Thank you David for hope in these times. It is impossible to dress up all the horror with a day of thanksgiving nonetheless we put on the blinders like everyone else.

Mr. Raven
Writes Whisper from the trees
It isn't just men, do you seriously think Nikki Haley, or Madeline Albright (500,000 dead children are worth it) or Hilary Clinton, or Margret Thatcher are even one bit better?

Jim Duffey
I’m speaking statistically sir. Most readers understand my inference. Think before you draw conclusions merely for the sake of being right!

Mr. Raven
No it's the usual sexist "feminist" bullshit, from a virtue signaling self hating "feminist" man, do better!

Elizabeth Ro
Writes Elizabeth’s Substack
Perhaps we might agree that the male aspect within all humanity seems to have a warring nature and that female liberation is much more than being a woman. 

Mr. Raven
No "we" would not, there have been aggressive female tyrants throughout history, I fully reject your sexist hatred of men. God forbid I be "right," and hurt someone's feelings with the truth!

Sloan Bashinsky
Writes Sloan’s Newsletter
Elizabeth is not speaking literally of men and women, but of the innate soul makeup of men and women - yin and yang, anima and animus, masculine and feminine, chalice and blade. In the main, the feminine in most women and men is damaged, or worse, and they operate out of the masculine. If you set aside the demonic realm, the damaged, mangled, destroyed - you pick - feminine is the cause of all human ails and of humanity killing the planet on which it totally depends to survive. In spiritual arena, humanity, in the main, has lost its creativity and receptivity and is cloning itself and devolving. Saying it another way, humanity, in the main, is yang and out of control. This is seen everywhere in humanity. There are individual exceptions, but they are very few compared to the human masses. 

 

:-) 

Vexing Truth

Life is Poetry,

Poetry is Life,

There's no more to say,

but that would 

make God

a really dull boy,

now wouldn't it,

Eve?

So, Eve,

What say you?

After all,

You have been,

still are, blamed,

for everything that went wrong with

hu - MAN - i - ty.

Well, do you really want to hear

what I gotta say?

Is this one of those

be careful what you ask for

pregnancies?

Well, is it?

Probably, but say

what you wish -

I s'pect you need

to be heard.

Heard?

Funny you mention ears.

Yes, ears.

Such important receptacles.

Yet filled with concrete, 

shit, propaganda, beliefs,

certainties, well,

let's not leave out

SUPERSTITION

and

RELIGION,

should we?

By the way,

where do ya

suppose

God came from?

Or, out of?

And, 

why do ya s'pose

I made Eve

in my own 

IMAGE?

'Cause Adam was

so bored and dull -

so ... predictable

He was BORING!!!

the shit outta me!!!

That's why.

Now

    Shusssssh -

Don't go round quoting me on

any of that -

I've had quite enough of

the religious right

ta last me 

the rest of forever

 

Sloan Bashinsky

In the main, humanity looks really fucked up to this 81-year-old mystic, poet and culture jammer, who wonders if there are any poets living today, whose verses might stand a chance of saving humanity from itself?

Vivianne Vidail Patterson 

Writes Vivianne’s Substack
I agree, often when I read poems or other pieces of writing about our humanity and our connection to nature I notice that it frequently insights fear or senses of sadness within a reader. Often giving little sense of hope. I have just began sharing my poetry, I just attempted to create a piece of writing that shows where humanity is going without causing these feelings and with recommendations for humanity in efforts to save us from ourselves like you stated. Maybe take a look and let me know what you think!

Sloan Bashinsky
Can you post your poem in a comment here? 

Vivianne Vidail Patterson
I would but the poem is just so long :( hopefully one day it will be reposted to an account like Poetic Outlaws! 

Sloan Bashinsky
Send your epic to Eric Rittenberry, perhaps he will publish it, although it looks to me that he favors dead poets :-). 
I read the 3 poems you sent privately. Although poetry can be universal, it always is very personal, even if the poet doesn’t realize it :-).
In my late 40s and early 50s, poems up and gushed out of me and left me trembling and awed as fast I could write or type them - most were written, then typed somewhere. Then, sometimes a poem would leap out of me, which seemed to shake the ground under me. Then, sometime a poem came that was for the collective- I figured I had already gotten the message, which, or course, meant I still had more to get :-)
I’m 81 now. It’s been a few years since a poem came out of me. For quite a wile now, I have viewed all of life as a poetry. What do I know? Perhaps this from me to you is a poem, 
for

Who invented the rule that poetry must rhyme, have pentameter, or be cast into verse? Yes, tell me, please tell me, who, just who, invented that really silly rule: Surely is wasn’t the maker of the first stone- otherwise, there’d be no stones to break all those slavin’ rules! :-)

I’m inclined to publish at my blog and substack, your and my back and forth, and your 4 poems. 

1. Ode to my ancestors 
VIVIANNE VIDAIL PATTERSON     
  
What a world we live in
Full of chaos and hate
Our world ran by greed
Love is hard to find
But within the fog
Is a glimpse of hope
And we see the sun 
When the mist clears
And listen to the whispers of the moon
As she explains to me my past
Speaks of you
The blood that runs through me
Takes the shape of those before me
Give me strength 
The wondrous history of us

2. To Remain Blind
VIVIANNE VIDAIL PATTERSON
 
Love is how you stay alive.
Even after you’re gone
Even a house made entirely of grief has windows
Outside is clear and visible 
But still
I can’t see
It’s just like how you can feel
So alone in a room
Of people who love me 
Yet so connected 
To everyone 
When I’m alone

3. Motion of the Heart 
VIVIANNE VIDAIL PATTERSON
 
The flow of memories
Dancing on the shelves that live in my heart
As they move from one scene to another
Like a baile that we watch on the street
Or like the clouds that float and change shapes above us
And we dance in the light and the dark of the nostalgia of those days
In our own ways, we take care of that grief
We nurture it, and almost beg it to stay
From what came that grief was love
And the way it reshapes our hearts hurt
Yet, our bodies are hesitant to let it go
Memories come from those feelings
And we’re scared to lose them 
But there is an evolution to these thoughts
What was once a seed is now a flower
Relying on the sun to help growth… though still
We live in a limbo
Under the bridge, below the water
Let it touch and stain your skin 
Let it take over your senses
Don’t fight the water
Breathe it instead
Inhale the memories
The feelings
And it's okay
You won't drown if you breathe

4.

sloanbashinsky@yahoo.com