The Artist

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An audio rendition of my poem The Artist


The artist retreats into himself 
He closes his eyes and surrenders to his imagination 
His mind opens a gate to vast inner landscapes 
Time collapses, the heavens slowly unfold 

The artist loathes mundane ‘everydayness’
He raises his brow at the gossip, trends and fashion of the masses 
They are those who walk blindly, who worship false idols;
Who revere fancy things, shiny things, the kind in which envy brings  

For the artist, his path is clear 
He follows his call towards Truth and Beauty 
His pen is the hammer which frees us from the chains of conformity
His art shakes us out of the prison of ‘routine’ 
His words pull us towards the divine, the sacred 

The artist is our liberator 
He lights a flame deep within our souls, and
awakens us from our dogmatic slumber 
This paves the way towards authenticity and self-actualization 

The moment is fleeting yet urgent 
We receive our gift 
A new way of living,
A new way of being in the world

We scrape away the superficial rot amassed in our souls, and
seize the possibility of true freedom

For in order to find ourselves, 
We must first lose ourselves


 
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The Machine : A Sign of the Times

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Don’t give yourselves to these unnatural men – machine men with machine minds and machine hearts

The Great Dictator, Charlie Chaplin
The prophecies of George Orwell have been realized 

Cameras, gadgets and sensors colonize every part of our bodies 


The Machine slowly creeps in, gradually but deliberately 

It watches you, tracks you, measures your every move 

We surrender privacy and freedom for the sake of efficiency, progress and 'human optimization' 


Everyone thinks the same, acts the same, is the same - copies of copies of copies 


What is beauty? What is justice? What is wisdom? 

My questions go unanswered as the crowd remain mesmerized by the shiny black gadgets in their hands


The preachers of Silicon Valley promise salvation, heaven on earth - immortality 

Technology is their saving grace

Everything they say can be bought 

Everything they say is just a click away


Dissent is swallowed by the Machine, repurposed and sold to the masses on glowing billboards  

Consume more

Buy more 

Be more


There remain a few, however 

Who love their humanity, who cherish nature and the beauty of existence 

They find wealth in simplicity and strive for virtue


The Machine searches, but cannot find them

It longs for these people, but cannot conquer or control them 

They reject the false promises, hopes and dreams it offers


Their fortress , their strong impenetrable fortress, is found within


These last humans provide me with a north star, an ideal to aspire to 

A life to long for 
 

I  walk towards them for solace, for hope

Wonder

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If there is anything that I feel that I need to preserve as I grow old, it is wonder

The ability to find awe in the mundane, the seemingly bleak trenches of everyday existence

How is it that a child is to able to see the sublime in the routine? 
 
To look at the ordinary and see what is extraordinary  

To paint the world with their vivid imagination 

To have boundless curiosity radiate through their being

During a walk on a cool summer morning, my attention is suspended by the rising sun piercing through the hazy clouds 

Wonder emerges as I see the birds gliding through the sky, singing ecstatically

Soaring effortlessly into the horizon, they find reprieve in the towering trees

Riches, wealth and power all pale in comparison to the awe and bliss found in Nature

As I shed the veil of adulthood, I see the world once again as a child

A world of wonder 

A world of infinite possibility

An audio rendition of my poem The Artist