Vitae Curricula
Written by Eve Moore
Vitae Curricula
The bell sounds.
Class is in session
like nothing we’ve
seen before.
Long has it been said
that we humans, we sentients
of mother earth,
are at school.
Earth School.
Our 'course of life,’
a journey to light upon
what has been only
dimly understood
through our
narrow
passage
of time.
It is not
a destination.
Of this we seem aware—bricks
and mortar “institution" housing little
of real import, we come
time and again
to witness
—but do
we see?
We are being
shown.
It is a trillion times
Everest, and crampons
won’t cut it.
For this
expedition
into the wild uncharted
range of our divine expression
can only be accessed, scaled,
by a vision that supersedes
that of the eye, by
a perception
that finds
its way
on
its
knees.
Trusting
the lead
of the
muse,
not the
sherpa.
This
takes
guts.
Undeterred by
standards and disciplines,
maps and satellites of old,
true to a willingness
to see what IS
yet to be
alone.
It is found
in silence,
in subtlety,
in stillness.
We cannot find it
in the ‘reality' we see
outside of us, for it
doesn’t live
there.
It is only to be
glimpsed under
what is seen.
Within it.
Through it.
The husk protects,
gives safe passage to
the kernel, the germ
it holds on its way
to become
what it will.
Univers-ity
is not as distant
a campus as
we think it.
This
colossal
library,
observatory,
curio, art school
whose galleries, studios
overflow with form,
color, texture
dwells
within.
Made from
pure thought.
Imagination.
Inspiration.
Insight.
Vision.
Our degree program—
a master of these
fine arts:
to see
ourselves,
each other,
as we truly
are: invisible
to the
naked
eye;
to be
ourselves,
with ourselves,
one another, as
we truly are:
vast.
Brea(d)th.
Grasp.
It is the work
of art, the artist.
To express that which
has yet to be
expressed.
We are
here to learn
how to
do
this.
Carte blanche.
Tabula rasa.
Sui generis.
And as we do,
we learn how to be
the resources,
the tools
of the
trade:
receptivity.
Openness.
Reciprocity.
Applying
patience,
presence, balance,
surrender, peace no matter
the distraction, the labor of
the labyrinthian quest,
love—the
greatest
of these
lessons,
intensives,
immersives
we undertake
with each and
every breath of
moment infusing
this live experience
of creativity.
Tests?
To be sure.
Examinations
of all, to feel,
tactilely
feel,
ALL
this world
of form enables
us to feel.
Good
and the
heretofore
‘bad.”
It is all energy.
The beauty,
the envy, the lust;
the greed and its bloodthirst;
the joy and grief, the hunger and plenty;
the division, veiled separateness
from the all that is so that we
might come to know union
within us, among us.
And so we are given
the great gift of occasioning
the aloneness, abandonment,
the depths of disempowerment,
the unlit nethers of shadowland
in which we are simultaneously
steeped and trained to avoid,
sidestep — do not trespass,
to learn what it is to openly
CHOOSE—light upon,
the course of our
most attuned
inspiration,
action,
desire.
Contrast
confers difference,
distinction, conflict,
consideration,
illumination,
choice.
Contrast is the
agent to bring us
clarity, not just in
seeing, but in
being.
The only way
to know ’that’
is to distinguish
’this’ from it.
BUT not in the
disservice, the
disfavor of one
over the other,
this would not
meet the learning
inherent in the study
of contrast.
It is a symphony,
not just airies of the strings,
but the necessity of the brass, the cymbals,
the sharps, flats,
the snare.
It is to find the meeting point
betwixt, streamed through the polarities
of this plane and observe how the
peaks and trophs of waves,
even tsunami, become
particles right
before our
eyes.
Our
evolutionary
leap rising
in the
wake.
Ordaining
‘all is well,’ within
each and every
moment, stroke
of the brush,
scratch of
the pen.
Instructive
rather than
instruction.
Priming us in
adaptability,
tolerance,
resilience.
It is a
liberal
art.
In tuition is free;
it grants full access
to our manifold
teachers.
To the wisdom,
scholarship,
process.
In formation we
bring the teachings
into our beings to
grok, suss, sense
and assimilate.
There are no grades,
though we are
prone to grade
our existence.
There is no
pass/fail.
No graduation.
It is an open,
self-determined
curriculum bestowed with
the ever evolving
curricula of
co-creation.
Learning,
it must be conceded,
is the act of consciousness.
Of looking
afresh.
Each moment,
experience, encounter,
a one-of-a-kind initiation
into our range as beings,
into our expansion
as dimensional
consciousness.
Here, time has
no bearing; there
is no past, no future,
there is only the unfolding
which can only be truly
met, undergone,
LIVED,
now.
It is life
drawing itself
through us, as
we are willing to be
naked to it,
before it.
It may appear monochrome,
this lead, this charcoal,
this earthen element
employed to bring
the form of focus
from subject
to object,
from abstraction
to concretization,
setting up the structure
for unfathomable color, texture,
shape and shade
to come
to life.
Full spectrum,
even and especially
the ranges of frequency
that are dark.
It is the absorption
of all color.
And it teaches us
the deepest lessons
of separation, compassion,
gentleness and
openness.
It is defining.
But it need not
be consuming,
defeating, distorting,
nor blinding.
Unless,
of course,
we choose to learn
from these
states.
Learning
remorse, mercy,
forgiveness from
the inside out.
How else?
Genius loci:
’spirit of the place,'
re placing old teachings
not to stand out,
but fit in.
Finding our
genius takes time,
allowance,
noticing,
grace
to unearth.
I majored in
communications and
literature when studying
how to be of this world
and it is just today
that I’m learning
how to speak,
when and
with whom.
How to
listen
and
hear.
Finding words
to convey the voice
of the heart when
words are not
her mother
tongue.
How did
Shakespeare put it?
The course of true love
never did run
smooth.
And we
have yet
to fully live
— let alone love —
as human
beings.
It is a
long,
bumpy
path
fraught
with unspeakable
beauty.
Looking to
a singular event
called ‘ascension'
can lead us away from the
actual day-to-day experience
that grows our wee patch
of holy garden
in this heaven
we call earth.
It distracts us
from the sunshine,
the rain we thirst for,
the hush of the snows,
the ground that tends us,
holds, steadies us, as we
come to be, again
and again.
Now a root.
Now a shoot.
Now a flower.
Now a fruit.
Now a seed.
Perennially
giving and
receiving.
Drinking,
bearing.
Learning,
teaching.
Impart:
a part.
A collage,
this college,
a pinata, a tapestry
whose warps and wefts
defy the constraints
of space-time.
It is the micro
that is the macro,
the fractal that reveals
however zoomed our lens,
pin-pricked or wide eyed
our aperture.
Endlessly
rising and falling
like the sun,
the moon,
the host of
overlighting
stars.
Of which
we are but
a few ever
constellating
life on this
blue orb.
It is night now.
Pupils dilate
to better see
what might be,
to apprehend that
there is nothing to
fear in this dark
teeming with
suns.
To dream,
perchance
to wake from
our ancient unrest
to a new
first
light.
And
lightness.
Drawn in
starlight.
May it be so.
∞/∞
Eve Moore ©2021
© Photo: Eve Moore
Eve Moore: Once a professional writer of advertising, I saw the light & it has shown me words of a different nature. And so I take them down & offer them up. And all is well.
For more of Eve Moore's poetry and writings, please click here! http://www.crystalwind.ca/eve-moore
“When the power of love overcomes the love of power, the world will know peace.”
—Jimi Hendrix
This poem was submitted exclusively to CrystalWind.ca by Eve Moore.
© CrystalWind.ca 2024. All content (articles, imagery, fair use) & design protected. Written permission required for copying. All rights reserved.
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