A U G U R I E S: Augural Recrescendoes of Covenantal Kairos

AUGURIES

AUGURAL RECRESCENDOES OF COVENANTAL KAIROS

AROCKAKCORA

BOOK III OF THE TRILOGY

OPUS TRIPARTIUM TOTUS TUUS

UTTERANCES FROM/OF THE UTTERMOST

ALTARPIECES I - SYMPATHIES II - AUGURIES III

By

Michael D. O’Kelly

A Fireflies At Dawn Poiesis

AFIRADAPO

2017

AUGURIES

AUGURAL RECRESCENDOES OF COVENANTAL KAIROS

Copyright © 2017 By Michael D. O’Kelly.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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ISBN: 978-1-5320-3119-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-3120-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-3118-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017913289

iUniverse rev. date:  10/17/2017

A U G U R I E S

Book III of the Trilogy — Opus Tripartium Totus Tuus

AUGURAL

RECRESCENDOES

OF

COVENANTAL

KAIROS

The Premiere Performance With Ariel & Companions

The Prosperoion To The Showonakarion To The Pentameroion

AS THE GIFT OF THE PROSHOPENTION FROM

AROCKAKCORA

by

Michael D. O’Kelly

A POET WRITES ALWAYS OF HIS PERSONAL LIFE, IN HIS FINEST WORK OUT OF ITS TRAGEDY, WHATEVER IT BE, REMORSE, LOST LOVE, OR MERE LONELINESS; HE NEVER SPEAKS DIRECTLY AS TO SOMEONE AT THE BREAKFAST TABLE, THERE IS ALWAYS A PHANTASMAGORIA. – W. B. Yeats—Essays and Introductions, Collier Books, 1937, (p.509) – "And if we are not artists in our language, first of all, what sort of artists are we? … renascence would be without forms … . That is why any authentic creation is a gift to the future." A. Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus, Vintage Books, 1955, (p. 150,151). – From Emerson — The sign and credentials of the poet are that he announces that which no man foretold.(The Poet): NEW BORN, WE ARE MELTING INTO NATURE AGAIN. (Ode to Beauty).

2017

1st Proem

AUGURIES FOR US

ME & YOU

And the sharing of this ANSWeR

[SOBEUS]

…we should read for power. …The book should be a ball of light in one’s hand. Ezra Pound

TO HAVE AND TO HOLD — TO BE READ and RECRESCENDOED! -- A hold&keep momentum integral to the WONTSUNODI of Auguries: those wonders that should not die. The Hold & Keep of books keep them alive and well. And this one? Well, Hold On! Spirituality transcends wor-ship, with its dogma-clutched hands. Hands should hold like lovers; open like a book, be a work-with— a with&for togethering -- a WAFT that presences the air with a sentient covenant of peace, joy, belonging and the clasp of hands at creative work: be a stirring susurration of SHOALS – those shining holds of angelic legacies. The journey’s on towards an ANSWeR— a new spiritualityWeAre. Gateway to a new Global Consciousness! That’s what this Trilogy is all about, especially AUGURIES as it opens THE PROSPEROION: teaches you to sing as you ride of the SHOWONAKARION&PROSHOPENTION and yell MOMAMOM-MOMZIEKAI!! RENASCENCE! AUGURIES! Echoes of Don’t fence me in! Let me ride…

So, dear holder, may you grasp this ANSWeR WAFT OF WONTSUNODI SHOALS. That’s an AWOWS. Some passages will be different, but, I trust, to lift your wings to soar in view a better portent of your own PERSISTORY (personal history). In AUGURIES, you’ll experience being at home with one’s Daimonion—one’s own voice (calling) of covenantal resolve, etc, etc; there to both recast and recrescendo the homing voyage. --So we own our own island on a raging sea. -- This book may never be deeply read by other than its author, who, nonetheless, proclaims, with radiant-faith, that every word herein has been lived true: even those made-up to conjure harmonic alliances – flung as if secret codes thrown to sing-signature-ride the wind. Yeats famously said Cast a cold eye on life and death. Horseman, pass by. I cast COLD as "celebrating-one’s-lively-daimonion": as to say Covenant of Life/Death. I, as poet ARION, ride a proud-immortal-spirited horse, ARION, with TALIESIN-ARIEL in Life’s Earthen Parade[LEAP]. We prance our magic-dance as one: throwing our AWOWS confetti into the crowded winds to pattern breath&being as one: marrow&bone&poem&home! GEN i US! BYOP –Bring Your Own Phantasmagoia! Hold on for the ANSWeR ride through life&death palindromes to the deep-breath worlds of the PROSHOPENTION of AROCKAKCORA. -- SOBEUS!

2nd Proem

Hands holding a lovely leather bound book, all pages edged in gold, published in 1856 – The Poems of the Hon. Mrs. Norton. --The following are from three of her poems. She’d be pleased.

ATARAXIA [means unperturbed tranquility]

               Come o’er the green hills to the sunny sea!—

               The boundless sea that washeth many lands . . …

               And we will take some volume of our choice,

               Full of a quiet poetry of thought;

               And thou shalt read me, with thy plaintive voice,

               Lines which some gifted mind hath sweetly wrought,

               And I will listen, gazing on thy face. …

               Or looking out across the far blue space

               Where glancing sails to gentle breezes swell!

                     Come forth!

               SONNET XIII

               When thy light fingers touch th’ obedient chords . …

               Say does some winged Ariel, hovering near,

               Teach thee his island music note for note,

               That thou may’st copy with an echo clear

               Th ‘enchanted symphonies that round thee float?

               Or do all Melodies, whilst thou art playing …

               Like meek subservient spirits wander round;

               In Harmony’s dim language asking thee

               Which of them, for an hour, shall thy attendant be?

               DEDICATION

               Yet every Poet hopes that after times

               Shall set some value on his votive lay . …

               And they who never saw thy lovely face,

               Shall pause, -— to conjure up a vision of its grace

3rd Proem

This Trilogy – conjures up visions of life’s graces—completes here and does not solve the Mystery of Life. It has fulfilled its promised resolve to structure the sand-filled winds of time&thought: form&roll stepping stones to cross the puddle-muddle-depths integral to life’s trails&trials of passage. The GREATWHY’S-IT-SO-WHODUNIT-WHERETO&WHATFOR2WHAT’S-NEXT evades comprehension. Still, yet, behold authentic poetries-sciences of aligns and harmonies that witness how our COVENANTAL BELONGING persists to become what it can be: how, midst random hurts, catastrophes, programmed death, and predations, we are ever-spirited with procreations and finding stones to build a home midst it all. Hopefully, you’ll accept this Prosperoion-Ariel invitation to continue bridging the magic— with all the staffs, books, robes, wands of our living’s magic for the journey— as always, through raging tempests and joyful wonders. ARIEL will spirit the helm. Or, perhaps best to imagine ARIEL as an ARION astride ARION— singing poetry bare-backed on the immortal-fastest horse ever, which had two human feet and could talk. There will be more to say along the way about this triple AAADaimonion.(One’s Daimonion is the action-soul-call that drives the ride, puts the spurs to the hide&hidden: manes flying as crests of the tide’s tide. ACT-ION! ARIEL’S-PINIONS in flight.)For Auguries (with Altarpieces-Sympathies leading the way) wrestles as an ‘Apo’kstrophes’- (an Aoide-Ariel-Arion) with the magic-song ANSWeR (A New Spirituality We Are). Expect, for your active soul, a few new Holds & Keeps and some new-dawn off-ramps from usual traffic. Prepare to boldly venture with WONTSUNODI (Wonders That Should Not Die). We’ll travel the Covenant-Rainbow-Bridge to true utterances. The Who-Who of HOOTA, the Homing Owl of Timely Ataraxia, are newly metaphored-managed within the cacophonous chorale of a world transitioning from tradition to tech. (These t’s in mind, I’ve added Taliesin as you’ll see.)There will be new dialogues of ITIT (Immanence-Transcendence/In-Time – or Trouble) midst never-ending terrors of history and daily reports of human slaughterings. [Syria’s internal war in the time-frame of this Trilogy, has killed 450,000 people and caused some five million to flee.] Amazing, report scientists, how the resonance between Saturn & Jupiter keeps the planets in magical hold-orbit-spin around the sun: keeping the Solar System and us intact. We Earthlings could learn from that. Seems when resonance&reason rhyme in time – we dance with Ariel, COVENANT (make the cut), and, chirp-song-free, sing a holding pattern for the future. Our romantic spirit --embraced by the magic of belonging and the better angels of our nature— is ever-stepping lively with that captivating WAFT and susurrus singing of the SHOALS, those Shining Holds of Angelic Legacies – that take our breath away. This is a breathing book. Take a deep breath. Often!!! I’ll explore this ANSWeR looking straight into the inescapable CRITERIONS of predation&procreation: adding the new domain of THE PROSPEROION, with its SHOALS of WONTSUNODI-AROCKAKCORA (SHOWONAKARA). You’ll meet with PAPAPAP-MOMAMOM, the magic of palindromes, and the HOOTA hollering MOMZIEKAI! –and so much more. All rocks, here, on AROCK spiced with ATALEOTCITBYBELTER: (Arion-Taliesin-Ariel Lyred Enchantment Of Things Coming Into Themselves By Belonging Together). Auguries makes the cut to the CORE-CARE of HAPE-HOME. You’ll cut a covenant – hold a Covenant Stone. Scientists say big Jupiter could cut loose again and knock the whole system out of whack. Seems its mobility put this rock of ours in its right place billions of years ago. Seems, too, we’ve enough time yet to rock&roll in this Tharlldom of Universal Plenums (TUPS) and make something of ourselves; even on diets of random-chanceries [TUPS&RANCHANS]: here-a-bang-there-a-bang/everywhere a bang-bang -- we’ll persist to show all perturbs of perchance how to make a home from stones&bones, rivers&tears-soils&toils—and wonders that should not die. Much to explain along the way. These opening words are to put you in the frame of mind of this book (A Glossary, too). Forget the Gens of the past --GENiUS is the call (NextGen) of our new era. We have to dot the i right. So, proceed with caution, hope, and a lively-ste—on the stepping stones I’ve provided: some of which, can be slippery, wobbly: but all are solid-sound-souled on infrastructures of authenticity’s A—that’s Ariel’s Arch of tried–trialed and true bridge of passageways– just crossing the threshold, to today’s ANSWeR of A New Spirituality We Are. Throughout AUGURIES, I offer a MYSTEXSCION: a poiesis play of mysticism-existentialism-science. When the Trio of THE PROSHOPENTION sings in harmony, I feel most in lucid touch with the SHOWONAKARION.

Contents

1st Proem

2nd Proem — Image: Book in Hands

3rd Proem

OF AUGURIES

1 – PRELUDE — IMAGE: ORGANIST

SONG; Ariel Keeps Singing

Images: Ariel – Freed from Cloven Pine to Where the Bee Sucks

2 – DEDICATION

Hold Tight!

3 – PROLEGOMENA TO ANY FUTURE

FROM AUGURIES OF QUINTESSENCE

I On the Level

II The Consumistion

III The Foreverness Of Forevering

IV. Guess What ?!( a song )

V. An Ordinary Day [ With an Echo from Longfellow]

4 – WARMING-UP

I Wake To Miracles(G)

5 – CAVEATS FROM THE CAVE OF APOLOGIA

Image: Sketches of Earth’s Force Fields/Butterfly Effect/Infinity

What’s A Poem? … Images: Ancient Augur/Shepherd Boy with Lamb

SONG: Cappuccino On the Rocks

6 – ENGAGE!

7 – THE TRILOGION

8 – LANGUAGE

Image: Skeley, with Joey & Mikey

9 – AN EXORDIUM EXEGESIS OF EXEMPLUM MOMAMOM

10 – FOREWORDS

Images: Buddha/Angel/Humanism Earth

Of Kaons & Koans ……Alas! An Imperfect World

11 – ON THE RELATIONSHIP OF PREDATION & KILLING TO COVENANT & PROCREATION

12 – DEFINING SPIRITUALITY

WONTSUNODI—COVENANT—POIESIS [ WOCOPO ] – The A

— Breakaway! (G)

13 – MUSINGS ON A THEME OF WE ARE — DREAM OF DESTINY

Hallowe’en

14 – HARK! BEHOLD SOME OF THE DRAMATIS PERSONAE!

Image: Two ARIONS—Poet & Horse

YOU! (G)

15 – MY NOSTRA AETATE – IN OUR TIME

Image: Painting Our Time by Marilyn Creighton O’Kelly

This Just In

The Soul Survivor’s Supplication

16 – A WHAT ISIT? PAGE FOR READER’S COMMENTS

17 – REMEMBERING ELIADE

Guest With Me (G

Image: Gustave Dore’s Dante & Virgil at Gateway to Purgatory

18 – THE ENTITY DREAM

Dreamers (G

19 – THE A-B-C’S OF THE BECAUSE OF

Once Upon A Time

We’ve Watched Time Come and Go

Can’t Help It

Brother Gary’s Paean Epitaphion

20 – WONTSUNODI

At Memory’s Threshold (G

I’ll Find You Again (G)

What Was It?

21 – ON THE PALINDROME AS MOMAMOM & ORIGIN OF A

22 – ACRONYN-APTONYM-APOTROPIC [APROCROAPTIC]

23 – ARIEL

Image: My Composite of Prospero with Ariels

Image: Nesting Bird by E. St.Hiliare

24 – ROLLO MAY AND THE PAUSE

Heideggar’s Gelassenheit—Ruskin’s Repose

Image: April’s Rainbow

Song; After The Rainbow Rain

To Kiss Love’s Face

25 – A WHAT ISIT? PAGE FOR READER COMMENTS

26 – TIME’S ETERNAL NOW

Image: Me & Tom/Peabody Elementary (1940)

Image: Me & Tillich-University of Chicago (1963)

The OFTENANETFO [With Ariel’s Help] & Wild Strawberries

27 – BETWEEN A ROCK AND A HARD PLACE

Don’t Forget to Dance—Stone & Pause of Sisyphus—The Hard Place

BEHOLD! THE PROSPEROION

Images: Al Jackson’s Apples & My Mantle Altar of Religions

28 – THE TRUE CUTTING OF A COVENANT STORY

29 – BREATHING

Mini Essary on the Triune Essence of A as Existential Reality

AFFLATUS WAVE YOGA

30 – AOIDE TROIKA KAIROI CHOIR

Here

Still

The Wait ……….with Addendum – Oilstone Introit

OiO Is More User FriendlyThan OO — Image- Accordian Player

Moioke’s Song At The Pub Of The Green Door

31 – A WHAT ISIT? PAGE

32 – A PICTORIAL ESSAY WITH COMMENTS

Fra Angelico’s Visitation, Da Vinci’s Last Supper

Vitruvian Man and Lauren with Stained Glass Panel

A FILM OF APPLES

Perhaps It’s Just A Whim Poem

33 – THE MIND-SPIRIT TO BODY REVOLUTION

Image: Camus’s Soli/dt/aire

I Will Pray If But To No God At All

34 – THREE ASPIRATION APOSTROPHES

They Still Talkin’ ‘Bout Jenny

Last Entry Two Years Ago in Tyke Floyd’s Journal

My Last Magic Hat

35 – THE WONDERMAN’S ADDRESS [APOETESSAY]

Image: The HOOTA Owl

On The Hold of Younger Hands

36 – PARIS & COP21 – STONE & AROCK

Image: Squaring of the Circle

Images: Three from COP21 Trip to Paris

Image: Paris COP21

37 – A WHAT ISIT? PAGE FOR READER COMMENTS

38 – SUMMING-UP

Midst The Gathers of the Gones

Appendix I—Quotations With Comments

Appendix II—A Musing With Some Underpinnings

Appendix III – Apoetessay (Ape)

Appendix IV – The Master Craft

Image: The Mindfulness-Awareness Symbol

Appendix V – Leda And The Swan (Revisited)

Image: Leda & the Swan

Appendix Vi –Glossary

JACDADA —Comes This Strangeness Of Still Being Alive

Appendix VII – Image Sources, Permissions, Author’s Info

ENVOI — Image: Last Picture with Daisy Dew

Where Does The Love Go ?

Image: We Three Tree and So I Sing The Wonder-Should-Song

39 – COMPLETING A TRILOGY

40 – YOU CAN HEAR IT !

THE SHOWONAKARION OF THE PROSPEROION – THE SYMBOL

The Prophets …..[Note:rites/rituals/exercises:water-stone]

FINIS IMAGE: An AROCK Hand Held COVENANT STONE

POSTSCRIPT TO AUGURIES

OPUS-CODA

I Heed It Still —That Clarion Dream Of Mine

EPITOME OF AN OPUS

EVERYSOMEDAY

OF AUGURIES

The Cassandra myth, in brief, is that Apollo, to win her, gave her the gift of prophesy: when she didn’t accept his advances, he made it so that no one would believe her. She later tried to tell Troy that the Greek’s gift of the Trojan House meant war. No one believed her and Troy fell. She had a terrible life leading to madness. Czeslaw Milosz in his The Witness of Poetry[Harvard, 1983; p. 64], gives the beginning of Cassandra’s complaint from Kochanowski’s play in verse, The Dismissal of the Grecian Envoys:

                  Why vainly does thou torture me, Apollo?

                  Who, when thou lent’st me power of prophesy,

                  Gav’st to my words no weight! Unto the winds

                  Fly all my prophesies, gaining with men

                  Credence accorded dreams and idle tales.

                  My fettered heart, my loss of memory

                  Whom will they aid? To whom is profitable

                  This alien spirit, speaking through my lips,

                  And all my thoughts, ruled over by a guest

                  Grievous, unbearable? In vain do I

                  Resist! I suffer violence; I rule

                  Myself no longer; I am not my own.

AUGURIES, does not, in itself, portend to be a book of prophesies. It is, however, directed towards the future, but with a pervasive play of my own (add yours) personal history (PERSISTORY) and world in a planetary existence of increasing dominance by technology: personal such that one won’t say I rule myself no longer, I am not my own. There are prophets who say that AI (Artificial Intelligence) could, in somewhat an Apollo way, have the power to take our personal worlds away as we know them. Already, the machine2machine world is rushing towards dominance; such that we will be so connected some twenty years from now — that humanity as we have known it will no longer be. We’ll be part human-part machine. There will be benefits, but the bad is that we’ll lose control: no longer be ourselves. Indeed, humanity, now so globally-economically connected, will face some mighty challenges in the future. – I’ve had to inject some of my personal world to make the issue authentic and comprehensible. I’ve also brought along many others to share the journey. Milosz concluded his book as follows; I begin with it:

This is not the place to say what will happen tomorrow, as the fortune tellers and futurologists do. The hope of the poet, a hope I defend, that I advance, is not enclosed by any date….here is where hope enters ….every day one can see signs indicating that now, at the present moment, something new, and on a scale never witnessed before, is being born: humanity as an elemental force conscious of transcending Nature, for it lives by memory of itself, that is, in History. (p. 116) – O Change! O Prophesy! Today, he might not stress transcending Nature. Today, the witness of power is our Covenant with Nature[COVNAT]. Today’s poet, witnessing History, morphed as never before, can’t deny this united elemental force– particularly since AI comes with its own set of rules. We must get personal to own the future. Breathing deeply — our song recrescendoes. Shakespeare began his first Sonnet (of 154) as follows: From fairest creatures we desire increase, That thereby beauty’s rose might never die… . Indeed, a case can be made that this theme, through all varieties (and scholarly interpretations of such) carried his brand – as in firey torch—throughout. The theme is not just Shakespeare’s. My SHOALS of WONTSUNODI – shining hold of angelic legacies—wonders that should not die – is, as variously expressed, the lusty-heart, the augural amor fati, of all literature. Ahh! It is so here. Its whisper is no whimper – just beauty’s soft-power gentle love-call midst bangings against its shield. Its PERSISTORY is addressed in Sonnet 122: "Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain – Full character’d with lasting memory, —Which shall above that idle rank remain, —Beyond all date, even to eternity… ." Tables has so many meanings. Devices! Prosperity’s power is Futured-Memory. Owning it is to know home, the way home, and how to get there. The Prosperoion is where we DOT our OWN i! Common sense is Prophesy! SOBEUS! GEN i US! Public Service Announcement— P.S.A. — Prophetic Spirituality Alert!

1

PRELUDE

Over his keys the musing organist

               Beginning doubtfully and far away,

               First lets his fingers wander as they list,

               And builds a bridge from Dreamland for his lay:

               Then, as the touch of his loved instrument

               Gives hope and fervor, nearer draws his theme.

               First guessed by faint auroral flushes sent

      Along the wavering vista of his dream.

[So begins The Vision of Sir Launfal, by J.R. Lowell]

                  We are the music makers,

                     And we are the dreamers of dreams,

                  Wandering by lone sea-breakers,

                     And sitting by desolate streams;–

                  World losers and world-forsakers,

                     On whom the pale moon gleams:

                  Yet we are the movers and sakers

                     Of the world forever it seems.

                  . . . …

                  For each age is a dream that is dying,

                     Or one that is coming to birth.

                  . . . …

                     You shall teach us your song’s new numbers

                  And things that we dreamed not before:

                     Yea, in spite of a dreamer who slumbers,

                  And a singer who sings no more.

[Beginning&Ending of ODE, by O’Shaughnessy]

—The Illustration is from Poetical Works of James Russell Lowell, The Riverside Press, Boston 1882

ARIEL KEEPS SINGING [homages to Shakespeare’s The Tempest]

      O O O O O I’m your free spirit that will set us free

      We’re magical as breath – majestic as liberty.

      I’m your free spirit to bark The Tree of Life –Awake, awake!

      Hark, hark! bowgh-wowgh.. .Cry cockadiddle-dow!

      Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.

      So we own our own island on this raging sea.

      O Wonder. . . O Brave New World. O O O O O

      You free Me – Me free You! -- Me free You—You free Me!

      We’ll do it together like fiddle and bow;

      Let the music take us where we need to go.

      We’ll chanticleer the tempests and make it home

      Rudder & Helm synced like a Palindrome.

      We’re life’s truest love song, you and me.

      Together we rhyme the clues of mystery

      We’re the breath that bellows bold destiny.

      Our magic – the lyric poetries of Arias & Symphonies,

      As we flow the paint, chisel stone, pen the page:

      Virtuosos of passages played to the back seats,

      Our Song & Dance staging moves as the heart beats.

      So we commit I go – I go -- crossing rainbow bridges POEM to POEM;

      Past Froth & Foam, find our way Home! HOME to HOME! Ohhhhh!!!

      O O O O O I’m your free spirit that will set us free

      We’re magical as breath – majestic as liberty

      I’m your free spirit to bark The Tree of Life – Awake, awake!

      Hark, hark! bowgh-wowgh …Cry cockadiddle-dow!

      Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.

      So we own our own island on this raging sea.

      O Wonder. . . O Brave New World. O O O O O

      So let me fly like the thoughts in your mind

      Be our spirit’s music that dreams of home;

      New dreams in the waking that keep the magic

      So, when darks are tragic we don’t dream alone.

      O O O O O…………….Ohhhhh!!!…….

      We’re that Nature Spirit ever-calling to get free --

      Sprite, nymph, muse -- airy whisperings from a tree.

      Hark, now I hear them! Ding dong bell! Oh, well!

      Just when Owls do cry – Caliban Cries to dream again --

      Past his origin. – And we, riding Fireflies at Dawn,

      Cry All Aboard our voyage towards the greater light.

      We’ll take turns as Wind & Sail steering life’s craft;

      Tame quandries philosophic clinging to physic’s raft;

      Fire the Prosperoion hearths for Earthlings all.

      We, the brightest spirits this Earth has on call.

      O O O O O I’m your free spirt that will set us free.

      We’re magical as breath – majestic as liberty.

      I’m your free spirit to bark The Tree of Life– Awake, awake!

      Hark, hark! bowgh-wowgh. . .Cry cockadiddle-dow!

      Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.

      So we own our own island on this raging sea.

      O Wonder. . . O Brave New World. O O O O O

      TO OWN OUR OWN ISLAND ON THIS RAGING SEA!

{This composed two years before Harvey-Irma-Jose Hurricanes of 9/2017.}

2

Dedication

I’m dedicating AUGURIES to my little dog, DaisyDew: a beautiful auburn blend of Dachshund and Pomeranian. After 17 years and 24 days, she was failing in all major faculties, lost hearing, orientation, and vision; lost strength and appetite with developed spinal-internal complexities:17 lbs down to 7. She still had that look of pride and connectivity in her eyes, but no sense of the pain and suffering happening and to come. So frail so fragile! She had even lost her BARK! Utter compassion compelled me to put her to sleep on June 5, 2015. She lived a wonderfully long life of ultimate dogginess until her last year; the last two months were the worst. DaisyDew was more than a mutt-mongrel in our shared world. She was a Varielion -- in transcendence of both breeds.) Well, there are canine as well as human Varielions. She and I – both Varielions – as from that major life happening of Varient-Parents. To have that unique self is to transcend being a mere mongrel. The difference twixt us is my augur-consciousness and ability to express-conjur the magics of LEAP of ATALE Arion-Taliesin-Ariel Lyred Enchantments.

She was born May 11, 1998; thus quite old, but did not know that or that death awaited her; could not know that I and the DVM could see the near future, which augured painful deterioration: furthermore, we knew we had no solutions for bringing back the life that was leaving her. She was, in fact, soon to die. Did she know this (existentially) by some creaturely death instinct? Perhaps. I know she knew the magics had changed. The last look in her eyes, by my interpretation, was that she knew something was happening to us that she didn’t know how to know, but wanted me to fix it as I always did. [Yeats had a phrase for it, perhaps: And what if excess love, Bewildered them till they died. --from Easter 1916.]

We, howsoever bewildered by it all, do know how to know the inevitability of death for all life-forms on Planet Earth. That future is crystal clear and we do all we can to plan accordingly: even putting a little dog peacefully-gracefully to an everlasting sleep. I’m sure she was aware of being auto-ontic (a keen sense of self, pride of accomplishment, and awareness of sympathies) and anthro-ontic (species connectivity, affection: that sense of being with and part of). But, like all creatures (so it seems) except we humans, she did not possess the augur-ontic faculty, thus did not know death was her ultimate destiny: was conscious of suffering, but did not know of what’s called the terror of history and its birth-throes of unregenerative time. We humans know of this -- which give us our causal identity, our amor fati. She was exempt from both predation and procreation; never a sync with either: mostly, with few interuptions, a dog’s prosperoion.

When I get to the subject of The Prosperioion. I’ll explore more the dimensionality of such scintilla animae (sparkings of soul) and the meaning of how WE in-quiringly-en-choir to comprehend & covenant with death-in-life/life-in-death. Indeed, it is BECAUSE OF realities such as a DaisyDewDog that we experience Wonders That Should Not Die (WONTSUNODI) and 3-D phenomenons—such as DreamsDestinyDeath; each with ITS of (Identity-Time-Space) in those moments of OFTENANETFO – often found time’s eternal now. With this little dog, I experienced many an OFTEN: namely, of shinings from WONTSUNODI: her many pictures in our arms, her runs up that hillside of buttercups, her proudly making it up all our homestead steps (her last weeks, I had to carry her), and our spirited barkings together at the world from the car rides she loved so. We shared an everyday existential need – each for the other. She felt her pride and joy, but with no concept of it – or that, one day, it would not be. Holding this little dog, I held the love of my life, for seven years after she died. An artist, she did a wonderful portrait of DDD. -- Thus, do the DaisyDewDogs of life continue to seep through our sorrows and our gardens to frolic flower-new with freshest dew upon our auguries and covenants with WONTSUNODI. The concept of the palindrome will manifest greatly in this book’s OFTENANETFO and TUAUT. Here, as prelude, it speaks its presence (no silent t). Here, together, we explore new forms/answers of a new spiritualityWeR (ANSWeR). Here, we engage how the often found - owl flown - ontic formed – Ariel songs happen as we humans shape our destiny with actions done BECAUSE OF. Mysteriously we are HERE (in holos-empathic-reciprocal-entanglement) and HERE we make our MOVE (modus-operandi-vivendi-eventum) to become all we can be. The because of DaisyDewDog has caused this Dedication to be, and the continuance of a most special PROSPEROION WONTSUNODI now in the SHOALS with many loves and my first dog, Sank, whose story was in ALTARPIECES.] I’ll get personal in this book. Such personal sympathies & simplicities @ complexity are the corner-stone-flint-stone-philospher’s stone–stepping-covenant stones of AUGURIES – AROCKAKCORA. This photo of DaisyDew was taken Christmas 2008, when she was at the top of a dog’s life in every way. This photo says she knew it, too. Unlike the animal world, generally, she knew not of predation or procreation: totally a therapeutic prosperoion. Auguries concludes with her last picture with me.

A WONTSUNODI VARIELION OF THE SHOALS IS DAISYDEW

In her own way she felt the prosperity of her Prosperoion. Often, we shared the magic of Showonakara. Only I could write Hold Tight shortly after she was gone. For some of us, life, with creatures such as this, gives living more home-hold than all the great prophets of history.

HOLD TIGHT!

Hold Tight!

                     Come, take my lead, let us walk together

                     Awhile in the morning sun to the path

                     Down by the river to see if the geese

                     Have flown and if that lonesome swan’s still there.

Hold Tight!

                     Soon we’ll arrive at that little hillside,

                     Where buttercups will flourish in the spring.

                     Come, we’ll run again to the top of it

                     And look down upon the patient valley.

Hold Tight!

                     There we’ll pause, stop, and hug each other tight

                     As the brisk breeze tugs our hair, tears our eyes

                     As we stand together -- and walk down again

                     To the dirt trail by the sun-rippled stream.

Hold Tight!

                     Strolling there, we’ll look-up through the branches,

                     Bare, but taut for that first tug of buddings

                     And seeing the soft clouds sail the blueness,

                     We’ll grasp our happiness and run together towards home.

Hold Tight!

                     Seized by joy, we’ll sudden stop— hug tenderly,

                     As often we did when you were still here.

                     Come, again, take my lead to hold our forever.

                     Hold tight, my Wonder-One, our journey’s quite undone.

Hold Tight! My Love!

Just Hold Tight!

3

PROLEGOMENA TO ANY FUTURE

Feeling much like a Whitman in search of an Emerson, who will at least read my books for the gist and Eternal Nows -- even, perchance find them and think-blue with them. I don’t expect an Emerson and I’m no Whitman. Not in my world, where 1000’s of poets-thinkers-luminaries-professors and group-think-spirit-gurus are published every day in books and internet presences that, by virtue of technology are a PLENUM OMNI- PLETHORA OMPHALOS POESY OVATES (POPOPO) such as the world has never seen. And, all, in a world gasping-grasping-grouping-groping in the wide-open sea of spiritual but not religious. (Alak! SPIRBUNORES-POPOPO. Or some such sonorous wording of that manifest.) A world where even poets are easily-frequently credentialed as are therapists, clergy, and stock brokers. In all these avenues, I’m a walker (late, too, but not too late I hope) on the shallow berm: hair mussed by the greater GPS vehicles whizzing by to programmable in place destinations. I’ve got rhythm, but no dance partners; no neighborhood bar: no collegium. My raising-the-bar’s-bar’s a barking-up-a-tree to swish one’s own apostrophe. Oh, the raising of one’s glass to go selfie –face-to-face. Cheers! Slainte! L’Chaim! Salud! ZomWohl! Skal Ya’All!! [Oh, burst of navel-nub to fetal-tech! Have we seat-belts clicked for the coming wreck? Just a fender-bender in the great perhaps -- Midst Zeus-bolt 18 Wheelers raging past?! Perhaps! Sirens are wailing in the pass. Hold-tight! Carpe diem DUI’s and copy-cat ISIL’s … ARE … Are Randomly Everywhere!][O to have a GPS midst the SUPS: those Sirens of Uncaught Poiesis.]

Hey, ‘Apo’kstrophes’! Heard your wail&flail squeal from the Holy-Wholly-Rolly-Grail. Still trying to genie-rub-the-hub’s nub with 18 wheelers rumbling past you with another book?

Finishing my Trilogy. Got ‘er done! Ole! Glad you recall our Altarpieces dialogue.

Even after Sympathies you’re still not running with the pack. Just jumping up-and-down on your own backyard bench. On the great vehicled track -- a gasp & choke in their exhaust: a fume in their fumes. Your iconic swish’s (’) lost midst computer gibberish variations of '.

I know I know I know I know …………… but …

But! So, what’s the deal with you? Nobody knows you, needs you, reads you or sees you! Sans connects and reconnects – you’re not even a disconnect. You’re unrecognizable: small-pond-ripple soon to smooth to gone: hardly more memoried than the family dog.

I know. Seems Earth doesn’t need us humans either. When we’re gone from it, insects and bacteria will still go on. Predators roam. Oceans wave. Monarchs gone, too. You Know!

You always say you know, but in the great POPOPO – what do you really know?

I know my Delphi Oracle is not just "Know Thyself’: it’s Know Thyself’s Home. My ontological sense is fully awake in this undertaking. Like Sisyphus, I’ve got my AROCK.

Ho! Ho! Ho! Now we’re getting serious. Onto something real like A-ROCK! You bet! I’ve dedicated my three books as Auto-Ontic/Anthro-Ontic/Augur-Ontic.And each one, as Autobiography-Essay-Poetry APE, sings ontos of human&planet spirituality.

And, in clearer words!

It’s that very personal self-conscious existence, solid as stone, in the context of being a self with others and shared destiny on a ROCK we call Earth, which is our home. Ontology has to do with such concrete realities. I haven’t exhausted the definition, I’ve just detailed these aspects of What Really Has Being For Us On A Daily Basis. Three Basic Sine Qua Nons of human life – like bleeding-birthing-breathing: Being-Belonging-Becoming. Feel the Beat!?

It all sounds like you are still drumming at the nub of things, where you started. I’m still having trouble seeing how you got your selfie nub to fully attach to the spokie hub to the tire and to the augurie road that’s going anywhoknowswhere.

So, true. I had to find my BEME to go along with the GENES & MEMES already in place. I’m burning mini-tread rubber now on the big Freeway of POPOPO … etc!

You just had to do it didn’t you?! Another totus tuus triality! Tertium Quid pop-up!?!

Well, it’s not at all planet-unique. Even you are shining your BEME into the eyes of the world. Every human being is a BEME BETWEEN THE GENE AND THE MEME. Biology and Culture give us the vehicle and the gas, but we have to put the pedal to the metal the rubber to the road. It’s a trip, a journey, a do it now. Dotting one’sown iThe GM’s will keep on rolling, but our B (no, not Buick, but Being) will turn off the cliff in time and become a being, a BEME, gone over the Falls of Oblivion.

Hey! The big O of One’s Oeurve Over&Out To Oblivion. Our Zip-Zoom-Zeal before the Zip-Zap-Zonk of that big OOOAOTO sleep of final ZZZZ’s to Zero. OLE! I said it!

Well put putt in the oval cup. Because we know our BEME’s whacked off the tee to be eventually lost in the pond—we’re ever jumping with our TOAD of Tenacious-Ontic-Augur-Drive which, this last book of the trilogy takes full course: 18 wheeler 18 holes: me born on the 18th going strong to 2018. Believe me, I’m not the first to drive home this BEME. G. M. Hopkins cried What I do is me: for that I came. And H. Van Dyke: "Let me do my work from day to day … Of all who live, I am the one by whom/ This work can best be done in the right way … / Because I know for me my work is best. There’s that epitome of the forsaken ME—of Jesus. We don’t want that. It’s this sense of a ME with its way-say-day of go-see-do; occasional Goldilocks" effect. Think of it as TOTOTOTO: timesovum2oeuvre2obit takey-outey.

This is your hole-in-one fantasia? As if you and the universe(s) are on the same path?

Think of it as a Whole-in-One. Recall my nub-oeuvre-genre (NOG), which is an APE. This will prevail to augur muse # TEN (Time’s Eternal Now) along the way before our arrival at death. The universe is doing its thing—me mine, we ours. In the HUM of HUMan! Sounds like we are in the acronymic world of APE-NOG-TEN. Are we back to Ikhnaten?

Hah! So, it sounds like. And sound will sure have it