Chapter 6
Theosophical Odes
I have always been interested in and passionate about theology and philosophy. Theosophy is the place where these two fields converge. The poems in this chapter reflect my many musings on this hybrid subject.
Time
Minutes passing on like hours,
Hours moving past like days,
Days go slow as growing flowers,
Planted in an obscure maze.
Each day is like a lifetime,
Seeming to last just as long.
Each fresh 24's a new climb,
Scaling life's repeating song.
Then with seven lifetimes past,
I reflect back to the start,
Of my week that passed by so fast,
Streamlined as a cosmic dart.
Yet somehow a month goes faster,
And a year? Much quicker still.
Till a decade soon is past yon
Father Time's unyielding will.
Does a second hold a lifetime?
Or is a lifetime just a second?
And what of the in between?
It's all so paradoxic!
To Shady Groves I Wander
To shady groves I wander,
That I might sit and ponder
'Pon glorious thoughts and things,
And listen as the robin sings,
And other gifts God lushly brings
To me there as I sit.
So peaceful—
I just bask in it
While listening to the sound
Of the tumbling, churning, rushing,
Lively river on the ground,
Where I suppose I might just go
To watch the glistening H20,
Church, turn, fission, fall, and flow,
And then stoop down to take a drink
To quaff my thirst,
Just then I think,
'Tis such a shame
I have to blink,
And miss for e'en a split-haired wink
The beauty
And the glory
Of
It
All!
I Went to the Woods to Ponder
When oft my mind grows worried,
Then I yearn for wooded groves,
How oft alone I've scurried,
To solitude in coves.
To country lanes I've hastened,
To lands whose heart I know,
My cares away are chastened,
And my troubles cease to grow.
I think I'll fly to that spot,
Where peace restores my soul,
Against sore troubles I'll plot,
And heart's resolve cajole.
There is no other respite,
That heals so soothingly,
My soul at times, when desperate—
Retreats alone with me.
Sonnet By: William Wordsworth
The World is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our heart away, a sordid boon!
This sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The wind that will be howling at all hours,
Are are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not. Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn,
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea,
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.
Sonnet 17
The world is not enough with me, NOW,
Too much time spent thinking and forecasting,
Trying too hard to see it all—blasting
The feelings and peace—I fail to allow
Real emotions, the wonder, the WOW,
The satisfied sense of sweat on my brow,
And pure joy—so spontaneous in my youth—
The unsullied acquisition of truth:
It moves me not! Great God, I'd rather be
A zealot, willing to fight and to die
For any just cause that might make me free,
Possessing the will to work and to try,
What e'er it may take through eternity
To gain the God granted privilege to fly.
A Newborn Seed of Hope
As my mind doth recall,
That a young lad strove to show
And rightly prove to all,
That faith, when rightly exercised,
Could uncloak success disguised
As a fool's path withal.
Though haughty scoffs from friend and foe,
Sought to mire the way I'd go,
Within burned bright the heavenly light,
And helped my soul to know,
That pure integrity of mind,
Was the virtue that defined
The obscure path: my show.
Who knew, but I, and God above
What service I would render?
Or how despised would be the love
That I would try to send her?
Yet now I feel to praise the Name
Of He who shouldered so much blame,
Yet ever has been tender.
Now riches of the earth are mine
In extravagant abundance,
And for naught at all my soul doth pine,
But basketh in elegance.
And finds a mind and memory
Enriched beyond prosperity,
Yet nothing came by chance.
Then shouldering myself the lot
The Almighty assigned,
I went to work, and daily sought
For God's own strength and mind.
Wherein, in time, I found that I
Could likewise breach the starry sky,
And henceforth join all souls divine.
My journey's close will be to see,
That all things are in front of me,
And the ending of my line
Of mortal life, and strifes, a sign:
Of the beginning with the Lamb
Where I'll see who I really am.
Amidst My High-Strung Furious RushAmidst my high-strung furious rush,
Of God's Handwork and precision.
Hurled PerilsWhen as a lad I did prepare
To make such gorgeous, precious things,
How Paltry and How PettyHow paltry and how petty—
Of a momentary passion,
Let the sculptor sculpt this misfit
Just like meaningless confetti
Sheltered surely from the storm,
Sonnet 18 (The Nobler Virtues)
Sonnet 19 (A King Once Asked)
A king once asked himself: wherein lies my strength?
'Tis fickle the worth of palpable signs
Thanks be to God for the passage of time,
Cast Upon the Waves of FateCast upon the waves of fate,
'Tis a philosophic bramble
Wherein Lies My Strength?My strength is as the strength of ten
Minutes passing on like hours,
Hours moving past like days,
Days go slow as growing flowers,
Planted in an obscure maze.
Each day is like a lifetime,
Seeming to last just as long.
Each fresh 24's a new climb,
Scaling life's repeating song.
Then with seven lifetimes past,
I reflect back to the start,
Of my week that passed by so fast,
Streamlined as a cosmic dart.
Yet somehow a month goes faster,
And a year? Much quicker still.
Till a decade soon is past yon
Father Time's unyielding will.
Does a second hold a lifetime?
Or is a lifetime just a second?
And what of the in between?
It's all so paradoxic!
To shady groves I wander,
That I might sit and ponder
'Pon glorious thoughts and things,
And listen as the robin sings,
And other gifts God lushly brings
To me there as I sit.
So peaceful—
I just bask in it
While listening to the sound
Of the tumbling, churning, rushing,
Lively river on the ground,
Where I suppose I might just go
 |
| Alexandria Park Bila Tserkva, Ukraine |
Church, turn, fission, fall, and flow,
And then stoop down to take a drink
To quaff my thirst,
Just then I think,
'Tis such a shame
I have to blink,
And miss for e'en a split-haired wink
The beauty
And the glory
Of
It
All!
When oft my mind grows worried,
Then I yearn for wooded groves,
How oft alone I've scurried,
To solitude in coves.
To country lanes I've hastened,
To lands whose heart I know,
My cares away are chastened,
And my troubles cease to grow.
Where peace restores my soul,
Against sore troubles I'll plot,
And heart's resolve cajole.
There is no other respite,
That heals so soothingly,
My soul at times, when desperate—
Retreats alone with me.
The World is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our heart away, a sordid boon!
This sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The wind that will be howling at all hours,
Are are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not. Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn,
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea,
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.
Sonnet 17
The world is not enough with me, NOW,
Too much time spent thinking and forecasting,
Trying too hard to see it all—blasting
The feelings and peace—I fail to allow
Real emotions, the wonder, the WOW,
The satisfied sense of sweat on my brow,
And pure joy—so spontaneous in my youth—
The unsullied acquisition of truth:
It moves me not! Great God, I'd rather be
A zealot, willing to fight and to die
For any just cause that might make me free,
Possessing the will to work and to try,
What e'er it may take through eternity
To gain the God granted privilege to fly.
Alas! Amidst the toil and grind,
A precious thought lights up my mind,
A newborn seed of hope refined,
Sprouts up within my soul defined.
Whence sprang such light that shone so bright?
That sent me soaring into flight,
And changed to day what had been night,
After all those years of fright!
It shines from Him, and within me,
Yes together we will scale the sea,
The depths of life's adversity,
To win an epic victory!
The battle will rage hard and long,
And I'll cry tears between each song,
But now I know the right from wrong
And saved because Hope came along.
'Twas Many a Year Ago
'Twas many and many a year ago,As my mind doth recall,
That a young lad strove to show
And rightly prove to all,
That faith, when rightly exercised,
Could uncloak success disguised
As a fool's path withal.
Sought to mire the way I'd go,
Within burned bright the heavenly light,
And helped my soul to know,
That pure integrity of mind,
Was the virtue that defined
The obscure path: my show.
Who knew, but I, and God above
What service I would render?
Or how despised would be the love
That I would try to send her?
Yet now I feel to praise the Name
Of He who shouldered so much blame,
Yet ever has been tender.
In extravagant abundance,
And for naught at all my soul doth pine,
But basketh in elegance.
And finds a mind and memory
Enriched beyond prosperity,
Yet nothing came by chance.
By living as the universe
Decrees, I found that I could please,
And help to lift aloft the curse,
By bowing down upon my knees,
Wherein I asked God's greatest gift,
And then implored that He might lift
Me up beyond this mortal tease.
Decrees, I found that I could please,
And help to lift aloft the curse,
By bowing down upon my knees,
Wherein I asked God's greatest gift,
And then implored that He might lift
Me up beyond this mortal tease.
The Almighty assigned,
I went to work, and daily sought
For God's own strength and mind.
Wherein, in time, I found that I
Could likewise breach the starry sky,
And henceforth join all souls divine.
My journey's close will be to see,
That all things are in front of me,
And the ending of my line
Of mortal life, and strifes, a sign:
Of the beginning with the Lamb
Where I'll see who I really am.
And constant angst I feel,
My body, mind, and spirit flush,
Beholding all that's real.
And though I often have my doubts,
And wonder if I'm headed right,
An inward spirit softly shouts:
That somehow I will win the fight.
And here and there and now and then,
I catch a blessed vision,
That makes me silently aware
And how He orchestrates 'round me,
Each single last detail,
Such knowledge firmly sets me free,
I know I cannot fail.
As long as I maintain my will,
To follow him wherever
He prompts me forward fast until
I'll with Him in forever.
To set out in the world,
I did not know, was unaware,
The perils that would be hurled
Right straight toward me
As if they were
Ordained by God to beat
The ever living hell and pride
Right plumb straight out of me.
I've heard of gold and silver true,
Of pearls and diamonds few,
And learned how pure steel swords are made
By ham'ring them black and blue.
It takes such pressure as God brings,
To cremate and to crush,
All the flaky human fluff,
So that a goodly God,
Could one day say: "'tis enough!"
And when that sweet day arrives,
My finished soul will rise to thank
My Heavenly Refiner,
For crushing dross well night to death,
Till I attract a miner.
When compared unto the steady
And the perfect equilibrium
Of He who rules the Kingdom—
Are the boys and girls of Father,
Oh my! Why does He bother?
And give me such rapt attention,
And his focused condescension,
All the day through my contention,
As I piecemeal learn the order,
And the perfect pure perfection,
I am more apt to disorder,
And perhaps change the selection
Of my heart's truest desire,
So enraptured in the fire
That so soon doth lose its fashion,
Yet through all my mixed emotions,
With patience deeper than the oceans,
And His soft firm hand a-guiding,
All the while I am a-riding
Through the perils of this life,
Through the thick-and-thin of strife,
With a thousand things awry,
And life's chances passing by,
I gaze upward toward the sky,
Which suggests not low, but high,
Somehow sensing that it's worth it,
Child for whom He sees a stronger
Fate that surely will last longer,
And transcend by far the glory
Of my mortal, earthly story,
Upon which I will look back
Once I've finally got the knack
Of living life as full as He,
Throughout all eternity,
I will see
Just how paltry
And how petty,
Falling down for just a minute,
On a post-race M. Andretti,
Yet my whole life's caught up in it,
But to see it
Is to be it,
And the first real step
To fre it:
My soul, that is
I'll see it
Where He'll kindly keep me warm,
And send legions nigh to swarm
My dastard enemy within,
So that 'ere the night is through,
As I strive e'er to be true,
He'll redeem my soul anew,
Grant my eyes a clearer view
Of the things that I must do,
And my mind will He review,
And my willing soul imbue
With the courage
That's essential,
To transcend the existential,
Moving on towards my potential,
To rise
Above
It
All.
Courtesy, kindness, compassion, and love,
Courage and fortitude and chivalry:
Attributes emanating from above,
From Godly parents who love you and me.
Forthright forgiveness, repentance, and virtue,
Flawless integrity, a soul so pure,
A mind and heart as strong as they're true,
A faith and a confidence. I am sure
Of the outcome as I stay on this path,
Pressing forward without deviation,
Living my life as it really is: math,
Constantly seeking for revelation.
Carving an integrated existence,
From the marble block of life's consistence.
A king once asked himself: wherein lies my strength?
In gold, in lands, in military might?
Perhaps dominion, or in my life's length?
Or skill and wit and brains and brawn and height?
But then I queried: what if all were lost,
When adverse fates blew briskly through the land?
Would I withstand the blow and pay the cost?
Would I still mark greatness upon the sand?
Of greatness and glory and might's array,
At daylight's conclusion there's still the fines,
The piper of natural law we must pay.
At last I see, the only real thing,
Is when to the altar our will we bring (1).
Sonnet 20 (Passage of Time)
That life marches on to a welcomed grave,
Where at last we may hasten the sublime
Status of being in a new enclave
Outside of time—that fleeting enemy—
Which serveth death to each blessed moment
We would fain prolong through eternity.
When after every precious second sent
Away, lost, returns with divine interest
Into the holy coffers of the soul,
Wherein we may perpetually invest
In glory that ne'er dies, which doth cajole
A sharpened focus of my use of time;
That I, by spades, might yet summit the climb.
Cursing in my soul,
Pining for a rendezvous
With death's diverting toll.
Fearing full the earthen price,
Cowardly ashamed,
Shrinking 'neath the clamping vice,
Refusing to be blamed.
Pondering if leaving life,
Might calm the tempest's roar,
Would it bring an end to strife?
Or multiply it more?
Fraught a'plenty with sharp thorns.
Wisdom begs I oughtn't gamble;
Just be glad that I was born.
Then search a way to wend my journey,
Through the perilous wastelands,
Avoiding transport on a gurney,
Or slipping fast in life's quicksands.
 |
| Sir Galahad |
Because my heart is pure. (2)
My strength is as the strength of a hundred
Because my mind is focused and my body is bridled.
My strength is as the strength of a thousand
Because I am consistent and never quit.
My strength is as the strength of legions
Because I am God's child and
His eye, hand, heart, and power ever rest upon me.
A Self-Despising Fate
I will never live to be the kind of man I want to be,
Until I turn my life to God and make my 'me' a 'We.'
Peace is what I'm missing from my poor pathetic life,
As I press on without Him, my soul's leprosy grows rife.
 |
| Click HERE to buy this BOOK |
I am a stupid human, I know not where to go,
I fail to be an arrow in God's quiver or on His bow.
What keeps me down and lost beneath these dark and dreary skies?
It all amounts to this: my fellow men I do despise.
I scorn them cuz I pridefully cannot uphold their way,
Disdaining so much of what they do and what they say,
But then an extra painful smart as I begin to see
And face up to the cold, dark truth: they are no worse than me!
And thus the lucid truth unveils, it's not just them I hate,
But also me, and I must face a self-despising fate!
My only hope's to make a change wherein new love I'll greet
Myself and others as I bow down humbly at His feet.
—Dr. JJ
June 21, 2023
Palm Beach Gardens, Florida, USA
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Notes:
1). Maxwell, N.A. (1995). Swallowed Up in the Will of the Father. LDS General Conference talk.
"The submission of one's will is really the only uniquely personal thing we have to place on God's altar. The many other things we 'give,' brothers and sisters, are actually the things He has already given or loaned to us. However, when you and I finally submit ourselves, by letting our individual wills be swallowed up in God's will, then we are really giving something to Him! It is the only possession which is truly ours to give!"
2. See lines 3-4 of Tennyson's poem, Sir Galahad.
