SEJACHLOVIM

As a result of a magical discovery, I have resolved in the new year to say or write the word “sejachlovim” as often as possible. And I would urge anyone who reads this to do the same.
You pronounce it like this:
• The first syllable has a short “e” something like “seh."
• The second syllable has the ‘J’ of “jack” but rhymes with “Bach.”
The “ch” is guttural, but a bit softer than the German; more like the the “ch” in “loch” when a real Scot pronounces it.
•“lov” sounds just like “love,” but make the the “o” very round and resonant.
•“im” rhymes with “him,” but sing it a bit.
The stresses are on the second and fourth syllables: seJACHlovIM.
In IPA: sejachlovim / sɛdʒɑːxlʊvɪm/
Of course, you may reasonably wonder why you should say such a thing, or what it means. I can only answer that it doesn’t “mean” anything. It arose from a magical experiment, and only a description of the process by which it was derived would give you any idea. But the nature of magic is such that to explain it would mitigate or even destroy its virtues. I am working hard to erase all knowledge of its origin from my memory.
But it is a word with virtue and its virtues pertain to joy and freedom. No evil or violent or derogatory meaning lies behind it.
It is related to the word “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious” but is shorter and easier to spell.
It is a work appropriate for use as an exclamation of wonder, as a word of greeting or parting, or to seal a document or end a prayer. It is definitely appropriate for shouting during orgasm.
It is also an all-purpose graffito, which should be written on bathroom walls, scrawled in wet concrete, fingered on filthy car windows, etc. I dream of the day this word will capture the imagination of a really good tagger and I’ll see it emblazoned in psychedelic colors on a public building or railroad car.
In the meantime, Sejachlovim!

Poems about Reincarnation

I wrote the first version of this poem over the course of about four months, beginning shortly after I did indeed hear a preacher tell a young woman that those who come to Jesus never have to die. I did indeed think of the line quoted with is from the trailer for the movie "Electra." I like the line, but never saw the movie.

“I’ve died before,” a character whispered
In an old film trailer. “It’s not that bad.”
I never saw the film, but I thought of
That line when once I heard a preacher say
That those who come to Jesus never die.

Well, death always finds us unprepared,
Always saying “Not yet, there’s still so much
“I need to do in this shape, in this world.”
And – yes – it hurts, always, always, and then
Darkness, light, the struggle to the Mother.

But to never die? To stay always stuck
In one reality, no hope to change
The foolishness of this life’s yesterdays
For a new birth’s new hope on new earth?
Nothing but obeisance in some God’s cold halls?

I’d just as soon blink out like a spent bulb,
And, come some death, that I may choose, but not
This time around, nor yet, I think, the next.
There’s too much yet to be tasted and touched,
Many songs unsung, so much still to be done.

The Gods require of us only beauty,
Rich embroidery on time’s tapestry.
Thus, orbiting from life through death to life,
Spirits, bound by a strange attractor, shape
The rose of force and fire. Hast ‘ou seen it?*

There’s no salvation in bending a knee.
Your perfection’s the work of many lives,
Going deeper, brighter, hotter into
What Might Be in the undying dance of
Creation that even the Gods envy.

I asked my most reliable friend and critic for an opinion and she noticed several points that were either clumsy or vague. I agreed with her criticisms but couldn't seem to resolve them and keep the formal structure of the poem. So, I rewrote the whole thing in a night and produced this:

I’ve died before,” I didn’t say. “It’s not that bad.”
Those are lines from a bad old movie, but
They came to me when I heard the preacher
Tell you that those who kneel to Jesus never die.

It’s true dying always seems to come upon us
Not ready, saying “There’s still so much
I could do with this world.” And – yes – it hurts
Always, then comes the hard night trek back toward the Mother.

But do you truly want to stay forever stuck
In one face, one world, with no hope to change
The foolishness of this life’s yesterdays
For a new birth’s new hope on a new earth? Nothing

Left but groveling in some god’s cold halls?
I’d just as soon blink out like a spent bulb,
And, come some death, I’ll make that choice, but not
This time around, nor yet, I think, the next. The Gods

Require of us little but beauty: thus, spirits,
Orbiting from life through death to life,
Bound to that strange attractor, time’s womb, weave
A mighty rose of force and fire. Hast ‘ou seen it?

This is a destiny you won’t find on your knees.
Your perfection’s the work of many lives,
Going deeper, brighter, hotter into
What Might Be, the undying dance of Creation.

That was three months ago, and I've been dithering ever since. I'm not really satisfied with either version, but here they both are. Any opinions are welcome.

Beltane (slightly belated)

Now is all nature engorged and aching,
Irises erect, roses slowly spreading,
We beasts trembling, our hearts’-blood thund’ring
Poised for the thrust and thrash of summer’s dance,
Joyous reaching for fall’s soft satiety
And tristesse. Now May’s strong sun risen high,
Let it begin: Twist and shout!