Wednesday, February 16, 2011

The Task of Scholars

If I may venture what the task of scholars
May be, giving due reflection, I'd say :
Make helium the archive so the weight
Of all those thousand years of knowledge, light
As feathers ; which together, form two wings
Which from this earthly realm may fly as high
As spirit yearns ; now that is intellect
At height of all its powers, serving soul.
For staying pond'rous with its weight, and bound
With chains of rote, which ill-enlightened, repeat
Rules, while understanding none, is no
Especial virtue, and may well confuse
The roles of logic and the spirit, which,
The former serving latter, finds its right
And elevated place, but if the spirit
To the mind, the mediocre mind
Of rote-learned boxes, is so bound, then all
The wisdom of the ages overturned
Is for the sake of what should serve! But when
The mind, its wings of knowledge primped and preened,
Can venture out beyond the known-already
Realm, and catching halo of the stellar
Flames, return to share its glowing gems,
Why such a fire blue-illuminated
Mind we ready "genius" give its name!
For wisdom finds its soul in knowing all
The knowledge consciousness recalls is but
The skein upon the surface of the deep;
But down below, in fathoms, 'neath the waves
Which superficial scholars overeager
Watch, is where the secret movement rolls
And finds momentum. There the roots of knowledge
Writhe, and there the genius may in wrangling
Find a frame to which the feathers of
Already lightened knowledge may be pinned,
To form those wings the spirit longs to soar
So high above the clouds with. Knowing this,
We strip the image of a jailer cruel
From knowledge, finding liberation there
Instead, and let the archive form a feast
Of souls, the voices of the ancestors
Returned to dance with us through books as books
Of shadows rendered, summon spirits from
The open leaves of bound-together trees
Of knowledge. For such magic is the reason
I do sit in stacks and archives, just
As shamans sit upon the mounds and graves,
A vision-seeking, so a wizard wisdom
Seeks within the pressed-to-page enchantment
Of the gallery of captured souls
Who sigil-etched into our grimoires speak.
And if you fear exegesis to call
Such necromancy, why the point of all
These otherwise quite pointless scribbles , you
Have altogether missed! For life!, the deeper
Life that we call death must serve, to green
Our e'er-becoming barren meadows with
Fermented saps of wisdom brewed within
The deeps, and such is honor to invoke.


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