I see nirvana,
In the angle of white snow of late winter.
I feel nirvana,
In the supernatural warmth of a baby's smile;
In the sponge like curiosity of a child's eyes;
In his free and easy grasp of love.
I sense nirvana;
In a congress of Human souls;
All committed and devoted to each other and their Earth.
I grasp nirvana;
In the three forms of Human love;
Eros, Filia, and Agape;
All of which are essential for Human survival.
I imbibe nirvana;
In the knowledge of mankind;
In all its dimension;
And in all its detail.
And finally,
I am seized by nirvana;
In a death which comes;
In a form of God given;
Peaceful;
Painless;
Slumber...
Monday, February 23, 2009
"Her Voice" by Bobby Torpey
Her voice was an instrument of cold, hard eloquence.
And every time she sang, the air carried it with the plaintive dirge of unfulfilled promise.
Her lineage was a long and proud one;
Her name had, for many generations, been her symbol of dignity, passion and beauty.
The days of heroic song ended with her.
For though her larynx would make the notes, her soul could not make the music.
She possessed not the gift, but merely the skill.
God never used her as his trumpet.
She couldn't move minds or stir souls.
Therefore she became, through no fault of her own, the object of scorn and derision.
And her name fell into disrepute.
And her large, preordained, audience shrank to nothing, and she lived alone;
And she died alone...
And every time she sang, the air carried it with the plaintive dirge of unfulfilled promise.
Her lineage was a long and proud one;
Her name had, for many generations, been her symbol of dignity, passion and beauty.
The days of heroic song ended with her.
For though her larynx would make the notes, her soul could not make the music.
She possessed not the gift, but merely the skill.
God never used her as his trumpet.
She couldn't move minds or stir souls.
Therefore she became, through no fault of her own, the object of scorn and derision.
And her name fell into disrepute.
And her large, preordained, audience shrank to nothing, and she lived alone;
And she died alone...
"The Parade Of Humanity" by Bobby Torpey
Lately, I've been watching the parade of humanity. The three ring circus of action, behavior, posture, and what a pathetic spectacle it is. I have seen textbook examples of bigotry, arrogance, ignorance and petulance, and I am deeply saddened. I must look upon these poor souls with charity and sympathy, but it is, indeed, painful.
I search deeply in my mind for the right word to describe my ideal for the human race; not innocence but-yes, becoming; it is the state of ever growing, ever learning (both intellectually and emotionally).
Grace is the human being who looks upon him or herself with humility, and others with understanding.
Grace is the human race at it's individual and it's collective best.
I search deeply in my mind for the right word to describe my ideal for the human race; not innocence but-yes, becoming; it is the state of ever growing, ever learning (both intellectually and emotionally).
Grace is the human being who looks upon him or herself with humility, and others with understanding.
Grace is the human race at it's individual and it's collective best.
"The Spirit of Rebirth" by Bobby Torpey
The well is dry temporarily.
The plain is barren, briefly.
Just as the momentary drought
Of imaginative faculty
Has rendered my mind
A desert of ideas.
The blood is spilled, wastefully.
The bodies are strewn, eternally.
For youth is wealth, and wealth is finite.
And vanity remains a brainless creature.
It learns not.
It is spent;
It is here.
Some of tehem bleed more than others,
And the well is not bottomless.
But for the will of Man,
And the spirit of rebirth.
The plain is barren, briefly.
Just as the momentary drought
Of imaginative faculty
Has rendered my mind
A desert of ideas.
The blood is spilled, wastefully.
The bodies are strewn, eternally.
For youth is wealth, and wealth is finite.
And vanity remains a brainless creature.
It learns not.
It is spent;
It is here.
Some of tehem bleed more than others,
And the well is not bottomless.
But for the will of Man,
And the spirit of rebirth.
"The writer" by Bobby Torpey
On a cold, Grey winter's day,
In the middle of a large American city,
In the living room of a large house,
A man sits and waits.
His mind searching for inspiration.
He is a writer, by aspiration, if not achievement.
In his bedroom, pale blue walls and drab old furniture
Assault the eyes.
And a wooden floor streaked with age.
Unpacked boxes line the corner;
Remnants from the last move.
An old Smith Corona typewriter sits proudly on the desk,
right next to the door;
While it's proprietor tries to unblock himself.
"Talk to me about the self" he asks, to o God in particular.
"Talk to me about being and becoming,
"Change and growth.
"And I shall listen with rapt attention...."
In the middle of a large American city,
In the living room of a large house,
A man sits and waits.
His mind searching for inspiration.
He is a writer, by aspiration, if not achievement.
In his bedroom, pale blue walls and drab old furniture
Assault the eyes.
And a wooden floor streaked with age.
Unpacked boxes line the corner;
Remnants from the last move.
An old Smith Corona typewriter sits proudly on the desk,
right next to the door;
While it's proprietor tries to unblock himself.
"Talk to me about the self" he asks, to o God in particular.
"Talk to me about being and becoming,
"Change and growth.
"And I shall listen with rapt attention...."
"The Joker" by Bobby Torpey
"I think I shall a story" said the Joker.
If my imagination lives, then it will dream again.
And weave tales of unreal occourances.
Tales that will tell some truths, and stir some souls.
And then they will live;
As I will die.
He is the Weaver.
Teller of beginnings,
Middles,
And Ends....
If my imagination lives, then it will dream again.
And weave tales of unreal occourances.
Tales that will tell some truths, and stir some souls.
And then they will live;
As I will die.
He is the Weaver.
Teller of beginnings,
Middles,
And Ends....
"it Just Gets Worse" by Bobby Torpey
It is so unhappy.
It has been this way;
Long time, no end in sight.
And every day,
It just gets worse.
I tried to give;
Tried to make it happy.
Gave it kindness,
Gave it space.
Accepted it,
Helped it.
But it just gets worse.
I don't know it,
Won't know it.
Can't seem to reach it;
And every day it just gets worse.
It has been this way;
Long time, no end in sight.
And every day,
It just gets worse.
I tried to give;
Tried to make it happy.
Gave it kindness,
Gave it space.
Accepted it,
Helped it.
But it just gets worse.
I don't know it,
Won't know it.
Can't seem to reach it;
And every day it just gets worse.
"Freely" by Bobby Torpey
Just freely associating non-freedom,
Just freely believing unbelievers.
Just freely hating lovers,
Of the love;
Of the Lord;
Of the in love;
Of the unloved.
Hate love, love hating;
Hate hating, love loving;
Lover hating hate love loving;
Hater loved hated love making.
Just freely live;
Dying.
Just freely die;
Living.
Just freely associating,
Die livers living,
Or live dyers dying,
Or dead lived die
To live and die,
To love and to hate,
These are real in our hearts,
And nothing else.
Quiet offend, people alive;
Live lives, quiet dead.
And a great few lovers
Are haters of love, and lovers of hate.
Right to write,
Night to write in the moonlight;
Of the sky and the Heavens.
Right to non-right;
Non-right to light;
Of the darkness in the Earth;
And the Hell of suffering.
Mad Leroy in the moonlight.
Spewing of the guts;
Playing in the heart;
Laying out a deal;
Spying of the mind;
Betraying out the soul;
Dealing good for the evil.
Lover of the hater.
Joker of the stealer.
Liar of the truther.
Chooser of the beginner.
Hater of the lover.
Just freely believing unbelievers.
Just freely hating lovers,
Of the love;
Of the Lord;
Of the in love;
Of the unloved.
Hate love, love hating;
Hate hating, love loving;
Lover hating hate love loving;
Hater loved hated love making.
Just freely live;
Dying.
Just freely die;
Living.
Just freely associating,
Die livers living,
Or live dyers dying,
Or dead lived die
To live and die,
To love and to hate,
These are real in our hearts,
And nothing else.
Quiet offend, people alive;
Live lives, quiet dead.
And a great few lovers
Are haters of love, and lovers of hate.
Right to write,
Night to write in the moonlight;
Of the sky and the Heavens.
Right to non-right;
Non-right to light;
Of the darkness in the Earth;
And the Hell of suffering.
Mad Leroy in the moonlight.
Spewing of the guts;
Playing in the heart;
Laying out a deal;
Spying of the mind;
Betraying out the soul;
Dealing good for the evil.
Lover of the hater.
Joker of the stealer.
Liar of the truther.
Chooser of the beginner.
Hater of the lover.
"God's Song" By Bobby Torpey
The priestess in the chapel
And her trembling hands;
And her enchanted eyes;
And her enraptured soul;
And the sight of her weakened body
As it sank to the floor...
And the sight of stunned onlookers seeing
In their eyes, a victim;
But in her own eyes,
In her own soul,
Her being was drawn
To a more liberating vision;
it was the presence of the lord...
The law was never passed,
The sin was never committed,
But, somehow, all the Earth seems locked
In hatred's squalid Dance of Death.
No one was saved,
No one was found.
But our savior is already within us.
He dwealeth in silence;
Awaiting the sound.
He stayeth in secret;
Losing himself,
In order to be found.
He stays in the womb of our souls,
Awaiting the birth of our hearts...
And her trembling hands;
And her enchanted eyes;
And her enraptured soul;
And the sight of her weakened body
As it sank to the floor...
And the sight of stunned onlookers seeing
In their eyes, a victim;
But in her own eyes,
In her own soul,
Her being was drawn
To a more liberating vision;
it was the presence of the lord...
The law was never passed,
The sin was never committed,
But, somehow, all the Earth seems locked
In hatred's squalid Dance of Death.
No one was saved,
No one was found.
But our savior is already within us.
He dwealeth in silence;
Awaiting the sound.
He stayeth in secret;
Losing himself,
In order to be found.
He stays in the womb of our souls,
Awaiting the birth of our hearts...
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Laughter, By Bobby Torpey
"Doctor, my eyes cannot see the sky
Is this the price for having learned not to cry..."
~Jackson Browne~
Laughter is one of the first freedoms. So is crying.
The liberation and release borne on wings of expression.
Only through the free reign of emotion can we give birth to the human soul.
Only the emancipation of the heart can give rise to the myriad manifestation of human glory.
Children must be made to feel, to sense, to express, to touch and to revel.
In this climate, true life can begin.
In this climate of all that is wondrously human;
All art, all science, all games, all charity, all community
All family, all hope.
I only hope that i haven't unwittingly killed off my own feeling center....
This was written approximately 10 years ago as a first draft, and never expanded...
Keep Dreaming ;)
Is this the price for having learned not to cry..."
~Jackson Browne~
Laughter is one of the first freedoms. So is crying.
The liberation and release borne on wings of expression.
Only through the free reign of emotion can we give birth to the human soul.
Only the emancipation of the heart can give rise to the myriad manifestation of human glory.
Children must be made to feel, to sense, to express, to touch and to revel.
In this climate, true life can begin.
In this climate of all that is wondrously human;
All art, all science, all games, all charity, all community
All family, all hope.
I only hope that i haven't unwittingly killed off my own feeling center....
This was written approximately 10 years ago as a first draft, and never expanded...
Keep Dreaming ;)
Gone But Not Forgotton....
The next few blogs are a tribute to my brother-in-law, who has recently passed. His name is Robert Torpey. He passed away on February 5th 2009. He was only 46 years old. He died suddenly from a pulmonary embolism. It was very sudden, and unfortunately, there was nothing that would've been done for him.
This is a copy of the obituary which was published in the program for the funeral service...
Bobby, as we called him, was diagnosed with Autism and organic brain damage at a very early age, and around the age of eight, was struck by a car, which left him with a permanent limp, and emotionally traumatized.
But through his mother's belief, faith and vision for the future, and the inspiration of the family, he began to have the hope to build a life.
Two major contributions he made during his lifetime included a science fiction fan club he organized for the British TV show "Dr. Who", and his annual participation in the "Walk For The Cure", which supports the MS Foundation.
He built a career at a prominent law firm and later pursued an education in computer programming. After completing three years of college, he succeeded in building a career in computer programming and worked for the Department of Defense, along with other major organizations. Most recently, he started his own successful computer programming business, Brightfame Consulting.
Bobby leaves to mourn two brothers: William, and Thomas (his brother Michael passed away some time ago); three sisters-in-law: Dora, Ellen, and Jessica; and four nephews: Brian, Eric, Keith, and Jeffrey.
Lovingly Submitted,
The Family.....
One thing I never knew about Bobby was that he was aspiring to be a writer. I have found many of his writings. Considering the fact that he was Autistic, I think they are very well written.
This is why the next few entries to my blog are dedicated to him. I think the world should see what he wrote, and most of all see that just because society labels you in a certain manner, you can overcome it.
I guess the moral of the story is to not give up.
The first few writings will be posted within the next few days, for anyone who wishes to read them.
I am also in the process of designing a website, dedicated to his memory, in which his writings will also be posted, along with artwork I have done......
As always, Keep Dreaming............
This is a copy of the obituary which was published in the program for the funeral service...
Bobby, as we called him, was diagnosed with Autism and organic brain damage at a very early age, and around the age of eight, was struck by a car, which left him with a permanent limp, and emotionally traumatized.
But through his mother's belief, faith and vision for the future, and the inspiration of the family, he began to have the hope to build a life.
Two major contributions he made during his lifetime included a science fiction fan club he organized for the British TV show "Dr. Who", and his annual participation in the "Walk For The Cure", which supports the MS Foundation.
He built a career at a prominent law firm and later pursued an education in computer programming. After completing three years of college, he succeeded in building a career in computer programming and worked for the Department of Defense, along with other major organizations. Most recently, he started his own successful computer programming business, Brightfame Consulting.
Bobby leaves to mourn two brothers: William, and Thomas (his brother Michael passed away some time ago); three sisters-in-law: Dora, Ellen, and Jessica; and four nephews: Brian, Eric, Keith, and Jeffrey.
Lovingly Submitted,
The Family.....
One thing I never knew about Bobby was that he was aspiring to be a writer. I have found many of his writings. Considering the fact that he was Autistic, I think they are very well written.
This is why the next few entries to my blog are dedicated to him. I think the world should see what he wrote, and most of all see that just because society labels you in a certain manner, you can overcome it.
I guess the moral of the story is to not give up.
The first few writings will be posted within the next few days, for anyone who wishes to read them.
I am also in the process of designing a website, dedicated to his memory, in which his writings will also be posted, along with artwork I have done......
As always, Keep Dreaming............
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