Stream

     In 1995, at nineteen years old, my life was guided by a continual need to question authority and structure.  The disassembly of scaffolding of self was often manifested into forms of societal rebellion.  As a young writer and poet in high school, I was accustomed to writing in set rhyme scheme and meter.  My favorites were and still are, works written in the Romantic and Victorian periods of English literature- moving from the wild to the tame.

     In 1994, a creative writing class at University of Maryland, Baltimore County (UMBC) was being taught by a renowned local poet, Michael Fallon.  He was somewhat of a sensation and seemed like the guy to cozy-up to if one wished to grow as a poet... Why waste time? I had little desire to learn from academics with no real-world experience, so I vied for a seat, as a freshman, in his hugely popular class.

     Fallon ripped me apart after the first week of class when I brought one of my sonnets in for him to read, "This is antiquated writing, nobody writes this way in contemporary poetry... rhyming, hmm. You have to get rid of the rhyming."  I was devastated.  I was a rhyming machine and damn proud.  My ego was smashed to bits and at first, I thought Michael Fallon was a jerk.  I mean, he didn't like my poetry? What the Hell was wrong with that guy?  But I sucked it up and thought that maybe, just maybe he knew what he was talking about.

     I started writing with no rhymes.  Fallon told us, and I've never forgotten, that a single line of poetry must stand alone as its own poem.  Meaning, that in the few words that comprise a single line, the words must be descriptive enough that it causes the reader's senses to ignite, without any other lines to support it.  Glancing back over assignments marked by Fallon, I still think he was a bit harsh and too fond of succinctness.  Everything had to have a point and flowery language was not tolerated; however, his lessons helped me grow and learn to be more bold, stepping out of imprisoned form and embracing the free.

     After leaving UMBC, I moved back to New Jersey and my parents found me a little condo in Smithville.  It was my first experience living alone and the Internet was a fantastic new way to gather information, including the Magic Mushroom Grower's Guide.  So, I ordered psilocybe cubensis spores from a place in Washington state called Psylocybe Fanaticus and after several weeks, played guinea pig and tried them.

     They were good.  And while journeying with myself one day in 1995, I decided to write in a stream of consciousness and here's the result.  I'm not sure Michael Fallon would like it, the words are too chaotic for his taste, but he'd definitely dig it a lot more than my sonnets and iambs:

Ask me can you feel the pain
shadows across the wall flightless in my outside into my conditional wipeout of dreams and reality gushing with the secrets of life's endless battle of wits and to which I am is no more isolation into the darkness of solitude binding hearts to souls in the seductive sensation of hope and wisdom allocating thoughtfulness every-other-day time and punctuality are not allowable partners in this relationship time is of the essence and ethical standards remain hostage to other people's inquiries into what life is truly about giving into the game of rules of the establishment forgoes and leaves us to guess in endless mind trances into the canker sores of life's twisted design for truly freedom rings its bell in the cracking embraces of the feeling misery incorporates dividing truth from a bunch of desolate desires and ambitions giving into the threshold of puzzle parts that the greatest artist in the world could not put back together again if destiny conducted assessments of each and every one of a hieroglyphic anecdote of symbolism and incongruities that would like to end its time amongst the white plains of the flower trees and apple blossoms in springtime amidst a retreat of the conscious and a festival of the senses delighted by the frequent sounds of laughter and weightlessness of the everything... 


p.s. I still love writing poetry in form and find the discipline to be an art.  It is much more difficult to write a line of descriptive, metered poetry than it is to write in free form.  After having a discussion with a friend, we agreed that poetry is supposed to make sense of the chaotic, wild world, not add to it.




Photo by Katrina Mayo

Denial

A woman sits
smiling eyes, staring,
a world of idealism
wishing, yearning--
Tattered memories
deny love's loss; however,
Truth knows not of denial.
Find her heart
buried beneath tarnished walls--
silver-plated dreams.
Passive feelings,
floating through skeleton halls

skimming sweetness but,
falling short of
materialized love.
Success in relations of
heart's joy,
barren--
wasted
futile desires, efforts.
Visions fade
becoming cataracts
of mind's eye.
Still--
lips stretch ear
to ear;
nose turns upward
in the face of destiny;
Musky odors of man
envelop insecurities,
as Truth, again,
must yield to
azure skies
glimmering with hope.

6 Feb 97

Young Lovers (For L.E.)

Her naked body glistens in moonlight-
Morning dew envelopes supple, sweet skin;
Heat rising, escape the clothes I am in!
Beside her I lie, hidden from all sight.
Twist, bend, stretch'd legs toward crimson lips-
Part gently Love's door to heavenly bliss;
Extend warm tongue to meet her with a kiss;
Slipping slowly inside, warm fingertips.
Hummingbird extracting sweet nectar, deep
Penetrate, seizing the budding, pink stone,
Kindly pinch, tease, leave the flower alone;
Steal away quickly, their secret to keep.
Folded, concealed in her love's mad embrace,
Kiss warm tenderness- the lips on her face. 

-Gabrielle Cianfrani 2003

Body Electric

Turn on my Body Electric,

come-- 

brush against my quarks,

a chemistry explosively 

revealed 

after dark

I wish to be your 

lightning rod,

 ZAP! me in delight,

slide in, explore, 

there's so much more,

find vision without sight

So long, I've searched through galaxies,

foraged through a maze

of lifeless, 

empty energy

stunted in a haze

Get warped, 

consume my juicy space,

take journeys in my mind,

wrap warm lips around 

every particle you can find

-Gabrielle Cianfrani  2008

I Am, or Am I?

On Sunday mornings, the Tibetan Buddhist Center of Philadelphia invites people to join in meditative practices, as well as holds group (sangha) discussions regarding various aspects of Buddhist thought and philosophy. Last week, after the traditional first-hour, the sangha, led by a senior teacher (when Ven. Losang Samten is away) in the Introduction to Buddhism series, learned of and discussed Vipaśyanā. This form of meditation practice is considered "insight" meditation where one thinks critically of the nature of reality, asking, "Who am I?" and "What is Reality?" While the question must not plague and weigh down the mind, it surfaces in daily life, bobbing up, like little fish in water.

In the last several minutes of the discussion, Jeffrey Carr's summary statement was inspiring when he said, "You only exist in relation to your experiences." What a profound statement- not so much profound in the words as it becomes when one analyzes the breadth of such a notion.

You only exist in relation to your experiences.

Not only will the meaning confound the truth seeker, it opens the clichéd Pandora's Box of self-inquiry. Certainly, people have delved, introspectively, into this realm as it pertains to self identity and the self in relation to the surrounding universe, for millennia. In building upon Jeff's comment, one may see that the individual's own experiences only exist, then, in relation to another person's experiences. If there is only one person, with no other existing beings, does the person exist? No. How can he?

This is reminisce of the ceremonial native North American sweat lodge experience where cool air ceases to be. One enters the lodge, fully knowing the idea of "fresh air"-- air that moves and flows around us and through us. Gradually, within the lodge, steam grows. There is no crisp flow that shocks one back into the safety and comfort of control of self and Ego, there is just steam. Thicker and thicker, it grows over many hours, and soon all one knows is steam and heat. It becomes what "is". There is no dichotomy, nothing to compare "this" to "that". Cool does not exist. Did it ever? One crawls from the claustrophobic womb of the lodge, the breath is taken and again, one remembers the meaning of "cool, crisp air".

From a sociological perspective, one observation is to extend this to greater society, recognizing that a universal interdependence exists. I cannot exist without I (you, me, they, we, he, she, they, us). Therefore, from a psychological perspective, one may also observe that because of this truth, it becomes a matter of life and death of the self that one have the ability to express his or her own life experiences.

It's no wonder that people act-out, demanding recognition of the self-- it brings material, physical validation to the very existence of the self.

This is me. This is you.

From the perspective of human maturation and growth, one finds it nearly impossibile to move beyond freeing that self that requires attention and validation and into a place of peace unless one finds satisfaction in believing he or she exists. If not reconciled, the self will continue to seek satisfaction and contentment in the world-at-large.

How one, then, identifies this lack of satisfaction determines that person's interaction with the rest of the "selves" that simultaneously exist alongside the individual. We are afraid. We are hungry. We are angry. We are love. We are compassion. We are peace.

So, what are you?

In 1999, I wrote a poem in response to my friend, Kelly, to whom I was attempting to convey that because of this interdependence we all all have with each other, one can then free one's self in saying that the "self" can then be defined to encompass all that exists. It has been published on the Zen Buddhist Order of Hsu Yun's website for ten years, after Abbot Chuan Zhi Shakya gave me precepts into the Order and named me, Fa Ming, which translates to “Brilliant Light”:

The Mask

The mask is placed upon the face,

yet envelopes all of me.

For with no disguise, how would your eyes

handle what they see?

I am yesterday, tomorrow, today,

I am all that will ever exist...

the tears you fear, the noise you hear,

a long awaited kiss.

For you I bend; to you, I extend

my million tentacle hands--

they grab you, feel you, show how to heal you

so you may understand...

Why.

I wear the mask, so you Can ask

Truth to seep into your mind--

"I am" is all you need to call

and Eternity you will find.

The Wiki is Leaking, Somebody Call a Plumber

For months, mainstream media has focused on the Wikileaks website where tens of thousands of documents, videos, and other forms of media which would, otherwise, have remained out of public scrutiny have been released for societal purview. From this, comes the discussion of ethics in business.

In its own words, Wikileaks says, "Our primary interest is in exposing oppressive regimes in Asia, the former Soviet bloc, Sub-Saharan Africa and the Middle East, but we also expect to be of assistance to people of all regions who wish to reveal unethical behavior in their governments and corporations."

How one defines what is deemed unethical is arbitrary and subjective. One defines personal values and ethics according to individual and societal culture, norms, mores, and taboos, which are so deeply entrenched in one's self from an individual's moment of birth, one cannot assuredly say that what is for one is for many. Lest one confuse the meaning of ethics, it is important to state that, in this instance, ethics is defined as "the principles of conduct governing an individual or a group". Around the world, personal and cultural ethics have defined entire societies since the beginnings of "civilized" humankind. Currently, examples of societal cohesion are found amongst allied, global nations; likewise, others clash head-on in an attempt to reign over defining "right" and "wrong". From a worldly perspective to a personal, micro-perspective- as a world citizen and as a member of a local community, ethics guide decisions and courses of action within one's self and in the manner one conducts actions in the greater world.

In the case of Wikileaks, it releases private or secured documents and other media, which it deems worthy of public view, and it publishes the media without apology, shame, or regret. In the United States, there are corporate whistleblower laws that protect individuals' rights against retaliation from entities (financial loss, loss of life or liberty) which have violated laws of professional ethics. In the U.S., the belief is that corporations, acting as single entities, are not capable of policing themselves and that the government does not have the necessary resources to adequately monitor ethical behavior across the board. So, while it has regulatory commissions, it also recognizes the importance of protecting those whistleblowers with the understanding that there is a societal obligation and burden for all to maintain certain categorical imperatives; that is, those matters on which the majority of people agree. For instance, in the U.S., people by-and-large follow the ethics of the Ten Commandments- no killing, no stealing, no raping, no adultery, speak well of others, respect neighbors, and be a good citizen.

Is what Wikileaks does considered ethical? For the most part, society also judges what is ethical according to the good and positive results which can be reaped from the truth. Whistleblowers, in the past, have helped shed the light on grievous acts in order to protect others from wrongdoing. Because corporations and governments, enjoy certain societal power, therefore, having the ability to affect the less-powerful, society also holds these entities in a higher regard when it comes to being accountable and answering for its actions.

So far, the world has seen Wikileaks play games like a playground bully. The data and information it releases, at best, seems petty, gossipy, and only causes societal upheaval and mistrust. Furthermore, the most recent Wikileaks incident involving the release of foreign diplomats' confidential wire communications could have caused real, physical injury to those in the business of foreign relations. There are also real rules and laws that exist in world governments. In the U.S., this means that Wikileaks and anyone who steals and uses U.S. military classified secret information during wartime is in violation of the Espionage Act of 1917. Here, it is punishable by death.

The ethical question here is whether all information should just be available, without regard to whether the information can damage, ruin, kill, and destroy lives in reputations, relations with others, and financial condition? Is it Freedom of Speech, or is it a chaotic, bullying means to push one entity's idea of what is ethical?

It seems that Wikileaks is the gossiping family member who, as a source of his or her own entertainment, will happily let everyone know that no secret is safe. While some have said that Wikileaks is not responsible for leaking the information in the sense that someone else, not with the organization, is responsible for the information gathering, society expects that, ethically, if in possession of what is known to belong to someone else, there remains an obligation to return that which was stolen, no? This isn't a case of Enron where taxpayers and governments are being bilked, or polluted waters that have caused serious, environmental damage and genetic mutation in humans and plants as in past cases with 3M and GE, so where does society say enough is enough?

This recent State Department matter was none of anyone's business except for whom the information was intended. Foreign diplomats build relationships with people in areas around the world, in places the U.S. may or may not be seen in a favorable light. When we meet people, we gather information about them to try to better understand them, so we can find common-ground in an effort to support our own interests. It makes life easier. It is not a false relationship of use and abuse, it is what people have done in the entire history of human relationships. It is how progress is made.

Happy Birthday, John Lennon

1995 was a year filled with John Lennon. Advertising media stormed the market and, miraculously, a never released Lennon song, "Free as a Bird" launched the new Beatles Anthology.

At the time, I was a junior in college and heavily into everything Beatles. To help solidify the personal connection I felt through Lennon's artistic angst, I discovered we are both Libra (born a week apart and, I, in the same year as Lennon's son, Sean, who was also born on his birthday). So, naturally, I named my cat "Winston" after Lennon's middle name and bought every album I could get my hands on, even vinyl was newly released and remastered. Looking back in time amuses as I pause to think about why 19 years old is so ripe for The Beatles... free minds, open hearts, awakening, peace. John's messages in his song writing and political activism were much more keen to my young brain than other Beatles, at the time.

As a lifelong poet, it turned out that 19 was also the perfect age to be this vessel of recycled energy that intakes information and then transforms it, pushing it back out to the world in a new way. In the two years since leaving high school and with a major in English, focusing on creative writing, classroom experiences lead me away from Romantic poets, rhyme scheme and meter. I found myself (smack!) at the end of the twentieth century writing free form and playing around with the visual appearance of words on a page and how the image could intertwine with the words to create a more encompassing meaning. I stopped writing unrequited love poems and began writing darker pieces that demanded social justice and which mocked authority. By 1997, nine of those poems had been published in several college literary journals.

Only fifteen years after his death, after just turning twenty, I wondered what would be if John Lennon were still living. I was driving home from Philly one night and lived in a place called Smithville which borders the South Jersey pine barrens. Moss Mill Rd. is a single lane road, excruciatingly dark at night and stretches 20 miles from Hammonton to Pomona through thick woods, which I frequently chose to take instead of the police-thick major highway where I could be more than bothered for smoking giant, smelly joints in my car. And on this night, December 28, 1995, I imagined a wonderful fantasy and wrote it down on paper. It's one of the nine that have been published and it goes like this:

Dear J.W.L,

Last night I was cruising down,

down that lengthy highway road

and I heard a voice rumble out,

"Any wish will be yours"

I kept driving, with a smile,

feeling depersonalized for a bit;

finally, I could Let it Be,

a great man'd be returning

I made the wish to be with you,

thirty years before this day

we'd been having a conversation;

a quantum leap into your eyes

I spoke all the right words,

thoughts I knew you had thought

but hadn't yet verbalized;

intrigued, we walked alone

The time came for me to vanish;

I handed you a thick envelope,

"Don't open this until Monday,

December eighth, nineteen eighty"

You looked puzzled, I only grimaced;

you asked me why

I said I could not say, the answers were inside;

I made you swear, you did

I kissed your cold cheek,

your arm touched my shoulder

moving down my arm, 'til our hands

briefly met- I was gone

Again, I found myself in my car

on that same, winding road;

parked the car, opened my door;

There you were, fifty-five years old

My wish came true

The world is a better place

The War is Over

Imagine that

_____

Here I am, 15 years later, still wondering, as many whom felt an affinity to who we knew as John Lennon, what about the world would be different if he were living. Perhaps, there is too much belief in Lennon as some super hero who, truly, could bring the world together as One. That might be true, but then, isn't it wonderful to imagine? There's nothing wrong with attaining to Lennon's vision, which will live in many hearts for eternity.