Whispered Words
This poem is meant as an antidote to flowery poetry everywhere. I am not a great fan of the mythological form commonly referred to as 'The New Age', it seems to me to be mostly secondhand, ill conceived and populated by those who are victims of mythic disassociation. I remember sitting with a group of individuals (I have spent quite some time researching the existence of this phenomena) who were listening to a person they described as a 'self realised being'. This person came from South America and offered a name from India whilst 'teaching' a mish mash of concepts requiring no more discipline in learning than the requirement for the followers to accept and believe his words. A familiar model of the times used by the circus of gurus predating on the flotsam of the post Christianity first world. The moment that stuck in my mind was when the phone rang in another room and someone jumped up declaring "Excuse me for a moment, that is my broker phoning from Los Angeles.". The total acceptance of this statement without the slightest sign of imbalance or discomfort was ludicrous bearing in mind that the 'self realised being' and his willing disciples had to stop their intense discussion on non-attachment to the physical reality whilst the financial portfolio was attended to.
This is one of the indicators of 'New Age' psychosis, the spiritual justification of money and wealth. These dreadfully lost souls, abandoning the decay of traditional Christianity, where their status and social position was established, seek a mythological form that supports their wealth and money making activities with a spiritual underpinning. Most common is the idea that the universe provides for those individuals who are reborn after previously good spiritual lives. This very neat trick also implies that wealthy people are also spiritually good and leaves all concerned very satisfied with themselves.
