Norman Allan
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Norman Allan : the story for Ezra
book three: towards joy
another chapter two:
... a sphere of light ...  
Chapter 1:   "from spiralling ecstatically this...            Chapter 6: thoughts
Chapter 2:   .... a sphere of light .....                             Chapter 7:
Chapter 3:    Dr. Allan's Medicine Show                      Chapter 8
Chapter:4:   Ted Allan in Spain:the graphic novel      Chapter 9:
Chapter 5: :                                                                     Chapter 10:


  chapter two: ... a sphere of light ....  

we are like a sphere of light
and our wounds tune us

four stories for Linda




do we have to  she whispered
and that sent me away off
to Gaza    and another life

I tend the mules
I am alone
and these are not my people
   another life
   with no joy and no reprise

yes  we have to  I answered
and it sent me away
with the infinite dragon      Ouroboros,
tapping my shoulder as
I spun through mirrors
into what many lifelines

the last lap behind the mirror
I was an Edwardian gentleman
walking my fields
shotgun in hand      and
I was a mother Partridge
wondering whether to break cover

was there a boom
and I was back in the room
awake gazing at the "gas fire"
(a British room's,
mid-twentieth century
gas fire    they glowed    red    and blue)

the child! something's wrong with
the child's imperiled

It was three months later
the motor vehicle accident
the child through the windscreen
minor injuries
but her mother mauled
(no wonder she hadn't wanted to stay
for the long haul)

and what is the relevance
    somehow it relates
    to the "doom"



I was sitting meditating
a lifetime later
and boom
like a shotgun's blast
in the guts
under the diaphragm
like a kick from proverbial mule
I've never felt a greater pain
a full thirty seconds     more
oh my God

Irritable Bowel Disease
is a diagnosis of exclusion
so there we go
it was     "paroxysmal"
and it returns on occasion
though only when I'm "flying" high
and less and less
   three years on its devolved
   to a nausea
yet still
this doom    looms
down in the belly



I was flying
with you
and Moon

you pointed to your crystal pendant
a tangerine quartz
a small pendant
wrapped in copper wire
smaller     much smaller     than your little finger

Moon gave me this you said
and it was aglow
a glowing star
spiculated      symmetries
unlike     not like a snowflake
more like something out of Star Wars
small     gentle     yet bright     light

I gasped
mother it shines!



so sitting beside you
after the ceremony
the "puja" chanting
the other day
flying again
(we'll use that euphemism [with this apology]
for a pot-stoned psychedelic what'sit)
holding your hand with
a walnut-sized ball of light
between our palms
a cool light like the tangerine starship's
that light present too
here now then there
and a while on   a while gone
my mind tracked to that doom
and a little epiphany bloomed
in my belly

we are like a sphere of light
and the wounds tune us
pain brings     pain rings a tone
that colours our being

and that's the tale
the little I've tumbled
of the tune
of the doom

and there   too   then
I was massaging my "pecs" a pain connected
and Mel injected
what's going on there?

I'll write you the story   I said

so this is the tale
so far
of my gleanings
of the wounds
that are shaping
my world




  notes to my brother seth
I got stoned and wrote a poem

notes to my brother seth

I got stoned and wrote a poem

now some stuff might
seem crazy is what I think
have seen    wonder about

you, bro seth seemed sane enough to me
in your two hour fit

i wonder about (the sadness in the hippie music
and worry about your ankle

i'm falling into this solipsistic
(paranoia... delusional Alan Wattsian thing
that it must be a "dream"
a "seems"
this must be a movie
and i'm dreaming my wildest and worst whims
how could anyone be as brilliant as me
'snot likely
{but the sadness round the hippie music where could that come from
from childhood or another life or

there is this spasmic thing that stoners now suffer
OhMyHolyGod  woe

and bro seth you googled  twitch  weed
and we saw that it's common
(and there's a visceral version
I cramp in the gut (and there's nausea)
and the diaphragm?
and i think of it as a wound
this doom
bro seth
why do we do it

(to visit a holy vision
of the divine

in kind your friend
Pasha (his hippie name)


This is two, or three, stories

The first is about holding your hand and "the doom" (and it might be quite short).

After the Saturday's Puja (were there half a dozen of us left): I was sitting on the sofa beside you, to your left, and took my hand. (We were palm to palm.)
     But there is more I need to speak of the setting. This was the end of January, 2017. For New Years I had given up smoking in a habitual fashion.



and, OMG, "what the eff just happened?"


so two stories

one concerns holding your hand            and the doom

the second was transpiring while this was going on
it is about contact, connection, and it is rather complex, and rather private
and growing more intense by the day

  Holding your hand the light the light in the tangerine quartz, the light that we are, and down there in the ball of being, the wounds set a tone (and exploring pecs that day) don't forget the doom  

Papa Yang Shen has phoned: Yin Shen is crying hysterically in her room (and I do not get to ask why, but apparently...), It`s all my fault, You have been totally unprofessional, crazy man even, I`ve protected you in the (Tai Chi) community   for years, and now, I`ve spoken to lawyers,. I am protecting my family. Do not talk to my daughter. Do not talk to me. Leave us alone. Am I clear.

Ten minutes into the diatribe, for what can I say? I cross my fingers and mumble

What can I say? That Yin is my patient, not you. That, as it happens, I have never tried to contact Yin. (You, or she, has contacted me.) And the heart aches. And yes it is scary. Yin, I will write you a poem, and post it (everywhere).



harm: first (try to) do no...

I killed a fly this morning
"squeegeeing" the shower
I look out for the little guys
(I call them delta flies
they are very tiny bathroom folk)

my squeegee was in motion
as I saw my wee "friend?"
(all my relations we say)
I saw him, it, move -
and I was moving too fast

he's balled up in some tissue now
on my altar
I've said a prayer

and meanwhile you're caught in such a noose
and so much fur is flying



oh lets find all the bits that I wrote in my book since holding your hand

only connect


  therte is another story to relate here, my first writed story, reportage, the story i've lost  
oh baby I've not helped you ahgh

  oh, and do visit : the website