Tuesday, April 28, 2009

A scene from TRANSFERENCE - Matthew paints a tree


(A baseball game is just finishing on the wide-screen TV. Matt puts aside a braille book he's been reading. Stacks of them around—only one book—so many volumes.)

(He picks up the remote, and points it at the TV, which he is not directly facing.)

(a commercial)

(a movie, only action—a chase scene. So much noise, no dialog for Matt to follow.)

(A romantic scene on soap opera. An amused, provocative look on Matt's face. He puts down the remote and sits back in the sofa, anticipating where it may go. Just then, they break for a commercial. Disappointedly he reaches for the remote.)

And he took the blind man by the hand, and led him out of the village; and when he had spit on his eyes and laid his hands upon him, he asked him, “Do you see anything?” And he looked up and said, “I see men; but they look like trees walking.” Then again he laid his hands upon his eyes; and he looked intently and was restored, and saw everything clearly. And he sent him away to his home, saying, “Do not even enter the village.”

(CAMERA passes behind Matt's head, L - R)

He took him “out of the village!” Out. Out of his “comfort zone.” This my friends is where it happens. Not where everything is familiar and safe. Out of the city. Now, for the blind, the city is safe. There are buildings, and walls, and streets to follow and guide them. But it is there where we become accustomed to our same old, un-seeing self. If we wish for healing,wish to see, if we wish to truly connect, paradoxically, we need to go where we might be uncomfortable--we need to go outside our safety zone, our comfort area. That is where we will truly see. In the open, away from what is familiar,..where it is not safe. A risk, yes...

(Matt flips off the TV)

(Then back on.)

..see men as trees walking? What does this mean? Do we think that Jesus touch was not potent enough? Not quite, for this demonstrates the “process” of healing. The first touch gave the blind man perfect vision, the second merely restored his worldly eyesight.

(CAMERA continues R – L, TV back in view. The Minister has now morphed to Matt's mind's eye—a swami sitting in Lotus position.)

Now, Men are not trees, and trees are not men. But they so have something in common—Life. What we have in common with each other, and all creatures is Life. If we perceive this first, looking past our differences—skin color, status, rank, position, intellects, beauty, most importantly, if we look and see beyond the ego, and identify what we have in common—Life, then we will truly see clearly, and we do not need our eyesight for this. Perhaps the blind man was not in as much need of that second healing touch as we might think, for he was first given a glimpse of spirit...

(Matt turns off the TV.)

(He reaches for the lamp on the table next to him, feels the bulb. He draws back his hand—hot!--almost tipping the lamp—it had been on all afternoon. He turns it off.)
(Hands back to his lap. Then he reaches and turns the lamp back on. Then off. On again. Stops. He then spins the knob around fast—light going on and off rapidly, till the bulb “pops,” but he keeps spinning it.)

(He gets up and moves to a different chair, and resumes reading his braille book.)

(After a moment, he puts it aside.)

(MATT gets up, goes into the kitchen. Takes a bottle of water from the fridge, a sip. Places it back.
He walks back towards living area, and in guiding himself, brushes his hand on one of Romona's paintings hanging on the wall.)

(He touches it, caresses it. Questions it.)

(He turns and moves towards her studio area.
Inside, he gingerly feels her easel, a fresh painting is on it.
Next to the easel is a table, cluttered with her brushes, paints, and other equipment.
He removes a brush from a can. He feels the brush tip, then waves it under his nose, smelling the paint and thinner.
He places it awkwardly in his hand, holding it as he thinks an artist would. Pretends he is painting, and mimes a palette in his other hand.)

Hold still for ze pose, Mademoiselle, or ze portrait will blur! Ah, ze genius is work!

(He begins to dance around in a silly way, air painting.)

Ze artist! Ze artist! (With exaggerated flourishes, painting the air.) I will paint ze world a new coluer!

(He bumps into another easel, full of Romona's work. He gently runs his hands over them, then carefully flips through them, briefly touching each one. One of them is a painting Romona has done of him, he touches it for no longer than the others, oblivious to it's subject. He gently lays them all back, standing in front of the easel, he places both his hands on the top one. He even closes his eyes, almost if somehow he could “read” the artwork. Obviously fighting despair, he takes his hand off the painting, and resumes with the brush in the air.)

(Still with feigned French accent.) I see men as trees walking!...

(He is walking around, slowly, with arms up in air, like a tree...swaying side to side..)

(He stops, quietly standing...)

(with a sudden insight) Ah ha!, I think that I shall never see...

(His fun seems to fade, as he orients himself to where he thinks the easel full of paintings are...)

(In the air he air paints a tree...)

a poem...or picture...of a tree.

(He reaches out towards the paintings, almost as if to draw the images off the canvas.)

(One last attempt at some fun...turning, and using the brush as if to emphasize a point...)

(With gusto,) Do not even go back to ze villaage!

(He finds his way back to the equipment table, and places the brush back in the can, his fingers lingering a moment before releasing the brush tip.)

(He returns to the love seat in the living room, and picks up his book to read.)


(ROMONA comes in. Matt is asleep in the chair. She goes over to the lamp, turns it on, but nothing. Puzzled, she unscrews the bulb and lays it on the table as a reminder to replace it. She lights a candle on the coffee table, then goes over to the chair, and snuggles in, gently waking Matt...)


Mmm, Babe.

(ROMONA surveying the area by coffee table, with foot reaches and inches one of the Braille books away from the candle.)

Wouldn't you rather read on audio?

(Sleepily) mmNo, I like to read myself...better characters...images.

(He nuzzles again into her neck and hair.)

(Suddenly more alert.) Let's go for a walk, it's a beautiful spring day...

it is! Have you been out?

No, but I can smell it in your hair.

(She covers his face in her long, dark hair. Another kiss.)

Aaa, ze L'air du Temp!

Spring Air...where have you picked up French?

I...don't know...

(They kiss.)

How about a walk to the bedroom? We'll bring the evening in to us....

Scene [?] from TRANSFERENCE (in progress)
--Marty Kummetz

Saturday, April 18, 2009

Two Poems


The muse worries thread,
Back words from deep and briny.
The brilliance of the finished cloth?
It isn’t bright, yet, sometimes, somewhat, shiny.

--Marty Kummetz


Rat's racing,

Wailing, gnashing, teeth,


Loose, scuffed-up boot,

While at home Mom made lasagna.

--Marty Kummetz (firescarecrow)

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

FINALE - The Gates of Hell


The Gates of Hell
(no scenery, no actors, no lines, no action)


Dramatis Personae
Playing the role of Ego through the ages:
  • The subtle serpent (Our Iago who planted the first seeds of all Evil-envy & fear.)
  • Pharaoh
  • Judas
  • The Devil, and all aliases
  • Mine enemies which gather round about (beautifully described by Psalmists)
  • Death

Has played the Roles well, and served true purpose: to be overcome. A Phantom, only existing, only “on stage” when the True Self is not present.

Playing the Role of The True Self:

  • The Awake
  • The Alive
  • The Arisen
  • The AdamEve

Playing the Role of Enmity between the Ego and True Self:

  • The Light (aka Life, Love--can be used interchangeably with Attention and Awareness)
  • Christ
  • Savior
  • The Rose, by all other names

Costumes by The World, Flesh and All Else, LLC


Voice: (whispers from behind the psych and teasers)

psst...there's only One of us...remember?

Sunday, April 12, 2009

A Gardener, A Traveler, and Friends on the Beach

Christ is Risen! Alleluia!

AHA! I could've had a V-8! [konk on head!]
Now, one would not say “I could have had a V-8!” if one is sitting there drinking a V-8. This might illustrate a Beauty and Joy of the Resurrection!

To truly understand this, to really experience (know, I Know that my Redeemer Lives,) the significance of the empty tomb, we need to go back two dark days.

And Jesus uttered a loud cry, and breathed his last. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. Mark 15:37-38

Now, the purpose of a curtain, (also a veil,) is to conceal. Also to block out light.

So now we Awaken, and Rise to Truth--
The Holy of Holies is...empty.

A precious few knew this truth, and either misunderstood, or concealed this truth, out of fear, ignorance, or both.

General Pompey, intruding on this Holy place, baffled to find that it did not contain a terrible God, backing such a troublesome and formidable people such as Israel. (Yet, they possessed power. Where was it?)

The High Priest, entering the Holy of Holies once a year on the Day of Atonement. (Hmm...didn't the High Priest serve a one year term?)

One High Priest in particular, who rent his garments. (He did not do this as a reaction to blasphemy—he knew he was confronting “Truth.” It was merely inconvenient for him.)

Now Christ, “The High Priest,” reveals the truth to us.

The Divine, the Most High does not dwell in a house of stone!

This is why King David heard the voice of God telling him to build a temple, that he was tired of a tent in the desert. Why? A temple could hold more people!

This is where the presence of God truly is!

This Revelation does beg the question, why would the Truth be concealed in the first place, and by God who gave us the plans for the temple, including a veil over the Holy of Holies?

Why? More in a future post, but for now-- from the death of Jesus—he breathed out his last—to his Resurrection, absent from the tomb, he revealed Truth to us. Living requires breathing in as well as breathing out. Continuously. To know truth, we need to allow ourself to “not know” it for a moment.

An empty tomb, much like an empty Holy of Holies, puts God in his proper home. (Which, incidently, is where God always dwelt—we simply were not “Awake” to this, which, also, is another way of saying that we were not present in the House of God.)

Now we are, and how liberating this is. For we can know (experience) the true presence of God, at any time, in any place—It is only as far away as our next breath—which is within us, and all others.

Breathe. Seriously, go ahead, right now.


Can you take a new breath unless you've let out the breath?

We can always hope for the next breath, but is there any doubt, or lack of faith to the one we are presently taking? Experience Life (which is synonymous with Light and Love.) And this, in its essential nature, just is. Therefore, only One. Therefore Eternal.

Namaste. I love this Sanskrit word. This Greeting, borrowed from another Tradition, which means “The Spirit in me recognizes the Spirit in You.” How about that for “an Holy kiss” with which to greet one another? Not, a spirit in me, or the spirit of me, but The Spirit In.

There is only Spirit. All else is but garments.

So sadly funny, some who might argue in a literal “7 days of Creation,” as if that matters all that much, and yet do not take this literally, which really does matter:

“What soever you do to the least of these, my brothers, that you do unto me.”

“The first Commandment is this: Love the lord your God with all your mind, all your heart, all your strength, and all your soul, and the next is like it, love your neighbor as your self.”

Hence, we have the Golden Rule.

Now a rule is a Law, and this one, like gravity, cannot be broken, or disobeyed. What we do unto others, (deed, word, and thought—most importantly thought,) we do unto ourself.

I have no poem for today. Any words of mine would be foolishly inept.

Perhaps this is better.

This Psalm usually evokes images of a pastoral, bucolic setting or place. But, now, read with a new and different light, might we discover the true magnitude of what this poem says of God, ourself, and others—whether a gardener, a stranger walking with us, or friends on the beach.

How lovely is thy dwelling place,
O Lord of hosts!
My soul longs, yea, faints
for the courts of the Lord;
my heart and flesh sing for joy
to the living God.

Even the sparrow finds a home,
and the swallow a nest for herself,
where she may lay her young,
at thy altars, O Lord of hosts,
my King and my God.

Blessed are those who dwell in thy house,
ever singing thy praise!

--Psalm 84:1-4

Christ is Risen! Alleluia! Aha-leluia!

Namaste! And Happy Easter!

Friday, April 10, 2009

The Sword / Heavy Metal



* * *

The Sword / Heavy Metal
(For George Romero)

Lay down to sleep when awake,

Die when you’re alive.

Never rising from the bed, evil works to hide.

Callow slumber walks night-days; Gold film upon the eyes.

Chant "Lead mmmm Barium" [Take five!]


Will you.


--Marty Kummetz

* * *

(silence,... still)


Asphyxiation from Layers of Suffering, Light

Asphyxiation from Layers of Suffering.

Hear now of the true Suffering of Jesus.

He was the one we elected at the beginning, to lead us out of the darkness we were sure to become lost in—waiting outside the perimeter of living, until the appropriate time, or more precisely, when Now had achieved a specific quality, and we became hopelessly lost—to enter in, and rescue us.

The whole of his lifetime he never lost consciousness, he never fell asleep. While this, at first, sounds blissfully wonderful, it really is not. For the Joy in being awake is in the awakening. One who is awake cannot wake up, and only the dead can rise from the dead. Similarly, we can not experience the relief and pleasure of coming home, until we have left home. Jesus, in the entirety of his lifetime never experienced what we, in the dark hours of our lifetime can. Yet, did this ever stop his work?

Did he mope? Drown in self-pity?


He did not even envy this of us. To put envy (the seed of all evil,) away from oneself, and to not covet is the greatest triumph in living. It requires the power of Life, (synonymous with Light and Love--Awareness, which was what he was entirely—Awake.) Thus, all his actions were of love, and accomplished Love.

It is rather bold to say that Jesus was benefiting himself at the same time he benefited us, yet two things to consider. Love benefits all, or it is not love. Secondly, if Love only benefited another, why would we, in our humanity, ever choose to imitate it? (The Divine was poured into fleshy, human vessels. Jesus demonstrated how we can live Divinely, even in our human form.)

So, we can see just how he suffered, and, for his own benefit, as well as ours—so blessedly simultaneously. And this is why he said of his impending death on the cross, “Now will the Son of Man be glorified.” Finally, finally, would he have the opportunity to experience what we have always had throughout our lifetime, thus crying out, as we first did in our sleep, “My God, My God, Why hast thou Forsaken me?”

How hauntingly appropriate this is, for in his own lament, Jesus was answering, and at the same time, the answer to ours. This was also the Lamentation of God, for, in our sleep, as we felt forsaken by God, God was forsaken by us.

More amazing, is the physical suffering of Jesus. Pain and agony!—beating!—nails through one's wrists!?! Or, even if just roped up and hung—having precious, life-giving breath slowly denied--c'mon! Add to it, these components of his Passion—betrayal, denial, isolation, humiliation, all this cruelty inflicted on him, was suffering on top of suffering, on top of suffering, and this cannot be taken from him.

I know I could not have borne it. I'd have cracked, told them whatever they wanted to hear, retracted, or most probably, fled. I'd have broke, or blended into obscurity and anonymity—cowardice--at even the mere possibility of crucifixion. Even in my darkest hours, I've still had friends and family to see me through.

Jesus was not the first ever to be hung on a cross. He would have seen it before, as crucifixion was the preferred form of execution in that day, and always, intentionally, well displayed. Yet he accepted it willingly. With complete awareness, he lived toward this the whole of his lifetime.

--Marty Kummetz (firescarecrow)
--April 10, 2009

* * *

Hope is now gone...

...for in Faith (certainty of outcome) are we healed. In Faith it is accomplished, in Faith do we Live (Love.)

Breathe and experience this. Right Now Here, for Life's sake, please.

* * *


Love remains,

Now here's some Grace:

It's Eternal, not forevermore,

Love conquers




--Marty Kummetz
--December, 2008

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Red Lintel, Gethsemene

Here we stand,

Poised for boundless,

An open door,

A plate, a cup,

Wine and unleavened bread.

So much Blood! Such life struck down...


Death passes overhead.

* * *

“Sleeping?” “What?”

Three friends,
Reclined against an olive tree,
Discussing an evening's strange events--an odd meal,
and Remembrance?

“It's getting late, and tomorrow? What awaits?”

If they'd had it, a thermos of Starbucks, or strong tea—anything against four cups of Passover wine.
So, for strength, a hymn, a prayer, a verse or two.


But sleeping? “Come again?”

And He did, speaking of weak flesh and willing spirit.

“We're quite alert and guarding—no, no one has come by this way, go ahead and pray, all is okay!”

Alert, perhaps, yet not aware. Now, you see, they just weren't there.

Why such turbulence in this Garden? What was lacking?

Stillness. Quiet.

And here's a clue: And he cometh the third time, and saith unto them, Sleep on now, and take your rest: it is enough, the hour is come; behold, the Son of man is betrayed into the hands of sinners. Rise up, let us go; lo, he that betrayeth me is at hand. Mark 14:41, 42 KJV

And another: “And what I say to you I say to all: Watch.” Mark 13:37 RSV

For, you see, Watching brings the Kingdom.

* * *
Another mystery...

Someone flees into the night.
A cloak, a garment, was but all they caught so tight.

* * *

Here we stand,

Poised for boundless,

An open door,

A plate, a cup,

Wine and unleavened bread.

So much Blood! A Life laid down...


We pass over death.

Red Lintel
--Marty Kummetz (firescarecrow)
--April, 2009

--Marty Kummetz (firescarecrow)
--April, 2009

Lament & Deepest Blue


Vile! Sightless!

Will you sprout larval wings and escape

cloy retense?

No. Stay. Find your own


Like, you know,... stay.

stay, i need

can fool.
--Marty Kummetz
* * *
Deepest Blue

Large art is a delving,
Here's the profound--
Breathe deeply,
Live deeply,
Dive deeply,
Raise treasure from lurid depths.

--Marty Kummetz

Monday, April 6, 2009

Attention (a ballad)

The interlude (bulk of the poem, really,) and first stanza following it is the most awesome and vivid dream I've ever had, put to words. I elaborated on one element, one stanza only, (for me to know,) and in that, only to punctuate and emphasize the dream as a whole.

A love poem, of alienation (self-imposed, as always,) friendship, envy, desire, self-deception and misunderstanding, transformation, redemption (hopefully,) and finding our way, despite ourself.

Objectivity is difficult--it is so crystal clear to me--I also lived this dream. I hope something comes through to the reader. If not, pardon me my self-indulgence.


Would you only understand—
Bottoms up, last four;
As, Beautiful, a happiness
Drained ’way before the door.

One starting-ending-starting year,
Chance or luck would see me home.
Right arm into left-hand sleeve
Of frayed, unrav’ling fabric of the known.

Don’t mistake the cold, blunt end.
Sharp starts give us the cue.
And by the pointy turns of fate,
Our passage we’re shown through.

Loose, untamed beast drags iron chains,
Wild and mad men dancing ‘round,
Like blood thund’ring in my veins,
It tears through caverns underground.

Primal beat and fev’rish panting,
‘long with an unearthly chanting,
Burning torches, raging strains, and then,
It powers forth into the open.

Clean and mean, its way it’s messing,
Shrieking; gasping; wails; a scream.
As I dread, mid-pounce, it turns,
Its all compassing mind on me.

Fierce-some speed it came so swift,
More like I was brought to it,
Yet, this way, also, seemed to go—
Time stood still, all movement slowed.

In gradient measure, features changing;
Creatureous countenance transformed.
In silent, still, hypnotic pose,
We’re eye to eye, and nose to nose.

This moment, void of time, in no place nor space,
Within me, deeply scored, so indelibly.
I’ll hold it close—periluminous grace—
Young Mythic Lion’s gentle-bearded, human face.

Quick--He strikes at me—
Slashing claw tears ‘way my cloths,
Final roar, to own purpose goes.

Sound, whole, perplexed—(such odd rebirth—)
Naked and alone I’m left,
A dram of blood upon my chest.

Beast now, upward toward
Stars’ own space rushing,
They in concert spin, surround,
Arms reach; crying; beg a Blessing.

Others fall unburnt to earth…

With these, I sit alone, without
Craving, yearning on, such is desire.
Knowing-glasses. “Did you get one?”
“No, not I.” “Me neither?”

Enmity, yet no foe I strove to be
A friend, yes even family.
Now after all, I’ve one too,
And send it, quickly, back to you.

You might say this one’s on me,
With cheers, share this clear shot.
Be sure, true’s every way to stress—
Never was what I did want.

--Marty Kummetz

Sunday, April 5, 2009

Pageant of Life / Cantata

There is only Spirit. This is Life. All else is but the garments.

Many people spread their cloaks on the road, and others spread leafy branches that they had cut in the fields. Mark 11:8


* * *


an object upward thrown how high
for it to qualify
as being in sky

fifty feet twenty six one foot
less or more
is earth merely heavens floor

above below below above
own eye
relative to tall things nearby

is heaven sky is sky air
at half inch high
is air down there

grace of space

truly then where do we dwell
on earth
do we on bellies crawl

We walk and live upright on ground,
The only souls on earth are feets',
Here and Now to Life lets rise,
Welcome Friends to Paradise!

--Marty Kummetz

Friday, April 3, 2009

Our Responsibility, a Contemplation

Why does God allow “evil” to occur?

Precisely! Good question!

Right on!

...Why do we?

* * *
Begetter of Ours,
Existing in Heaven,
You are as your name is, Holistic, Integral, Whole, and One.

Coming into existence is your will, for us
just like you.

One full loaf, fresh and enough for just now,
we receive, (sometimes lacking is what we need.)

Forgive us for our mess we've made,
(for not punished for sins, we're still punished by them, this is the consequnce of our thoughts, words, and deeds. Yet the manner in which we pay Karmic debt creates new Karma, oh, help us here, please,)
as, and at the time, we forgive others their messing, with you, we pitch in and clean.

A great guarantee, without obligation—this isn't a test—as instructed, we don't tempt you, therefore, you don't tempt us too.

All this is You:
Mastery, The Kingdom
Ability, The Power
The Glory of knowing it's done,
Because you're our Father, we partake of it too,

Not here now, is Now.

So Be It,
if we say it, it is.

* * *
...and God formed man of the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and man became a living soul. Gen 2:7

Dust. The Finest earth to put ourselves into.

Good soil?

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

A Pair of Poems

Oftentimes, I am unsure of objectivity...personal significance or resonating universal tenor?

I hope the latter.




Tears feel so large and good and alive on the face...
Can't live in them, nor swim away.
I'd rather the sea compress on me than

stand on land

with an ocean of kind weight on the cheek


is sadness a womb?

So comforting in its warm, wet hug?

An amnioexocentrotopic baptismo-bag,
intoxicating, passionating, medicating,


masticating, acidating, eating away, eating away, still,

to be borne?


or less?

a blister—still painful dry wound when
pressure's broke,




don't feel, zip it up—
forget the healy-feelies
return to the high!
get the healy-feelies
return to the “Hi”


--Marty Kummetz

--2007 (proceeding o/o Journal-angst of '96)

‘Til Now

For Eckhart Tolle

Tears have become
A sea of living water.
By Love’s light I see my face,
So good, know what to do…
In a week I’ll see you.

--Marty Kummetz