Monday, December 26, 2011

Worm’s Head Revisited

“Try walking on the sea of glass! Every time waves crash you bleed to death! It’s true! You know what I’m talking about!”
That’s what the frost-bitten saline maniac screamed – as he writhed, dune-entangled in fiery fishing lines.
There is no sense in staying up late if you’ve got nothing to say. Without the raging fire of immediacy,
All the good red wine in the world is just tax-money for: highway patrol shoot-out; rapid ricotta ricochet;
Severely severed semantics; Buddha-centre bLa-bLa corseted in three hundred ton staples of leaden dialectic;
Seventy degree refrigerator; rampant rigor mortis repellent overdose; senile silver-screen cupid cosmetics;
Exploding polystyrene fish entrails; satanic sanatorium where Machiavellian mastication conspirators adjourn
Consortium of committed allopathic violence volunteers; and carbon-dated personal inconsistency symposium.
Why reject rapturous invitations to good clean air from the sea and bulging bosoms – fresh from the vine?

Evidence—chapter and verse—propagates priapic self-congratulatory nicotine-neurosis court-room procedures
Which erupt into a rainbow of: compulsory cigarette-smoke radio news; delusory disappointment dictation,
Ill-conceived irritation and self-inveigled acrimonious atrocities of an anger-addict’s double-life projections
Double-standards justification; societal contra-indications; sautéed sociopath soirée of untimely physicality;
Lincolnshire Poacher’s visiting book secreted in Margaret Thatcher’s vampire corset of inverted circumstances;
Wish-fulfilling camera; Vajrayana debt collection agency; metallurgical surgical truce disposal forms.
And hey! Here come the connoisseurs of Blue Nun and Le Piat D’Or! Will they have something witty to say?
About: soap opera travelogue logarithm monologue cataloguers; pre-salted Christmas round-robin manifestoes;
High School championship domino daguerreotype re-unions and belated bunion ‘baby-on-board’ car stickers.

‘Kindred Spirit’ announces ‘New Age Crystal Pendants – the ultimate jewellery for the Enlightened Nineties.’
Better to wash your face in pavement pizza and wear discarded disposable diaper direct from Cardiff city midden!
Chögyam sometimes feels a little annoyed about the way that things seem to go – but there’s no accounting for taste.
It’s possible hat people may be wearing blindfolds. It’s possible that death actually happens – and corpses occur.
It’s possible that anger explains itself right down to the bone marrow - jumping Severn Bridge into the Severn Bore.
It’s possible that every utterance a bellicose belligerent might bellow is not imbued with a great deal of meaning
It’s possible that getting hot under the collar may just be passing time constrained by visceral sixteen ton hawsers
It’s possible that a pernicious penchant for petulant frenzy may lead some to shout: “Anything at all makes sense!”
But Chögyam doesn’t believe a word of it. Chögyam merely listens to the wind without need of drear defensiveness.

Chögyam lights fires at night and warms his toes – integrates with fire element through incandescent vision and sound
Watches shimmy of creation and destruction in amber embers as ancient Arctic antlers rest on respective branches - and
Olive leaves basket the savoury chuckle of scampi and anglicised french-fries à la mode
Fish and Chip Restaurant: aperitifs of nascent nostalgia perched on strange bar-stools; buttered bread of circumspection –
Potted crab of publish and be damned; perfectly chilled Chablis in glasses which frost with the steam of slight revelry;
Delicately battered cod - the piece of cod which passeth all understanding; random razor-blade of relative circumstances –
Dainty demonstration of direct diurnal discrepancies; internally and externally somersaulting financial fantasy salutations:
Transaction is succinct: ‘Does you do, or does you don’t take Access? Shiggada beebup ba-doo bup ba-doo-be doo wah!’
Unnecessary inevitability—avoidably but unavoidably broken dreams—Tower of Song and Worm’s Head Revisited.

Night ululates with salacious suggestions. Distant galaxies streaming out—rolling and tumbling—the whole night long,
Dawn undresses herself – slip-slides away. Dusk invites herself and forms become self-apparent in the luminescent dim.
Prosaic meteor devoid of Prozac, devoid of pretentious predestined proclivities, devoid of lingering Empire Line lingerie –
Flood our vision and leaves no need of import-export expert-textpert filibuster-filbert farandole-fanfare halibut harangue.
Chögyam fixes dinner as sheep meander at various safe distances from his threadbare green-cotton scout-tent of desire.
Cork and walnuts groves “Silk streamer of fantasy—herb sausage of contentment—claret of clarity! Come and eat!”
Simple baked beans without salt or sugar, taste pretty good over an open fire—even though—nothing is quite that simple.
Chögyam requires a plethora of contaminants and pollutants in order to maintain his substantive existence with ample grace.
Disinclined to judgementality—yet prone to whimsy—he might say: “Do remember – every toxin was once your mother.”


8th of June 1991

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About Doc Togden (Ngakpa Chögyam)

As the caption on the author-designed cover of Doc Togden's (Ngakpa Chögyam) upcoming collection of poetry ravings of a mild mannered maniac reads:

Tantra is Art - and a tantrika explores the sense-fields through the Arts. This work paints with the cadences of language - because the poet is both a painter and musician. He marvels at existence whilst lampooning the prevalent sociopathy of spirituality. As semantic Jazz - linguistic density jives with space, taking readers into realms where linear logic is only one possible vector amongst many. Comedy and tragedy dance, provoking a cascade of surreal impressions that change with each reading. Rock & Roll lyrics sung by dakinis erupt in counterpoint to the paradoxical hymns of a 'vicar or vajrayana' - a trans-Atlantic Englishman who raves, tongue-in-cheek, on the nature of reality. This is the first volume to be published in the contemporary genre of 'Critical Mass Poetics' as defined by the author and his students.

On the phenomenon of having two names, he writes:

"I appeared on FaceBook as Doc Togden because I wanted a fresh start in terms of the Arts. I have often found a dual prejudice to exist. If one presents as a musician / artist one is not taken seriously by Buddhists. If one presents as a Buddhist one is not taken seriously by musicians / artists. This is obviously a generalisation – and as such, probably meaningless for anyone apart from myself. It is true however, that Captain Beefheart had to give up his Rock musician persona to be taken seriously as a painter. A few Tibetan Lamas—such a Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche—have managed to evade the censorious radar of common opinion – but the same largesse of view would not seem available to the inconsequential eccentric yogi and yogini. Doc Togden is as much my name as Ngakpa Chögyam because the name on my passport—and other legal documents—is Dr Chögyam Togden. The Tibetan designation ‘ngakpa’ is hard to pronounce for most people and so, as I have a doctorate in Vajrayana Psychology I use that in everyday association outside my rôle as Lama. The title doctor releases me from having to designate myself by gender and appeals to my sense of humour vis-à-vis my fondness for Doc Holliday and a variety of musicians who have ‘Doc’ as their first name. I have five FaceBook friends called Doc and they are all musicians.

The time has now arrived to merge Doc Togden and Ngakpa Chögyam – and to allow them to be as they have always been. Hopefully those who may have looked askance at either will feel reconciled to the fact that they can talk with me as an artist and Buddhist teacher without feeling wary on the one hand or fearful of potential religious polemic on the other. I have no desire to convert anyone to Buddhism – but I do have a desire to offer aspects of Buddhism to the world of Art and Art to those who practise Buddhism. I believe there to be a common language – an essential language that speaks of the timeless efflorescence of the elements. The Arts arise from vision—from the empty space of primal creativity—and that space is the space everyone can access. Buddhists say that everyone is essentially a Buddha. I take from that that everyone is essentially an Artist. Now . . . did Ngakpa Chögyam say that, or did Doc Togden say that? Who ever said it, he’d also like to say that there is essentially no difference."

On Facebook, Doc Togden (Ngakpa Chögyam) describes himself as a "Teacher / Artist: painter; poet; author; life-style choreographer, and musician (vocalist, harp, rhythm bass, and 12 string / resophonic guitars)."

In reference to the roles of "Teacher" and "life-style choreographer", the informed reader will notice the uncanny resemblance of Doc Togden (Ngakpa Chögyam) to Ngak'chang Rinpoche, whom together with Khandro Déchen are the lineage holders of the Aro gTér. The Aro gTér is a stream of Vajrayana Buddhism in which ordination is congruous with romance, marriage, and family life that focuses on the teaching and practice of the Inner Tantras from the point of view of Dzogchen, an essential non-dual teaching.

As a writer, Doc Togden's (Ngakpa Chögyam) most recent books include an odd boy and wisdom eccentrics.