“The world [we] perceive […]”

Nisargadatta Maharaj asserts the following with regard to the mind and matter: “The world you perceive is made of consciousness; what you call matter is consciousness itself.”

What, I wonder, are your thoughts on this sentiment . . .



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HAIKU in German

sinnlos die tränen
wenn eiskalt viele seelen
die menschheit schläft tief

(c) hülya n. yılmaz, 1.17.2018

Free Translation (self):

senseless the tears
if ice-cold the many souls
humanity is in a deep sleep




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HAIKU in Turkish

ne çare ilk kar
çocukların kanını

görmüyor bile

(c) hülya n. yılmaz, 1.17.2018

Free Translation (self):

Alas! The first snow
does not even take notice
of the children’s blood

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. . .

When I ran into the following Adrienne Rich-quote, it was a time of self-awareness for me that seemed to be materializing at a quantum leap-speed at my being’s core level. Here I am today, with much having changed since then -to my amazement. And I wonder, what you make of this short profound statement . . .

Until we find each other, we are alone.” ~ Adrienne Rich


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. . .

Your heart is the softest place on earth. Take care of it.”
Nayyirah Waheed



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. . .

no petting zoo

it was a strange encounter
a first-timer in my backyard

“my” yard?

not in actuality

for they were here
long before i settled in

without an ounce of humility
and unprepared this time . . .

. . . no fancy camera at hand
nor the skilled clicks of my phone

my eyes were opened wide
so i took the picture of the hawk
in its stately perching-pride
with my enchanted inside

its persistent presence
appeared close to mine
(quite close i’d say)
not in the slightest
was it intimated

and I cannot say
that i was in my brightest
utterly sleepy at best …

the few-feet-long divide
was still a major delight
unlike “my” other little animals
that come and leave
as they ever so please at times
it didn’t run or fly away

at a single wave of my hand
the hawk made a secure seat
out of a branch of a barren tree
right at the border of “my” land
amid many of others
that were dressed in dainty leaves

it then flew off …

close enough to the ground
seemingly showing off to me
what it was (and is) capable of …

i stayed on for a while
too long
for a cold mid-November-day
looking forward to its return
to its to-be-continued servings
of customized discoveries ahead

it did not come back …

it may have been so
for it probably did sense
how much i was taken aback
by its self-introduction of grace


a living being like that
cannot be held in chains
it is after all
(and must thus remain)
as one of the freest avians …

so i turned to my good old
worn-out wind-chime
hanging downward on a hook
i wanted it to create a tune
the wind however
(contently in a deep nap)
simply refused to play along

i looked around
and saw that i had
(right at my fingertips at that)
a symphony of a collective sound …

“my” other wild birds

“my” leaps-happy squirrels

“my” big and small cotton-tails

“my” time-traveler chipmunks

had all gaily gathered
for an in-rehears-able
tap-dance routine
vying for my attention
about to show off once again
their daily acts of loyal affection

© hülya n. yılmaz, 11.14.2017


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Aksum . . .

December 17 was the last date when I had posted on my blog . . . I have truly missed being here . . . so, here I am with the first entry of 2018 (Happy New Year, by the by) . . . my three poems that will appear in the January, 2018 issue of The Year of the Poet V, an anthology published by the globe-reaching Inner Child Press (monthly poetry offerings of the Poetry Posse and between 3-4 featured new poets). Entering 2018 strong in its 5th year, this publication will provide the reader with insights into a different cultural entity across the world in each of its issues. January’s focus was Aksum.

what i knew would simply not do

the early Christian era
but Red Sea ruler?

~ ~ ~

empires surely rise

as we live it every day today
they also fall
out of history’s authentic tracks, that is
for only white men get to etch make-believe memories
in acid on the indestructible fabric of lies to come
together, of course, with co-travelers –their women
who in the footsteps of
their 19th century Orientalist counterparts
first become enchanted
(or better yet drunken)
by the foreign “object” of their own fantasies
but then upon their return to their home countries
adhere themselves in perfected loyalty to
painting, writing or chanting
pieces of fascinating stories
all of which serve to mesmerize
the self-appointed ”Subject”
of highest esteem in its collective existence

the “other” is doomed . . .
doomed beyond erasure
far beyond the abyss
of eternity

history’s selective books
again and again, as our times evidence anew,
mount permanently
those powers of self-erected “superior” thrones
in their self-designated importance
for generations and more and more generations to come
on self-constructed paper reserved for mass readings
however fast their seats’ physical capacity
may outgrow their miniscule competence
failing to make room for their incurable ignorance . . .

The Aksum Kingdom too is doomed
doomed to remain as “the inferior other”
not to be ever revered for
what it had in fact been, was and will be
namely, a domain of notable accomplishment
among our current world’s celebrated civilizations
worthy of equally noble presentations
as well as proud representations

it is doomed instead

if only this empire had not been discovered
to be an achievement of blacks
created as a “promised land for uprooted Africans”

if only this empire had not been revived
for its utterly memorable existence
through the efforts of enslaved
18th century black preachers
amid us

in the good old United States . . .

~ ~ ~

what is to be your mark?

Aksum’s origin
is not to be traced back to
Semitic kingdoms



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