Ins and Outs

A cat is walking in and
walking out as a tide is going
out and coming in as metro
trains are going out and
coming in as harmonica
buskers suck notes in
and blow notes out,

as workers enter and exit
buildings of their jobs
as your breath is going
out and coming in as
your sense of consciousness
is pulling back, now
pushing forth--in

this moment, as you
observe to yourself
you are alive.



hans ostrom 2019

Betty's Version of Time

Every death shatters time. For instance,
Betty, 92 years old, died, eased (we tell
ourselves) out on a morphine drip. Her
consciousness housed a vast museum

of time with complex installations composed
of fantastic materials perception had gathered
and memory had refined into alloys. There
were fabrics woven of intimacies, light,

fear, houseplants, brooms, secret beliefs,
desires, cooking, laughing, parenting, and
itching. Neuro-video loops played on angled
surfaces. Betty's sense of Betty

powered the place, a generator deep
in the basement. It all collapsed in an instant
just after 3:00 p.m. one day. Betty's magnificent
version of time, gone.


hans ostrom 2018

Consciousness

Consciousness floats in virtual air
like a weightless golden pear
the body imagines with its blood.

Consciousness is absolutely
absurd, partly because it
can reason. Not least of all,

intuition forms an illuminating
shadow. In closing, let us
pray, and let us note

that prayer is one way consciousness
expresses its hope that it's not
talking only to itself.


hans ostrom 2016

"Thinking at a Funeral," by Hans Ostrom

It's sad to think that those little
private,unfounded beliefs (blue underwear
will bring me luck)will die
with each of us,
along with the complex cultures
we create in our minds, whereas something
truly silly like labeling water H-2-0
will persist indefinitely. I was

thinking this at a funeral when
I was supposed to be listening
to a "friend" of the deceased
talk almost exclusively about
himself, not the life of
the dead man. Dear Lord:
there are over 7 billion
vagabond human minds on Earth;
please advise.



hans ostrom 2014

"Lucid Mansion"

Grace creates a spaciousness,

a spacious nest like a meadow

between cedar groves, or a placid

piazza—a place, that is, 

for consciousness to consider

its conscious nest, 

its fortunate fest of being. In

the howling storm of time,

grace manages to accrue

some space, in dark 

vacuity manages to

maintain a lucid mansion.

hans ostrom 1984/2014

It Means to You

It means to you, whatever
you're thinking now
as you sit in a chair, in
a seat, on a bench, looking
at the screen in your
hand, on your lap, on
your desk, on a wall.

It means to you, what
you're thinking
of the noise around you, of
your anxiety, of this
indescribable warren
of ideas, memories, neurons
firing, appetites, instincts--
all of it in its all-at-onceness:
mind.

It means to you, the taste
in your moth of coffee or beer or food
or smoke or your own mouth,
or someone else's. There's
the ache in one place, resentment

in another, in nerves and brain.
Are the unsatisfactions worse
than the dissatisfactions? Are
you comfortable enough
but still bored, angry, afraid,
frustrated? Are you looking
at someone now? It means

to you, it is meaning to you,
and you have been meaning, too.


Hans Ostrom, 2012

Consciousness, This Space

This customary space, consciousness (as you hear
the hiss of evening traffic): a pliable, warped
sphere with membrane boundaries. Sometimes

the activity called thinking permeates
the membrane. And there you are,
situated in a non-view. 

Not so much detached as unbounded.
You see a gleam for a while without
knowing or naming it; it isn't gleam.

....Chrome....toaster....fender...glass...?
Utterly receptive perception . . .

You settle into out-settledness.

Sounds. Blurs.  What is there
enwraps you loosely like
the lightest fabric. There's

the merest hint of, well,
forever (as you hear the
hiss . . .)


Hans Ostrom, 2012