Power of poetry: Dale Biron at TEDxMarin 2013
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- čas přidán 1. 08. 2024
- Dale Biron believes in the provocative, healing, inspiring power of poetry to help each of us build a life and future worth living. He believes great poems are
like powerful "apps" for the mind ... good stories with all the boring parts removed.
In the spirit of ideas worth spreading, TEDx is a program of local, self-organized events that bring people together to share a TED-like experience. At a TEDx event, TEDTalks video and live speakers combine to spark deep discussion and connection in a small group. These local, self-organized events are branded TEDx, where x = independently organized TED event. The TED Conference provides general guidance for the TEDx program, but individual TEDx events are self-organized.* (*Subject to certain rules and regulations)
Did not increase the SIZE but the SOUL AND SPIRIT! Yes!!! Exactly! The root of all truest feeling comes from our soul and spirit. Loved how you put all of this into a presentation.
Thanks for the kind words Moira! And yes … "The Thread"!
Everyone at sometime has been mislead.
And needs to re-evaluate what's in their head.
Regardless of what you profess or claim,
What you really believe may not be the same.
When something's wrong, you may not know why.
But don't ignore your soulful cry.
Brute force hanging onto a fragile thread,
Might just leave you as good as dead.
Deep in your gut you might feel a strain,
As you realize you need a stronger chain.
Love this. So much rhetoric and passion in delivery
We Are ONE
I reminisced of a time long ago when I was only twenty years old.
I was studying English 101 at the University Of British Columbia in the summer of Eighty-Four.
It was at a summer session because I had failed English 101 two years before.
A failure due more to my citizenship in a different realm than to the failings of my intellect, aptitude, or the magnanimity of my core.
“You have such a poignant and evocative writing style,” wrote my teacher on the short story I had submitted the week before.
I had written about a lonely sojourn on a desolate beach in the pregnant moment,
When sunset injures day's abandon and grants night the freedom to roam.
I had written about the mighty North Shore mountains,
Hoary with age and reverberating with an energy ineffable to the mind,
But savoured by the soul.
I remembered how exhausting of mind, but above all of the soul, writing that short-story had been.
I tried to reveal my spirit bare and exposed.
I tried to destroy the ramparts and blow open the heavy gates shielding my secretive core.
But through my exhausting efforts, I had only succeeded in weakening the facade between me and the world,
Usually held at arm's length,
But through my story then, only slightly nearer yet still remote.
There is an essence within everyone hidden in a chamber far beneath the veneer that encrusts our core.
We seldom allow it expression beyond just its fractured shadows dancing on an external wall.
But if we all dig deep and reach into this secretive chamber,
We will, to our astonishment, discover we are all reaching into the same chamber,
Not a separate one for each within the all.
And then we will grasp each other's same-hand.
We all share the same soul.
I knew that in the novel of my compulsion I would have to expose this chamber,
Ramparts and heavy gates destroyed once and for all.
And my novel would then cry out from this collective chamber,
And speak for my left and for my right with one voice for all.
It would be the ineffable ground of being reaching out to humanity from the navel of Creation,
Proclaiming the dawn of a Third Age.
It would announce the sunset of the Second Age before this coming dawn.
A moment pregnant with change that will forever be remembered in the annals of the Civilization of Man.
It would herald a paradigm shift far greater than the Renaissance,
Not just an age of reason, but of reason and divinity intertwined as an inseparable whole.
I envision the Third Age to be promoting the two primordial dancers,
The abstract magical and the other its complementary whole.
To engage in the Dance and thence unshard into the Eternal Garden from whence we all came forth.
They are in Eternity entwined but sharded into the realms of space and time.
They are shards of the divine.
Would composing such a novel be an arduous journey,
Exhausting my body and above all my core?
Would I be as a drowning man,
Gasping for breath,
Kicking and screaming while with futility grasping for shore?
But would every paragraph and page exhaust me,
Yet also leave me yearning for more?
It would, I am sure.
This arduous compulsion will also uplift and invigorate me with waves of catharsis and frisson.
And I pray dearly for the same in my reader,
of soul-piercing joy.
If I fail to evoke the same in my audience then I would have failed to breach the ramparts and the gates shielding my innermost chamber,
Our collective soul.
Only within this innermost shared sanctum can I truly touch someone's soul.
And by touching one, I will be touching them all.
Still holding it
Yessss
Preach my man loving it
Yeah vro spit them bars!
Yesssss, i feel i my brother!! Preach iT!
Oh, I dunno.... It can go either way. An anchor can keep you stable in drifting currents. But, an anchor can also keep you from getting underway. If your anchor is stuck in the mud, maybe you should "let go of the thread".
The Modern Columbus
There comes a time when your thoughts start thinning.
And writer's-block won't let you start by beginning.
So I'll try something new, and by doing some pretending,
I'll trick my brain, and I'll start by ending.
That goal has paid its toll, and now my brain can wander.
Free to explore, I'll go some more, A lllooooonnngg way out yonder.
I don't have to think out-of-the-box, if there is none.
Going to infinity is easy, and might even be fun.
There's no time for common-place pretensions.
So don't tell me there are no unknown dimensions.
I beg your pardon, for not regardin', common practicality.
But it might be cuter, if I take my computer, into criticality.
So now I'll retire, that old beat-up tractor,
Latch the rods, and boot-up the high-tech reactor.
What was known, now has flown, back into the past.
And something grew! All brand new! Now is coming up fast!
Faster than the speed of light, I know it must be best.
To leave all behind, as far as east is from west.
Something new up ahead, and I'm really gaining ground.
Oh! you'll never believe what it is that I have found!
Like the world, Time has curled, into a revolving globe!
What I sent, came back bent. All the data from that probe!
Columbus had an idea, and sailed to prove it true.
He sought something old, but found something new.
But unlike Columbus, all truth be told,
I sought something new, but found something old.
Try as I might to leave from where I departed,
I find myself right back where I started.