CHAPTER 1

PRELUDE

Over his keys the musing organist
Beginning doubtfully and far away,
First lets his fingers wander as they list,
And builds a bridge from Dreamland for his lay:
Then, as the touch of his loved instrument
Gives hope and fervor, nearer draws his theme.
First guessed by faint auroral flushes sent
Along the wavering vista of his dream.

[So begins "The Vision of Sir Launfal," by J.R. Lowell]

We are the music makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams;---
World losers and world-forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and sakers
Of the world forever it seems.
......
For each age is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.
......
You shall teach us your song's new numbers
And things that we dreamed not before:
Yea, in spite of a dreamer who slumbers,
And a singer who sings no more.

[Beginning&Ending of ODE, by O'Shaughnessy]

--The Illustration is from Poetical Works of James Russell Lowell, The Riverside Press, Boston 1882

ARIEL KEEPS SINGING [homages to Shakespeare's The Tempest]

O O O O O I'm your free spirit that will set us free
We're magical as breath – majestic as liberty.
I'm your free spirit to "bark" The Tree of Life – "Awake, awake!"
"Hark, hark! bowgh-wowgh ... Cry cockadiddle-dow!"
"Under the blossom that hangs on the bough."
So we own our own island on this raging sea.
"O Wonder ... O Brave New World." O O O O O

You free Me – Me free You! -- Me free You — You free Me!
We'll do it together like fiddle and bow;
Let the music take us where we need to go.
We'll chanticleer the tempests and make it home
Rudder & Helm synced like a Palindrome.

We're life's truest love song, you and me.
Together we rhyme the clues of mystery
We're the breath that bellows bold destiny.
Our magic – the lyric poetries of Arias & Symphonies,

As we flow the paint, chisel stone, pen the page:
Virtuosos of passages played to the back seats,
Our Song & Dance staging moves as the heart beats.
So we commit "I go – I go" -- crossing rainbow bridges POEM to POEM;
Past Froth & Foam, find our way Home! HOME to HOME! Ohhhhh!!!

O O O O O I'm your free spirit that will set us free
We're magical as breath – majestic as liberty
I'm your free spirit to "bark" The Tree of Life – "Awake, awake!"
"Hark, hark! bowgh-wowgh ... Cry cockadiddle-dow!"
"Under the blossom that hangs on the bough."
So we own our own island on this raging sea.
"O Wonder ... O Brave New World." O O O O O

So let me fly like the thoughts in your mind Be
our spirit's music that dreams of home; New
dreams in the waking that keep the magic
So, when darks are tragic we don't dream alone.
O O O O O ................Ohhhhh!!!........

We're that Nature Spirit ever-calling to get free --
Sprite, nymph, muse -- airy whisperings from a tree.
"Hark, now I hear them! Ding dong bell!" Oh, well!
Just "when Owls do cry" – Caliban "Cries to dream again" --
Past his origin. – And we, riding Fireflies at Dawn,
Cry "All Aboard" our voyage towards the greater light.
We'll take turns as Wind & Sail steering life's craft;
Tame quandries philosophic clinging to physic's raft;
Fire the Prosperoion hearths for Earthlings all.
We, the brightest spirits this Earth has on call.
O O O O O I'm your free spirt that will set us free.
We're magical as breath – majestic as liberty.
I'm your free spirit to "bark" The Tree of Life– "Awake, awake!"
"Hark, hark! bowgh-wowgh ... Cry cockadiddle-dow!"
"Under the blossom that hangs on the bough."
So we own our own island on this raging sea.
"O Wonder ... O Brave New World." O O O O O
TO OWN OUR OWN ISLAND ON THIS RAGING SEA!

{This composed two years before Harvey-Irma-Jose Hurricanes of 9/2017.}

CHAPTER 2

Dedication

I'm dedicating AUGURIES to my little dog, DaisyDew: a beautiful auburn blend of Dachshund and Pomeranian. After 17 years and 24 days, she was failing in all major faculties, lost hearing, orientation, and vision; lost strength and appetite with developed spinal-internal complexities:17 lbs down to 7. She still had that look of pride and connectivity in her eyes, but no sense of the pain and suffering happening and to come. So frail so fragile! She had even lost her BARK! Utter compassion compelled me to put her to sleep on June 5, 2015. She lived a wonderfully long life of ultimate dogginess until her last year; the last two months were the worst. DaisyDew was more than a "mutt-mongrel" in "our" shared world. She was a "Varielion" -- in transcendence of both breeds.) Well, there are canine as well as human "Varielions." She and I – both Varielions – as from that major life happening of "Varient-Parents." To have that unique self is to transcend being a "mere mongrel." The difference twixt us is my "augur- consciousness" and ability to express-conjur the magics of LEAP of ATALE "Arion-Taliesin-Ariel Lyred Enchantments."

She was born May 11, 1998; thus quite old, but did not know that or that "death" awaited her; could not know that I and the DVM could see the near future, which augured painful deterioration: furthermore, we knew we had no solutions for bringing back the life that was leaving her. She was, in fact, soon to die. Did she know this (existentially) by some creaturely "death instinct?" Perhaps. I know she knew "the magics" had changed. The last look in her eyes, by my interpretation, was that she knew something was happening to "us" that she didn't know how to know, but wanted me to fix it as I always did. [Yeats had a phrase for it, perhaps: "And what if excess love, Bewildered them till they died." --from Easter 1916.]

We, howsoever bewildered by it all, do know how to know the inevitability of death for all life-forms on Planet Earth. That future is crystal clear and we do all we can to plan accordingly: even putting a little dog peacefully-gracefully to an everlasting sleep. I'm sure she was aware of being auto-ontic (a keen sense of "self," pride of accomplishment, and awareness of sympathies) and anthro-ontic (species connectivity, affection: that sense of being with and part of). But, like all creatures (so it seems) except we humans, she did not possess the augur-ontic faculty, thus did not know death was her ultimate destiny: was conscious of suffering, but did not know of what's called the "terror of history" and its birth-throes of "unregenerative time." We humans know of this -- which give us our "causal" identity, our amor fati. She was exempt from both predation and procreation; never a sync with either: mostly, with few interuptions, a dog's "prosperoion."

When I get to the subject of The Prosperioion. I'll explore more the dimensionality of such scintilla animae (sparkings of soul) and the meaning of how WE "in-quiringly-en-choir" to comprehend & covenant with death-in-life/life-in-death. Indeed, it is BECAUSE OF realities such as a DaisyDewDog that we experience Wonders That Should Not Die (WONTSUNODI) and 3-D phenomenons — such as DreamsDestinyDeath; each with ITS of (Identity-Time-Space) in those moments of OFTENANETFO – "often found time's eternal now." With this little dog, I experienced many an OFTEN: namely, of shinings from WONTSUNODI: her many pictures in our arms, her runs up that hillside of buttercups, her proudly making it up all our homestead steps (her last weeks, I had to carry her), and our spirited barkings together at the world from the car rides she loved so. We shared an everyday existential need – each for the other. She felt her "pride" and "joy", but with no concept of it – or that, one day, it would not be. Holding this little dog, I held the love of my life, for seven years after she died. An artist, she did a wonderful portrait of DDD. -- Thus, do the DaisyDewDogs of life continue to seep through our sorrows and our gardens to frolic flower-new with freshest dew upon our auguries and covenants with WONTSUNODI. The concept of the "palindrome" will manifest greatly in this book's OFTENANETFO and TUAUT. Here, as prelude, it speaks its presence (no silent "t"). Here, together, we explore new forms/answers of "a new spiritualityWeR" (ANSWeR). Here, we engage how the often found - owl flown - ontic formed – Ariel songs happen as we humans shape our destiny with actions done BECAUSE OF. Mysteriously we are HERE (in holos-empathic-reciprocal-entanglement) and HERE we make our MOVE (modus-operandi-vivendi-eventum) to become all we can be. The "because of" DaisyDewDog has "caused" this Dedication "to be," and the continuance of a most special PROSPEROION WONTSUNODI now in the SHOALS with many loves and my first dog, Sank, whose story was in ALTARPIECES.] I'll get "personal" in this book. Such personal sympathies & simplicities @ complexity are the "corner- stone-flint-stone-philospher's stone--- stepping-covenant stones" of AUGURIES – AROCKAKCORA. This photo of DaisyDew was taken Christmas 2008, when she was at the top of a dog's life in every way. This photo says she knew it, too. Unlike the animal world, generally, she knew not of predation or procreation: totally a "therapeutic" prosperoion. Auguries concludes with her last picture with me.

A WONTSUNODI VARIELION OF THE SHOALS IS DAISYDEW

In her "own way" she felt the "prosperity" of "her" Prosperoion. Often, we shared the magic of Showonakara. Only I could write "Hold Tight" shortly after she was gone. For some of us, life, with creatures such as this, gives living more "home- hold" than all the great prophets of history.

HOLD TIGHT!

    Hold Tight!
Come, take my lead, let us walk together
Awhile in the morning sun to the path
Down by the river to see if the geese
Have flown and if that lonesome swan's still there.
    Hold Tight!
Soon we'll arrive at that little hillside,
Where buttercups will flourish in the spring. Come,
we'll run again to the top of it
And look down upon the patient valley.
    Hold Tight!
There we'll pause, stop, and hug each other tight
As the brisk breeze tugs our hair, tears our eyes
As we stand together -- and walk down again
To the dirt trail by the sun-rippled stream.
    Hold Tight!
Strolling there, we'll look-up through the branches,
Bare, but taut for that first tug of buddings
And seeing the soft clouds sail the blueness,
We'll grasp our happiness and run together towards home.
    Hold Tight!
Seized by joy, we'll sudden stop-- hug tenderly,
As often we did when you were still here.
Come, again, take my lead to hold our forever.
Hold tight, my Wonder-One, our journey's quite undone.
    Hold Tight! My Love!
      Just Hold Tight!

CHAPTER 3

PROLEGOMENA TO ANY FUTURE

Feeling much like a Whitman in search of an Emerson, who will at least read my books for the "gist" and "Eternal Nows" -- even, perchance find them and think-blue with them. I don't expect an Emerson and I'm no Whitman. Not in "my" world, where 1000's of poets-thinkers-luminaries-professors and group-think-spirit-gurus are published every day in books and internet "presences" that, by virtue of technology are a PLENUM OMNI- PLETHORA OMPHALOS POESY OVATES (POPOPO) such as the world has never seen. And, all, in a world gasping-grasping-grouping-groping in the wide-open sea of "spiritual but not religious." (Alak! SPIRBUNORES-POPOPO. Or some such sonorous wording of that manifest.) A world where even "poets" are easily-frequently credentialed as are therapists, clergy, and stock brokers. In all these avenues, I'm a walker (late, too, but not too late I hope) on the shallow berm: hair mussed by the greater GPS vehicles whizzing by to programmable "in place" destinations. I've got rhythm, but no dance partners; no neighborhood bar: no collegium. My raising-the-bar's-bar's a barking-up-a-tree to swish one's own apostrophe. Oh, the raising of one's glass to go "selfie" –face-to-face. Cheers! Slainte! L'Chaim! Salud! ZomWohl! Skal Ya'All!! [Oh, burst of navel-nub to fetal-tech! Have we seat-belts clicked for the coming wreck? Just a fender-bender in the great perhaps -- Midst Zeus-bolt 18 Wheelers raging past?! Perhaps! Sirens are wailing in the pass. Hold-tight! Carpe diem DUI's and copy-cat ISIL's ... ARE ... Are Randomly Everywhere!][O to have a GPS midst the SUPS: those Sirens of Uncaught Poiesis.]

Hey, 'Apo'kstrophes'! Heard your wail&flail squeal from the Holy-Wholly-Rolly-Grail. Still trying to genie-rub-the-hub's nub with 18 wheelers rumbling past you with another book?

Finishing my Trilogy. Got 'er done! Ole! Glad you recall our Altarpieces dialogue.

Even after "Sympathies" you're still not running with the pack. Just jumping up-and-down on your own backyard bench. On the great vehicled track -- a gasp & choke in their exhaust: a fume in their fumes. Your iconic swish's (') lost midst computer gibberish variations of "'".

I know I know I know I know .... ........... but ...

"But!" So, what's the deal with you? Nobody knows you, needs you, reads you or sees you! Sans connects and reconnects – you're not even a disconnect. You're unrecognizable: small-pond-ripple soon to smooth to gone: hardly more memoried than the family dog.

I know. Seems Earth doesn't need "us" humans either. When we're gone from it, insects and bacteria will still go on. Predators roam. Oceans wave. Monarchs gone, too. You Know!

You always say "you know," but in the great POPOPO – what do you really know?

I know my Delphi Oracle is not just "Know Thyself": it's Know Thyself's Home. My ontological sense is fully awake in this undertaking. Like Sisyphus, I've got my AROCK.

Ho! Ho! Ho! Now we're getting serious. "Onto" something real like A-ROCK! You bet! I've dedicated my three books as Auto-Ontic/Anthro-Ontic/ Augur-Ontic. And each one, as Autobiography-Essay-Poetry APE, sings "ontos" of human&planet spirituality.

And, in clearer words!

It's that very personal self-conscious existence, solid as stone, in the context of being a self with others and shared destiny on a ROCK we call Earth, which is our home. Ontology has to do with such concrete realities. I haven't exhausted the definition, I've just detailed these aspects of What Really Has Being For Us On A Daily Basis. Three Basic Sine Qua Nons of human life – like bleeding- birthing- breathing: Being-Belonging-Becoming. Feel the Beat!?

It all sounds like you are still "drumming" at the "nub" of things, where you started. I'm still having trouble seeing how you got your "selfie" nub to fully attach to the "spokie" hub to the tire and to the "augurie" road that's going anywhoknowswhere.

So, true. I had to find my BEME to go along with the GENES & MEMES already in place. I'm burning mini-tread rubber now on the big Freeway of POPOPO ... etc!

You just had to do it didn't you?! Another totus tuus triality! Tertium Quid pop-up!?!

Well, it's not at all planet-unique. Even you are shining your BEME into the eyes of the world. Every human being is a BEME BETWEEN THE GENE AND THE MEME. Biology and Culture give us the vehicle and the gas, but we have to put the pedal to the metal the rubber to the road. It's a trip, a journey, a do it now. Dotting one'sown "i" The GM's will keep on rolling, but our B (no, not Buick, but Being) will turn off the cliff in time and become a being, a BEME, gone over the Falls of Oblivion.

Hey! The big "O" of One's Oeurve Over&Out To Oblivion. Our Zip-Zoom-Zeal before the Zip-Zap-Zonk of that big OOOAOTO sleep of final ZZZZ's to Zero. OLE! I said it!

Well put putt in the oval cup. Because we know our BEME's whacked off the tee to be eventually lost in the pond — we're ever jumping with our TOAD of Tenacious- Ontic-Augur-Drive which, this last book of the trilogy takes full course: 18 wheeler 18 holes: me born on the 18th going strong to 2018. Believe me, I'm not the first to drive home this BEME. G. M. Hopkins cried "What I do is me: for that I came." And H. Van Dyke: "Let me do my work from day to day ... Of all who live, I am the one by whom/ This work can best be done in the right way .../ Because I know for me my work is best." There's that epitome of the " forsaken" ME--of Jesus. We don't want that. It's this sense of a ME with its way-say- day of go-see-do; occasional "Goldilocks" effect. Think of it as TOTOTOTO: timesovum2oeuvre2obit takey-outey.