An Esoteric Review Of Erik Satie Gymnopedie Music

Reading Time: 2 minutes


Erik Satie is an under-appreciated french pianist from the 1880’s who composed music unlike any other. This unsual music reflects the peculiar man behind it. Satie would only eat white foods, carried a hammer for self-protection, had a thing for umbrellas and was ridiculed as a less-than-diligent pianist in the conservatory.

In listening to his music, we are taken to a melancholic and introspective space within the mind.

When I close my eyes and allow his popular Gymnopedie No. 1 to infuse my consciousness like tea leaves in hot water I am taken to a world that is always rainy with grey clouds. I look out my windowpane to see a young girl dressed in color walking a dog while holding an umbrella … A sense of connection with unattachment. The flowers outside my window enjoy the rain. But there is a loneliness to this mental space the music creates. There is a sense of loss coupled with an acetic independent hope. A dichotomy of a silent mind with introspection. A balance of melancholy with contentment. There is a sense of growing age that makes you look upon your years in retrospection. Furthering the dichotomy is the sense of static micro-centric time while the broader world continues on with the irregular ticking of a loping antique clock.

What once was and what will be.


In listening to his Gnossienne, we are taken to an equally rainy world. A place where deep introspection takes place. Our mind meanders through a dreamy space where we see the archetypes of humanity from the soft to the hard. In most all of Satie’s work we feel the push and pull of polar dichotomies. As we drift and flow we scale peaks and descend into valleys. We feel a melancholy angst of loss. Perhaps this reflects his potentially tormented heart from the early relationship dissolution with his one and only love in life. We can feel this heartbreak as we project our own losses onto the experience of the music.

Poetry – Lone Tree On The Hill

Reading Time: 1 minute


Lone tree on hill is loudest.

The free wind blows through with full wisdom.

Tenacious, independent, strong tree.

The rocky resinous soil it grows.

Layers of bark like sacred pages.

Poetry – Into The Earth

Reading Time: 2 minutes


I am a man of passion.

I am a man of light.

I am a man of transmission.

I am a man of fight.

I am a man of action.

I am a man of might.

I am a man of conversation.

I am a man of elation.

But it is times of silent reception,

Where I derive power.

I stand here with open hands.

In the darkness of the night

With my feet firmly in the land.

I take off my glasses

To not see the masses.

Rain comes down

Dripping to the ground

Washing away my ego

I am nothing

I am everything

The soil turns to mud.

I sink deeper.

I look through the rain towards the sky.

I sink deeper.

I feel the soft grass and rugged leaves brush my hands.

I sink deeper.

I smell the earth and the purifying scent of sage.

I sink deeper.

I hear the chatter of coyotes and the whistle of hawks.

I sink deeper.

There is darkness.

I am enveloped and free.

I am of the earth.

I am in the earth.

The heartbeat is loud. Her warmth is comforting

Roots grow through me. I am torn apart. Holes. Time passes. Contentment, happiness relief. My breath slows to the scale of glacial mountains. My consciousness swings outside of physical constraints. Like being pushed on a swing by an invisible hand. The pendulum swings progressively wider until there is no swing, only cycles. Faster and faster a vortexing whirlpool develops. I am the eye.

There is no movement and all movement.

No sound and all sound.

Nothing and everything.

Presence and future-past.

There is humming that reverberates in all of my being like a transformer on an electrical line.

With every exhale there is death and with every inhale there is birth.

What tremendous responsibility until you realize they are all the same. Animals exhale that which plants inhale. Trees exhale that which humans inhale. A spinning top, there is balance. Only the hologram exists. Feeling through others, is this compassion? I feel what they’re going through. I see through your eyes, hear through your ears, and smell through your nose. I understand your mental processes, your emotions. I feel your pain, heartbreaks, love, aspirations, losses, grief, ecstasy, joy, warmth, coldness, anger, rage, softness, gentleness, courage, peace….

So much to absorb. You have to be eaten by the earth to be able to absorb. Ever cell must split to allow experience to permeate fully. Tears fall while I dance with joy. The forward hope of exiting the womb with the finalness of dying and entering back to earth.

I close my eyes but I see.

I dampen my ears but I hear.

It’s so loud. It’s so bright.

Let it go. Let it go. Let it go.

Dissolve and expand. Salt melts into water. Ice melts into ocean.
Melt into oblivion; into everything.

You won’t remember when you remember everything.

The spiral encircles outward as images pass by with incomprehensible speed.

This is why they say the universe is expanding.

One after another.

Birth and death.

The odometer keeps ticking.

Calendars keep turning.

Muscles twitch like when in dream state.

Don’t forget to breath.

Momentum and inertia.

Dissolving into unification.

The rain drops turns to river turns to ocean.

Poetry – Clearing Fog

Reading Time: 1 minute


Sitting on the hill

I am this soil

Enveloped in fog

I think I will sleep

In waking there is warmth

My ears hear the morning sun

My pores open with receptivity

Finally the haze begins to clear

Like a stiff winged butterfly after metamorphosis

I am free.

Poetry – Osmotic Entrainment

Reading Time: 1 minute


Atoms in crystals

Drops in clouds

Trees in forest

Words in books

Humans in society

Collective wisdom

Through existence

Mere presence

Equates absorption

Osmotic entrainment.

The Sublimity Of Poetry

Reading Time: 1 minute


But now I see
it is the closest human language can come
to the language of nature and emotion.

Like an abstract painting
you project your own subjective experience.

Good poetry causes a resonant familiarity
and subtle knowing
interwoven with the blood of emotion.

Despite the seeming chaos of abstract painting,
ecstatic dance and abstruse poetry;
there is still an art to creating aesthetic composition.

Poetry – I Walk In the Night Amongst Crisp Air And Grape Vines

Reading Time: 1 minute


I walk in the night amongst crisp air and grape vines.

Looking down upon the ground

the frosty earth glimmers and reflects the moon

as if standing on a fractal of the cosmos.

The still air and clear sky enable introspection and contemplation.

My moccasin footsteps entrain meditation and solace.

The future is the question and nature is the answer.