Monday, September 7, 2015

Trying to Get Back Home

I dreamed again of the maze. I was outside, making my way slowly along a narrow strip of earth to get back to my car or destination, and I sort of remembered having come this way before and knowing I would have to go back along this narrow track. I had to be careful not to slip off the ridge into the muddy water below.

The “road” curved around to the left beside a swamp and I couldn’t see on the other side so I had no idea whether I was going the right way or not, and no idea if my cautious care in making my way along this dangerous ridge would be in vain or if I would have to retrace my steps and find another path. I paused, trying to decide whether to plunge ahead or turn back and see if I could find someone to help me.

This seems to be my theme in life. Being lost. Not having a clear or safe path. Not knowing what is ahead.

I have dreamed this same dream again and again. Sometimes I’ve parked on a sharp incline and I have to make my way through underbrush with sticks piled up in impossible piles to be navigated, and sometimes I'm climbing on a mountain over sharp rocks with slippery sides.

I sometimes wonder why I end up in these rural places where there are no clear roads. I sometimes wonder why I am there. Usually I have come with other people, sometimes to a workshop or class. And somehow the other people have no trouble with these obstacles, and I end up feeling inadequate and stupid.

Other times the dream happens in a city where familiar streets are suddenly unfamiliar, and I find myself lost after coming out of a building and going on a route I usually take. Everything is different and I'm in a different part of the city with no idea how to get back.

There’s no real answer to this today. I’m just the recorder. Maybe if I go to a quiet place and rest and think, some further insight will come to me. Maybe it’ll all be clear. Maybe it’s just plain obvious to someone else. Feel free to leave a comment.

I can’t put this into poetry today. It’s too raw.

Friday, August 7, 2015

Elder Poets on a Summer Afternoon

The wind stirs up longings
The blood answers
The breath nods like a sage
While the earth itself
Purrs in the gathering rain clouds
Of portentous creation

Nobody knows exactly
Not even the scientists
Where we’ll all be in ten years
But we unconsciously
Hold hands like kids
Singing “London Bridge”
Knowing all poems are futile

Someday we’ll have a solar roof
Give up our car
And ride a bicycle
Recycle bath water for the garden
‘Til then, we’re just surviving
In the years we thought
Were supposed to be golden

Saturday, July 4, 2015

Chasing the Ultimate Reality

You don't have to be extreme to be a hero
You just have to go ahead and live each day
While everything adds up

Beyond the future dome,
Can you tell me your vision?
Can you imagine it?
Or is the darkness so vast and uninhabitable
Even a glimpse is forbidden?

We each duck in and out of the scenes -
The main program -
Like ghosts, wisps of esper
Who can keep track?

Are we just programmed too well
To stop chasing the dream?
Even knowing it's inferior,
Not worth all the effort,
Not worth the cost,
It's in our genes, our DNA,
to hunt and gather
Find and build shelter
Mate and bear young
Or at least love

And beyond that?

If you had a gift, would you use it?
Being alone is just as much a myth
As being One
You can choose

What am I saying?
I don't know
Except that striking out on a new path
Is difficult, depending on the stakes

Do you think I know the answer?
Have I seen the astonishing brilliance
Of the All?
Have I felt my heart burst with grace?
Has the top of my head
Dissolved into light?

You don't have to be extreme
To be a hero
You just have to go ahead and live
Each day
While everything adds up.