Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Final Monday

It's now going into Tuesday and although I am no stickler when the sun light begins to filter through the darkness there will be no more private writing, private gone wild that is...

But before I stop pressing the grapes I will have one last press, with the full moon shining over my shoulder, clear, clear is the night sky and I will write.

What if I am just a shaking child in the cold and dark and wet of nature
not understanding my own burning, my own fire
shivering with self-imposed lonliness until I will do just about anything
for a "hello" or even a glance.

What if we have forgotten the truth of our existence, the one truth, the only truth
what if, instead, we live forward as if in some ultimate confusion of design
some myth we have created because someone else created it
because someone else created it, because someone else created it
and what if we are only playing because it's the only game we know
and we keep thinking we will get the answer 
because that's what we are told and taught to expect
the answer
so we play and play along, even though we don't understand
we see everyone else playing and playing along
so we figure - this must be the game
and someone must know the answer because everyone is playing
so we play
and play along
but before long
we begin to pay to play
in all different ways
we pay and pay
until one day we wake up and say
this is not the way

and if we are lucky enough to do that
then we have a choice
we can live with the knowledge 
that is universal in us all and only covered, covered by the way we live
and give up the search
in exchange for something
we think its worth
like kids or jobs or planet earth
or 
we find a way to align ourselves
with a deeper understanding of life
and we begin to trust, again, 
for the first time
since before we can remember
and like children we get hurt
again
and fall
again
and laugh
again
and if we choose to not allow the wisdom of humanity to be dishonored
we begin to grow inside our body
and the wisdom of our years is there to greet
our flowering innocence
and a funny thing begins to happen
like a tug of war
between the steward of the king
and the boy-king himself
and the familiar is the strong side of the rope
and the unfamiliar is the good and the answer
so simple
yet still dragged through the mud
because it is not simplicity that the steward craves
but within this war
the pounding between the sea and the land
between dark and light
and day and night
between
there is new understanding of the inconsequentiality that we have created
and the fear that has driven us
and when it begins to be cut through
lanced and drained
the pressure lessens and reveals a magical light
that has nothing to do with the world we inhabit
and 
usually we cannot escape a laugh
like a child
and we remember
if just for a moment
all that we have taken all our lives to forget
and in that memory there is traction
if the memory is honored
and how
how do you honor that memory?
the answer to that question is the same
as the answer to this question
How do you love yourself?

I write
with the moon over my shoulder
on a clear, crisp night
with the breath of the sea
in me

No comments: