Perhaps it’s the way it was meant to be, though any pretense of meaning, at last, will simply not apply.
I wander, whittled down to a vapor of what I thought I was, a drop in the silence of enormity.
An old maplewood cane in my left hand taps the dirt along this deserted path, marking footsteps that truly came from nowhere, and lead to nowhere/anywhere.
Memories, doubts, hopes, vague yearnings, pieces of dreams – all skitter restlessly across the surface of my pooling imagination.
I am water, washing through a water world, unborn, undying, twisting through the maritime depths of itself, flowing through grand canyons of heart-stopping vision, or pooling in the stagnant backwaters of abandoned desire.
How could I have ever dreamed that there was anything more precious than this utter simplicity?
This water is transparency itself, a distilled immensity, tidal child of the oceanic mother, never other than herself, at play in cloud, dewdrop, brook, snowslush, river, lake, leaf, rainbow heaven, worlds within endless worlds . . .
Over the waterfall, I burst into billions of individual drops of myself in thundering roar, only to dissolve again into the flow of my eternal unity, flowing water of life, nourishing all the many thirsty forms of myself -- all my own form.
Contained within me are all water worlds, as I within them, and still I ripple on, my cane tapping out a signature on water, water echoing back the loneliness of that which can never know itself, but only be itself.
Even this mysterious loneliness at last is submerged in the welcoming embrace of itself, watery limbs reaching out to catch the gentle rain of this liquid sky's tears, the tears which are the heart's voice of this silence I wander through tonight, alone, at peace –
There are no signposts here,
ReplyDeleteno consolations.
Perhaps it’s the way it was meant to be,
though any pretense of meaning,
at last, will simply not apply.
I wander, whittled down to a vapor
of what I thought I was, a drop
in the silence of enormity.
An old maplewood cane in my left hand
taps the dirt along this deserted path,
marking footsteps that truly came
from nowhere, and lead to
nowhere/anywhere.
Memories, doubts, hopes,
vague yearnings, pieces of dreams –
all skitter restlessly across the surface
of my pooling imagination.
I am water, washing through
a water world, unborn, undying,
twisting through the maritime depths
of itself, flowing through grand canyons
of heart-stopping vision, or pooling
in the stagnant backwaters
of abandoned desire.
How could I have ever dreamed
that there was anything more precious
than this utter simplicity?
This water is
transparency itself,
a distilled immensity,
tidal child of the oceanic mother,
never other than herself, at play in cloud,
dewdrop, brook, snowslush, river, lake, leaf,
rainbow heaven, worlds within endless worlds . . .
Over the waterfall, I burst into billions
of individual drops of myself in thundering
roar, only to dissolve again into the flow
of my eternal unity, flowing water
of life, nourishing all the many
thirsty forms of myself --
all my own form.
Contained within me are all water worlds,
as I within them, and still I ripple on,
my cane tapping out a signature
on water, water echoing back
the loneliness of that which
can never know itself,
but only be itself.
Even this mysterious loneliness at last
is submerged in the welcoming embrace
of itself, watery limbs reaching out to catch
the gentle rain of this liquid sky's tears,
the tears which are the heart's voice
of this silence I wander through
tonight, alone, at peace –
dreaming a dream
of water.