displacement of feet that
go in one direction and the
thoughts that are somehow
still lingering in the recesses of
the nights' dreaming, there is
a search for the "suchness" of
what today will be. Can I build life
and purpose for one more day
on this earth upon which I stand.
Can I corral my strength and
consciousness to create another
foray into meaningful endeavors
among the conquered and dismal
systems we have devised
to keep us at bay from our
own freedom and development -
to shield us from the SELF that is
ourselves.
There are small glimpses
that I gain, tiny slivers of
insight and vision into the days
that have ratcheted past me with
speed and alacrity.
He was young once and grabbed
my finger with his whole pudgy little hand.
She was free once and could
stand at my side on vistas overlooking
what we believed was the whole of space
and time.
I was able once to climb a mountain
and breathe at the same time,
almost
inhaling all of the landscape into my
lungs as my breathing was somehow
woven into all I saw. A mountain in
me and an ocean as well - these were
not unusual metaphors, but simple
truths that all of it was me.
I have forgotten who I am.
The son
of a king,
and the son
of a queen;
I had ventured
here at their command to find for
them the lost treasures of the
heavenly realm.
And, I did know them -
did have them in my grasp.
I saw them early on when
wonder filled my chest.
I saw them for a time
when awe was heavy
on my lips.
I stroked them with
my hand when radical
amazement opened my
eyes beyond the widest of
the wide.
That treasure,
their treasure,
my treasure is at the
bottom of the turbulent
oceans of dank being. It is held there
against my fondest hope
and inner longing - against
all yearning encompass-ment
by the dragon of mis-steps
and shame. I know my exalted
capabilities languish
and are hidden behind the very
rugged scales of my own
embarrassed failures and
incomplete-nesses.
Where the brazen youth
who knew no fear of death?
Where the heroe's strength that
was layered upon layers of
no concern for all that seemed
marshaled against the me?
Time - damn time for stretching
me out far away from the prize
of youthful bravado. Damn time
for keeping me just out of reach of the
me I imagined would slay the
morbid fascination with limitation
and decay.
And yet.
And yet.
And yet, again.
It is this time,
this very slinking and
dubious of mates that has
floated to me - over its
invisible web of connectivity
and grace - floated to me
the very images that have
sustained me in my diminishment
and thinning resolve.
It happens that sometimes
I am tired of being a man,
but it is that sometimes that
sings out "wake up", "look
back" at the you that is
missing; the you that
rubbed off on that rock along
that one section
of the Appalachian Trail,
the you the held your sons
tightly in your arms, eyes closed
skin facing the breeze coming in
from the ocean in which you
stood knee deep,
the you that felt her breath
on your lips and face the day
you were wed and kissed
with reclusive abandon and
hope.
Sew them all together;
all of the images and illusions,
the desires and longings,
the definitions and beliefs you
knew held all the world together in
truth. And, grab the treasure of
your inheritance.
You, yes you are the one who
is given to read and interpret this
very life you stand in. Remember
your royal nature and
do not
be afraid.
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