a crooked path

nepal, green water, and thursdays

i was visited by sadness today,
quietly it crept in like an old friend careful not to wake me,
almost it was apologetic in its audacity to call my attention

while i was  sitting there talking about places i would visit,
hearing myself suggest names that echo a secret sacredness
wishing for the briefest moment i could walk those paths
holding his hand
but from dreaming of nepal he has already brought us home
and he was already settling himself into the convincing gravity
of love for his wife

as i was crossing the street and three times i heard my name
without really hearing it, and then he was walking beside me
smelling of green water, that delicate scent that used to
grasp me by the throat and twist my breath,
such that a galaxy of colors like those seen in dreams
seemed to flicker around him like millions of tiny angels,
but i can only remember now and no longer feel

when i was thinking of what to wear to make myself
feel good tomorrow, but then i thought i should reserve
my happiest clothes for thursday, until i realized
that there is nothing to reserve for, or no one, only
myself who is supposedly empty will witness the rather
sad spectacle of pretending not to wait
for that long-missed phone call asking me to dinner

and so the sadness stood quietly swaying with my breath
as if lulling myself into believing it was hiding a gift
but i have learned enough to accept it as simple sadness

possibilities of falling in love and dead ends

i have reached the point when an occasion of brokenness
only brought on an amused smile and an imperceptible
shake of the head, as if finally getting the joke
thrown by the universe, in the guise of a riddle,
with a twist almost hilarious in its simplicity,

it is indeed true that the mind is a most restless
thing, and it needs to be tamed, to be coaxed into
stillness, or else, i will find myself dragged here
and there through stories whose boundaries
are too blurred --- which is real? which is make-believe?

but also i have learned how to ride the waves
of the mind's passions, and how to distinguish its tides
from those of the heart --- i have learned to listen
to the silences in between the roaring of thoughts,
that quiet Knowing of what Is

i have also learned to recognize the gifts 
that are usually slipped in beneath the shadows
after the wash of tears, there is a new clarity to what is left,
then i begin to see that the preludes were just
preludes, and now the real story can begin

on the other hand, there is hardly a need for tears,
laughter could suffice, there is always
something comic about how i always 
nearly make a fool of myself,
sometimes i deserve a standing ovation.

poems for sebastian	revisiting ruins	musings	a crooked path
a man of god	old times	spaced out	stars too bright

Visit my main homepage

Acknowledgements

Boogie Jack's Web Depot