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| That old man sleeping in the doorway
Under the girders of a building facade
In a fetal position
Takes my hand in my dreams...
You are old Odysseus, I whisper (I hope you've heard
me)...
I trust you to take me through the
Entrails of the Beast,
Meet the proud men, phantoms
Of the underworld...
I presume you had enough coins to
Rub together, friend,
But the Old Man collected his fee
And took you instead across the Styx
(You emerged with skin of silk, not iron)...
I presume you lay there, between girders, sleeping,
Some uncaring soul having stolen
What you brought for eternity,
And perhaps you hear me, perhaps not... but I love you...
I think I am too old for my nice shoes,
I think you are too young for your bare feet.
I shall all day be lying beside you if you need me,
Or better yet I will be taking your place, whether or no.
Rest your soul, rest your soul, my friend...
From this day forward, through Death and Time, we will
never part.
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I return, after many thoughts, of course, passed and still unrelenting, and, as if from the miasmal mist, I emerge full of meaning. A nephew born from the divine body of my youngest sister, a niece's beating heart burried deep within the oldest, someone found and stiil unfound (but in that the beauty and love)... from this I return and I percieve you listen, not that I may tell you, but that you may witness me. I am no more closer to truth or arroagance--I am neither a god nor demigod--but I am happy, and I feel, for once, I deserve it all. I don't think that any god has given this to me in any way, but I think there is a manner in which I have given it to myself, and I may, for once, feel like a god, and all my loves goddesses and gods. That is all. Isn't that what we seek in our gods anyway--that god within us? One is lucky, once or twice in life at most, to find those gods without us. That is all.
.
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Come down to the river-bend with me,
Feel it as I feel it,
Running quickly by,
Catching a glimpse,
But only a glimpse,
The cold air of the river
Bounding up at me.
I have seen things there you should
Not go a lifetime lacking...
I have seen life shimmer and wade,
Or has it been myself wading,
Weightless, across the pristine waters?
I will show you a lifetime
In the gentle lapping of water.
My mother talks as a mother should.
Sometimes I stop to take it all in.
I never thought of it that way,
I think.
Maybe I should have,
Maybe I should have,
I think.
Like rivers, there are things
We see, we pass that
We should have never gone lifetimes
Lacking.
Maybe in dying there is life.
Maybe I should have listened to the lapping
Of the pristine waters,
A little while longer,
Before I rose up from a squat and ran on...
My mother talks as a mother should,
I think.
The waters look just as they should.
I never thought of it like that,
I think, every single day...
Maybe I should,
Maybe I should.
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The idea of God is the utmost delusion--one which permeates, as with
things of its likeness, the workings of the human in the most general
sense. Religion unto and within itself is not problematic. That we have
a great number of people truly convinced of a mirage or two is not a
problem unto itself; that we have a great number of people, in
positions of power, who wield these mirages with the presumed
disposition of a demigod or superior to humankind, finding fault in
others where simply a difference of ideas--a semantic thing really--was
the ore of the issue, should be an alarm-warning. Religion is not a
human virtue. Religion is a human travesty.It has systematically
blanched the wild garden of humanity. Don't let it blanch the sweet
scent-reminiscent bright yellow tulip swaying to the song o'er hilltops
yelping: materialism first and last imbuing.
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