Prepare
to exit
Die
before you die,
suggests the Sufis,
but
who is it that dies and who remains?
I’m
already a dead man, walking
the
length of that long green mile.
My
executioner accompanies me, stride for stride.
It’s
about time to kiss the world goodbye.
She’s
been beautiful, seductive and fickle –
and
way more trouble than she’s worth.
I’ve
cut her out of my will.
I’ve
let go of everything but my self.
What
does it take to abandon one’s self?
Courage?
Deep despair? Or is it all Grace?
The
Sufis say death is not a door
to
nothingness but to everything.
I
pray daily for the karmic attainment
to
intuit and obey their esoteric directives.
O
child of God, prepare to exit this hurtling
ball of wax to make
room for new blood.
Getting
the joke
Each
of us must leave
the
soft, familiar darkness,
suffer
the bloody push and squeeze, to enter
the
noise, the motion, the color and light.
God
makes us one way,
then
insists we end up another.
Amidst
my suffering
and
all-pervasive vulnerability,
I’m
left with little faith in divine benevolence,
whomsoever
I choose to blame.
Floods,
landslides, eruptions, tsunamis;
human
violence, treachery and malice . . . .
I
cling instead to my own unwieldy devices
to
calculate a path through the world.
It’s
my ignorance, God insists,
that
keeps me from getting the joke
and
my suffering that makes the punchline
with
its ultimate payoff worthwhile.
O
child, play the hand God deals you.
It’s the only game in
town.
Rest
your weary bones
Read
this poem carefully,
though
most of it is nonsense.
Words
are a trifle, anyway – flotsam in the stream.
The
author, I am told, is a fictional character
who
tends to use images that carry no weight.
It’s
best to let him take it where he will,
if
you should be kind enough
to
grant him an audience.
Born
on the open sea, he wishes now
for
a spot of sure-footing,
no
larger, mind you, than the size of a casket,
where
the scenery changes only with the seasons.
O
child of God, the Buddhists speak of no abiding self.
You search only for a
place to rest your weary bones.
A
lifelong oddity
Friends
and relations explore the realm –
beaches,
mountains; parks and trails;
venture
onto foreign lands. I remain
ensconced
in my house, in my small town,
in
my good old body while it’s still around.
They
speed away on wheels and rails
to
explore the abundance. I explore the
lack;
my
eyes turned backwards inside my head.
They
enjoy. I ponder what value
joy
has in this ephemerality.
My
friends and relations encourage me
to
join in the fun; to be more like them.
I
don’t know enough to explain it.
The
best I can say is
I’m
trying to hold myself still as possible
while
the doctor removes the bullet.
O
child of God, you are a lifelong oddity,
no longer pretending
to be otherwise.
