Chutes too narrow
Over the ramparts you tossed the scent of your skin and some foregin flowers tied to a brick sweet as a song the years have been short but the days go slowly by two loose kites falling from the sky drawn to the ground and an end to flight --Pink bullets
The illusion that hurts us the most is that there is something to learn rather than just days to be endured. We never confuse ourselves with the belief that dogs gain life lessons as their time goes by.
Sometimes I am struck by an unutterable sadness just because I will never be able to unravel the skeins that bind me and stand again in the places that I have stood and felt the deep black sky of the night enfold me. And in those times I know what karma is. It is not punishment for your misdeeds but having to live with your mistakes.
Watching an ibis in the botanical gardens I am thinking that it never allows conscience to stop it from pursuing any goal that it sees as worthwhile. It never stops to think. It is immersed in its moment. Couldn't I just shrug and be an animal from time to time? An ibis doesn't need to forgive itself.
There is consolation in knowing that others fail too. Sometimes they talk to you about how fragile and vulnerable they are. Their songs resonate inside you because they are songs you would write for yourself if you knew how to write them. Sometimes, too, they talk of hope, and allow you to forget, for just this moment, that it is absent.
The world breaks us, piece by piece. It is entirely uninterested in us. It knows we are only atoms, spinning in a void. But the illusion of talking to one another is still enough, sometimes, to ease the pain and make the half an hour that passes lift us up and make us holy.
In our darkest hours we have all asked for some angel to come sprinkle his dust all around but all our crying voices they can't turn it around and you've had some crazy conversations of your own -- So says I
posted by Dr Zen @ 12:14 pm
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