Sickly

“Till the self-illuminated Way
Show thee the Darkness to be but Light.” — Lalla-Ded

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I’ve been sick all day, struggling
with what was not made to last,
lost in my own discomfort, at sea
in duality and the disease
driving me to reveal its remedy.

Now - all of a sudden - I am a man
crying at a supermarket checkout counter
because the chance to scan useless lines
with complete strangers hoping for reprieve
in some purchase will be gone so soon
that it might as well be now.

What a miracle this life is in all
its dis-ease and disappointment.
How wonderful that even this terrible music
finds one moment where it blends
with the candles she lit, flickering
secret fire in their cages which serve
only to cover them from night wind,
the whole thing pointing in its own way
at that cheesy love sign, now lit up:
nothing resolved - all dissolved
in this present tranquility.

Here too is Shadow, demanding attention,
asking if we can pull our wildernesses together
before he’s put back to work
in the service of seeming clarity,
showing as all trained dogs do,
that darkness brings us to deeper delight,
delaying as it does our final, destined
appointment.

Traces

For a moment

Think of all the stories

Leaving papertrails