Facing this world

 

I see faces in Zoom boxes hemming me in.

A desperate voice within cries out for help.

I feel myself confined to the basement

where lives some part of me that is my

blood and sinew. Will help be forthcoming?

I see the face of a great man, a star in our

world, and wonder if I can ever shine the way

way he has, seemingly devoid of the pain and

heartbreak that I feel. The Odyssey of my

life seems to be devoid of a ship large

enough to carry me onward; I believe that

I am confined within the cave of a cyclops

where I am not seen or heard, where my

aging teeth confine me to a lonely and

limited future where my gifts will no

longer be welcomed. Worse than that,

I am now called to undergo some great

ritual challenge that seems impossible.

How can one man ride the waves of

fortune in yet another cumbersome

vehicle unsuited to negotiate the very

depths of the ocean and the vastness of

of the sky itself? Indeed, my limitations

are simply too great,  a veritable straight

jacket of constriction and moments that

strip me of the very clothing I have worn

in this life?

 

Yet from some other world come the

fortuitous gifts: a crystal sword that

cuts through duality of our doubts,

the knowledge that, even the great

man has also lost his child and knows

grief as few do, and dares to become

a new-man. The great force seems

to present the perfect vehicle, be it

small or brazen. The body rejuvenates,

the mentor comes forth, and the ruby

slippers of our lives that we have

worn all along, catapult us back to

a place that we only vaguely know

and remember. And oh how we forget!

 

Thank the poets who remind us to

chant:

“Still we are saying thank you.”

“Still we are saying thank you.”

“Still we are saying thank you.”