Opening to Emptiness

Opening to the empty fall

You were not there to catch me

I fell, and I am falling still

At least I am finally awake

Ha!

a permeable plane

We are here with a permeable plane, you and I On one side God, on the other man Passing through to you becomes me and there I am, looking back at the holy one A mirror? Or no head?

On a morning of automobiles and laser pointers

On a morning of automobiles and laser pointers
     and a map of newspapers and clicking mice
End my misery, I pray you, Lord.  This life is a virtual life,
     the end of life is the end of a hard drive

No bus, no elevator, no advertisement on a billboard,
     no silly boots or sober ties will save me from
the crash of that memory.  Where will it go?
     The memory of you and Mom and the childhood by the trees?

Up in a wisp of acrid smoke.  Fried.

After these words I read my e-mail and look for what must be.
A meaning for meaninglessness.
A game where all teams win.
A political position or favorite celebrity which will save me.

Ah, today, you and dinner at the Greek's.
     A breath of sweet begonia leaf
A haircut with Helen, a note to George
     This cup of coffee, this breath, this note to love.

And my duty.  To save him from his duty of death
     And my habit.  To open my heart to the small voice
And my longing.  To step into the knowing
     To return never again to hate or lust or panic

When once we wandered in a childhood of no boundaries,
     Now we are caught in our crutches and clothes and coverups
We open our eyes to the fantasies of yesterday
     And mine are always the ones we should worship.

Ah, me, the mistake of mine
     Oh no, never another chance.
The meaning of meaningless
     always escapes my grasp

 I am yours, Most High
     because I have no hope here
In the glib gabble of ghost being
      in the endless mornings of defeat

Quiet me now, and my frantic eye
     Sit me now, for a moment's sleep
Open me now, empty me now,
     cleanse me now, in the true and endless

The chase belongs to the young and not yet wounded,
     if such exist
The most wise have gone before, and we are left
     in ignorance
I give you what I would have, because I cannot hold it
No hands, no tongue, no eyes, no heart, no mind, no ....

My attention is here

My attention is here.  I feel the fatigue of age about my eyes and shoulders
I feel the discouragement of a country given over to peddling fat and futility
My attention is me, you say, but it wanders in a night of fear, alone
Where do I belong?  There is no answer.  My son has gone, but he is here.
Please help me in my error.

Draft: Floating on a sea of sorrow

Floating on a sea of sorrow
The bubble reflects the sun
Imagines itself to be a gem
and sinks into that sorrow.

Floating on a sea of sorrow
the bubble imagines itself to be nothing
and rises into the air,
no longer a bubble

Floating on a sea of sorrow
The bubble breathes and rests and reflects
and soon the sky is alight

Only a bubble, nothing more
but soon to be the air.
soon to be the one true union

Not now, but soon.
dead?
Or alive in the light and air
not constricted by its shell of sorrow
  and joy
Full and knowing
Where?
Not here, Not there.
Open your heart.

No place for me.
Let it go.  Find it.