I seek the lorn streets, the derelict ways,
That run unbeknownst
Behind businesses that died long ago.
The broken pavement and shuttered facades
Echo my desolate mien.
Bleak skies with lowering clouds
Add uncertain rain and chilling wind.
I do not walk alone on my solitary path.
Ghosts and memories accompany my each step.
We suit each other well.
Time and memory are fluid,
Running through us with marbled colors,
The psyche as malleable agateware.
The bayous and cypress trees of childhood
Exist vividly alongside now-beloved mountains draped in smoke.
The Shearwater cup that held tea,
Then favorite pan-fired gunpowder green,
From which I sipped early in the musky mornings before grade school,
Sits still on my mind’s shelf with successive handmade tea cups.
The paintings by my father and other local artists I see on the walls,
Together with current pieces of artwork.
The past is never that, though we can try to pretend
And even attempt to banish it from our being.
Better I’ve found, to accept this and embrace a multidimensional life,
Observing the interflow of old and new with detached curiosity.
Such mixture will inform all that we experience, however we decide.
I choose awareness. Let this bring what it will.
All things always in flux.
As we continue through our time,
We learn to make friends with difficult loss.
Grief and mourning accompany us,
Like mist and fog on a gray autumn day.
Yet even in the bleakest moments,
We can remember fragments of joy.
Let us pause to reflect on the wonder of clouds,
The fall of rain, and the wind moving through the trees.
Thus we live with the ache of memories,
Letting their beauty and sorrow scatter like drifting leaves.
We love you always.
We all carry darkness within.
Sometimes this can expand
To become the world in which we move.
But this shadow space cannot exist
Without at least a glimmer of light,
Even one which was seen for a brief moment.
Our hard task is to recognize this as penumbral
And not be deluded that it is the completeness of being.
We think we live in one or other,
Yet they always co-exist.
Breathe; open your eyes; and see.
How to mourn you?
Only with detachment can I find room
For kindness and compassion towards you.
You struggled just as all do,
And I wish to think you did your best.
Some of your actions and words still linger with gray-tinged hurt,
But now I can feel sorrow over these rather than resentment.
When I speak at your service,
I will recount one of the few memories I have
That cast you in your best light.
May you find in this death peace from suffering,
An end to chasing illusory dreams, and the fade of your red anger.
I laid down the burden of these long ago.
Now may you do the same.
A graffitied train thunders past.
I cling to the top of a car.
In the rush of the air amidst the noise,
I hear footsteps and look over my shoulder.
Darkness grins with evil mien,
While wicked laughter falls all about.
With a sigh, I open my eyes
And continue my walk beside the tracks.
Escape. No escape.
What makes a life well-lived?
We see but the observable evidence
In the actions and words that the departed left behind.
Thus we judge accordingly.
The landscape of their inner life remains their private domain,
Albeit hinted at in the detritus that remains.
We make our surmise from these scattered sherds,
With knowledge that this reflects more our experience.
We hope that those who’ve gone did have these:
Joy and love and happiness and peace.
Let us grant them that as we lay them to rest
Using our memories of them for the healing of the world.
Right now I walk so uncertainly
With little knowledge of what will cause me to fall.
I can talk to a stranger with ease
But then a smile makes me flee to cry in shadows.
How to navigate this mercurial terrain baffles me.
The world shifts without warning,
While so also does my ability to adapt.
I had the illusory notion I could cope well.
This has fled, as I struggle once more.
How do I give thanks for this reminder of impermanence,
When I feel thrown back into depression’s embrace?
Surely some of my study and practice will stay
To provide a steadying influence while I falter through my day.
I do not fear the monsters of this world.
I have long familiarity with these.
Depression, anxiety, and their coterie
Have almost been my family.
I dwell in comfort with such dark beasts.
What has the ability to undo me entirely are the beings of light:
Kindness, consideration, and their kin.
The afflictive malfeasants offer predictable torment
That at times seems almost a shelter.
I can hide with them from myself and the world.
Venturing into lambency that flickers with uncertainty
I find an often frightening task.
To see others is one thing;
To be seen in turn unsettles me in the extreme.
Still I take up this challenge,
With the words of Aeschylus giving me strength.
And the company of monsters ever at hand.