I shook the gossamer web of our connection
Gently as a feather lands.
Despite my efforts, you heard a roar
Louder than thunder
And felt the percussive tremors
Of a violent quake.
I do not know how to communicate with you.
My words fall into a well of silence.
I hear no echo, no return, and have no way
To gauge their impact.
For your sake and for mine,
I will no longer navigate this darkened terrain.
You have no more need for these invisible walls.
I wish you all happiness.
How would it be, to change our vision?
We often ask (ourselves or god or the the universe)
Why did this happen?
We see an event as a particular discrete thing
And usually when we query thus,
Feel that it be extraordinary in some way.
Often we seek some divine aid or give thanks for that perceived intervention.
Consider if you will this possibility:
There are no miracles nor curses. The playing field is level.
A joyous birth equals a tragic death. The discovery of a vaccine equals the manufacture of a deadly weapon.
And all equal the purchase of a cup of coffee.
THESE ARE ALL ORDINARY. Shocking to write.
Each came about in the same manner, with innumerable causes.
They have no special quality in and of themselves,
Though they do carry weight and impact, which we ourselves assign.
We are the ones who decide what counts as remarkable,
Either for reasons of evil or good, while we claim signs from some deity.
If we choose to see this and acknowledge
That everything is mundane and therefore also terrible and therefore also glorious,
Then we can (perhaps) take a better path.
Do the trees laugh
To see their brightly hued leaves
Swirl on the wind
Then fall to form a glorious colorful carpet?
Do they mourn the loss
Of their seasonal raiment
That partially cloaks them
From over-curious prying stares?
Perhaps, like us, their response
Can be both or mixed or changeable.
I don’t understand the ways of humans.
I would never dare to presume with trees.
We walk in bone fields of unknown dead
And crush the shards of countless shattered dreams
With each careless step.
Occasionally someone stops,
To whisper on the wind to those forgotten,
“I remember. I remember.”
A bird flying overhead might reply:
“You have been those bones.
Pick up whatever dreams you’ve lost and go on your way.
You will forget again soon.”
For a brief moment, the sun becomes radiant,
And the earth shifts.
Thank you.
Your words run quicksilver
Over my patched places.
I am shattered anew.
But now the light flows through,
And I laugh to see this.
The cracks of all my imperfections
Are not flaws,
Nor am I merely broken.
I am that, yes, but also and at the same time,
Gloriously whole just as I am.
As are we all.
I strike the bowl.
The moon appears.
A chant drones.
The floor trembles.
Another strike.
Time fissures.
There is a brief smell of incense.
All disappears.
The rains have arrived,
Remnants of the hurricane.
If I go outside and lift my face,
Will I taste the salt tang of gulf waters,
Hear the faint sound of Parlez Nous A Boire drift on the wind,
Catch the tantalizing scent of my father’s gumbo?
Or will I find the salt of tears cried by all who’ve lost,
Hear the shriek of a roof as it is torn away,
And smell the smoke from fires that cannot be quenched?
Nostalgia is easy for me,
For I am in the mountains and far from this devastation.
I am geographically lucky at the moment.
steam rises from the cup. consider these things
the cup shatters and the world explodes
celadon shards and tea float in the midst of primal debris.
chaos and noise and confusion
breathe, and then:
sit in silence,
sipping the usual cup of tea.