Blog Title Photo

Blog Title Photo

Wednesday, May 9, 2012

Bliss

If you know the creatures living there,
you go diving for them in emerald pools,
jumping from rock to rock, scaling trees,

To sense their auras . . . the pulse from where I sit,
I sent my soul stirring beneath leaves, above the canopy,
cascading down needle sharp brooks,
and giant slow rivers.

A rocky brow overlooking mists,
A waterfall, where swimming's coolest.

So you know that sand?
Dirt is what places a man.
The mud on his boots.

It has all happened, all the sand kicked around, since the beginning of time.

The mud.

The thought comes . . . a question
from one in the audience . . .
You can make it whatever you want . . . just call.

So the bits of sand become parts of us.
We are this Earth too.
And so I call to her . . . help me shoulder this thing . . it's heavy
I know you can help me if you decide to.

She smiles, knowing I don't need her help, since she made me,
and the lizard I carry as well,
that occasionally wriggles free . . .
to experience bliss, . . . but falls back,
Into slavery.

So I ask myself.
That bliss?

Was it what she felt, when I was created?


Pablo Picasso, Vollard Suite

Search This Blog