only outside equilibrium
beyond the foreseeable and certain
can something new and surprising
come into life and existence
(paraphrasing a passage in Malicorne, by Hubert Reeves)
It is no secret at this point
that every single tumble on my way
offers opportunities to learn and grow.
But what then about those cracks,
indelibly imprinted upon us
by these experiences in life?
Should we rejoice or mourn?
Speechless and clueless,
contemplating nuggets and fissures,
I catch glimpses of truths and answers,
lingering long on faint fleeting hints,
about living having a price,
and wherever this wonderful life leads
it has anyhow to be lived.
The world being what it is
and me being who I am …
how could I prevent some of those mishaps?
Left without sleep and wishing better days,
lingering over the spilled milk
some days I cannot help but reflect
about what makes a day without blame.
But upon deeper thought I then realize
that such would merely be a passable day
not a worthy goal, perhaps even a lame one,
completely unlike a great day,
one in which I gracefully deflect attacks
tuning my mouth to the wisdom I grew inside,
guarding myself against my own wrath
and practicing that higher living art,
where in spite of noise, greed and lies
I remain aware, joyous and wise,
genuinely faithful to myself
positive, constructive and calm,
amidst a world that has gone severely mad.
No matter how well
I sometimes get along,
I must come to realize
that irrefutable truth
plain before my eyes
that for this world
I am just made not.
And whatever wellness
I may sometimes feel inside,
I know that from the outside
I am that weird and clueless stranger
the odd fish climbing up a tree
oblivious to the “real” world
caring for childish nonsense.
But however weird I may be seen
I am sure that in no way
do I want to resemble them
so clever in gamesmanship
experts in elbowing and backstabbing
spending their time chasing lowly morsels
and bowing for bureaucracy and evil powers.
No, I am changing this world not,
but they will never shortchange me either!
There is just nothing left to be done
I will pretend to fit from today on
until my heavy duties are over
and will then lock my door
placing myself under a joyous Sun
in the vast and silent spaces
of my inner garden.
Not the best poetry. Not the most inspired words. Just tired, feeling restless and overwhelmed. I needed to write it so.