Reflecting on matters of life and death,
purpose and chance, relations with others,
and the many turns of life,
a life mostly wonderful, sometimes hard,
but all too often plainly absurd.
Of all the words I could think of
I just kept coming back to these ones,
a clarity I could not rival nor surpass,
written from the perspective of age,
wisdom and experience, and the highest power
someone at that time could attain on Earth.
Let the words just flow then,
as they were written eighteen centuries ago
by that great soul, wise among the wise,
dear Marcus, admired teacher,
please speak, I am here listening …
Look down from a height
on the countless herds of men,
and their countless rituals,
and their various journeys
through storm and calm,
and the many different beings who are born,
live together, and are gone.
Imagine the life lived by others long ago,
and the life that will be lived
after your departure
and the life that is lived
at this very moment
among alien peoples,
and how many are not even aware of your name,
and how many will soon forget it,
and how many who now praising you
will very soon be deriding you;
and reflect that neither remembrance
nor fame nor anything else whatever
is worth a passing thought.
Marcus Aurelius “Meditations”, book 9, verse 30.
a timid winter Sun sets
over a thousand years ruins
once mighty monument
now rubble and dust
as I walk back to my path
I shiver at the thought
of the hubris and wrath
these old stones did command
now conquered by the bush
while the suffering and pain
went lost in the haze of time
I cannot help but reflect
how much of today’s sweat and stress
are already condemned
to become future rubble and ruins
when the suitable conditions prevail
it matters little what the trigger is
when a portion of the world is ripe
just about everything will suffice
no matter how subtle or light
to unleash a storm of sorts
that makes the system cross
that tenuous threshold
into a different realm
content with the bare essentials
wanting nothing beyond enough
in this my only life
I chose to spend my days with joy
working without pretension
to bequeath a better world
is since long my one and only goal
and when that last day comes,
I will yield to your timely call
and at once without looking back
I will gladly return to you.
Far in the northwest a bright Sun sets
a small ceremony, a reminder
that from my lot of thirty thousand
another day had I spent.
What have I done? What have I left?
The Universe flows
and I follow along.
How could I do otherwise?
Knowing the clamor,
the warmth and bliss
of that creative passion
that knows not of exhaustion
or any other needs
although long absent
when at last arrived
I welcomed it back
and made it mine at once
meaning everything now
to write down my thoughts
for what I am worth
for Nature at large
for my fellow humans
for my family
and for me.
Back at work,
back on track,
What is being, if not a flux?
We spend our lives belonging,
giving and taking influence,
in a permanent state of becoming.