Whatever we call reality
Even if such a thing exists
Will forever remain elusive
A truly hard picture to paint
Partly objective and measurable
Partly interpreted and beyond form
Whatever we experience and remember
Whatever we tell others and ourselves
Goes well beyond events and things themselves
And delve deep into the intricacies of the self
With our story, upbringing, environment and brains
Steering up swirls of joy, fears and hopes
Forming myriad of mental images and verdicts
No matter if right or wrong
Without ever telling us a thing
We frenetically spun those stories
That we will tell ourselves
Oh! How on Earth are we going to communicate?
How can I tell you the way I perceive my world?
So you see the same thing as I do?
How can we reach a common ground?
How can we steer away of conflict
And reach that dreamed of future
Of peace, understanding and love?
infused with the fury of spring
a mighty young river flows
powerful and hopeful
with the buoyancy of youth
although unbeknownst to it
whatever rocks it may move
wherever it goes at the end
its force remains deeply constrained
by mountains long ago built
by framing ideas that persist
thick influences lingering past their due
as it happens to us as well
deeper than we can know
we keep flowing ahead
sometimes meandering around
towards a vast and distant sea
following action, reflection is due
out of reflection, attitude grows
upon attitude, action is built
Fragile and ephemeral.
To those unaware eyes.
Crazy flickering lamps,
trembling in the wind.
But appearances are superficial!
See! on the inside there is a mountain,
and within the mountain a deep lake.
Genuine and unique,
self-reliant and authentic.
Behind the veil of softness,
there is an iron will,
a soul committed to the truth
and a spirit no one can defeat.
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
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.