What was it then
The thing you thought you heard
The thing that spoke to your heart?
Maybe it was too long ago
Maybe your memory is faulty like mine
Maybe (yet again) I’m asking too much
I dont know,
I dont know,
I dont know
but I think you heard hope.
Maybe it’s what you didn’t say
Maybe it’s what I didn’t want to hear
Maybe our lines just got terribly crossed.
I stayed on hold far too long.
I don’t know the ways to express
this feeling of being left or being gone
and how it mixes with this feeling of being right or being present
Its all mixed up, I’m all mixed up
All I can say is that
I know it’s done.
What but if I finally could?
What to be gained? What to be lost?
I’m losing myself here, you know.
And yet, here we go again and this, another round of
Left hook, right cross and your undercutting words.
Yes, I accept that I’ve got the gloves and I’m in the ring
(I do like the feel of these satin shorts)
but its been an unfair fight and I’ve done all I can
From here, it looks like a title bout with no victor
I see the future as has been the past:
I’m worn and I stumble.
I tumble down and you pick me up
A few moments of calm in corners
Until we’re back in it again
And again and again.
Este campeonato sera tuyo
Realmente, siempre hay sido
Ya no tengo lucha
Mis brazos golpeados
Mi corazon quebrado
Ya es bastante
Solo espero tener la fuerza para tirar la toalla.
I just hope I have the strength to throw in the towel.
I’m not sure anymore which way is up. I get scrambled and tangled too often.
What exploration, what matter, what the fuck is the need to ask the questions I cannot answer?
Maybe the moon knows, maybe Sonnabend knew, maybe somewhere (I’d like to believe) I know.
“We do not have to be ashamed of what we are. As sentient beings we have wonderful backgrounds. These backgrounds may not be particularly enlightened or peaceful or intelligent. Nevertheless, we have soil good enough to cultivate; we can plant anything in it.”
― Chögyam Trungpa, Cutting Through Spiritual Materialism
Let’s see here
There is a certain something, Isn’t there?
Before I have even started to look, I’d found that sound in the cicada songs
and maybe in the sound of the thunder.
Sure, I was alone and it was night but now, I question that.
It always feels like, seems like, looks like light.
When the guru passed did we know? Did we get the message?
This is going to be his last word but what is it that we all hear, here?
Chogyam, dear rinpoche, what did you say? “Pass me another gin”?
Slower, Slower now
The earth underfoot
The sun rises again
Yes, I’ve been redeemed again.
The grave you dug for me is still empty.
Your wristwatch broke
You carried a pocket watch
You think I didn’t remember?
You think I don’t remember.
It was then, then. I know it was.
Maybe it was the first time
But I know now what my heart denied then.
You think I had forgotten when?
You think I don’t know the time.My heart broke – tore to shred really.
You carried a tongue of swords
lashing and crashing and thrashing me to bits.
You thought I would have forgotten that time?
You thought I wouldn’t remember?
I know the time and I remember everything.
I was born when my father was 60. He was by then retired and I spent a lot of time with him. I credit him for what bits of sanity I have. I credit him for my ability to accept people as they are. I credit him for being my real example of unconditional love. This is his birthday and deathday month. (an aside, why isnt deathday a word??) I miss him every day and am so lucky to have had him in my life.
My godmother, who I was named for, used to say I have his eyes.