Sunday, January 28, 2018
IT ALL MAKES SENSE, Alan Watts Inspiration
stolen today but saw it before, Watts..always enlightening
on the quality of memory
it is so hard
to find a path
through memory,
the jungle of pain
this is a law,
we know what hurts
better than joy past,
trying not to get burned
we lose all precious
moments inside
and must work
to find the light
standing at the shore
of emptiness, the
beginning of time,
now, we are the demon
who walks with us
and lets us see monsters,
their grimace a warning,
a signal we carved long
ago, they are not real,
we are as we are not,
sometimes it is a choice,
enter or obey fear
push ahead, burn signs, climb
through this maze,
cut the threads of spiders
and disentangle us
from memory loaded
with torture and tears
weighing us down
until we rise and
the wind will touch us
now. and now.
the mask has fallen
and our naked heart
can take seed again
and sing, fragile,
impermanent. we will
be hurt again, rising,
we will grow new bark
and shoot in greens
out of ashes and coal.
may this be our way.
to find a path
through memory,
the jungle of pain
this is a law,
we know what hurts
better than joy past,
trying not to get burned
we lose all precious
moments inside
and must work
to find the light
standing at the shore
of emptiness, the
beginning of time,
now, we are the demon
who walks with us
and lets us see monsters,
their grimace a warning,
a signal we carved long
ago, they are not real,
we are as we are not,
sometimes it is a choice,
enter or obey fear
push ahead, burn signs, climb
through this maze,
cut the threads of spiders
and disentangle us
from memory loaded
with torture and tears
weighing us down
until we rise and
the wind will touch us
now. and now.
the mask has fallen
and our naked heart
can take seed again
and sing, fragile,
impermanent. we will
be hurt again, rising,
we will grow new bark
and shoot in greens
out of ashes and coal.
may this be our way.
the dark well carries the fragrance of the moon
we let
light in,
open the
shutters,
with
widening
pupils, the
dark
still in
us, we breathe,
jump into
the day
but carry a
fence
to exclude
the hole
in which we
fall
at night,
in dream,
we walk on the
rope
as we were
taught
in the
illusion of
balance,
half our
strength
spent with
the hope
not to die
and slowly
we find
that the
moon and
the sheep
bleating
in the
black fields
where we
lost us
and all
paths,
are a well,
deep
and filled
with power,
not a gap
nor weakness
but past
and wishes
not yet
embraced
and so we
are half
busy
pulling up
the corners
of
our tight
lips
for a false
smile
this and
not wrinkles
causes fear
of mirrors,
they say
too much,
we are
naked
and after we
are sad
instead of
being inspired
to bring up
the water
fill our hands, fill our souls
we feel
ridiculous
for staying in a cage
but could
drop it
and fly and
fall
through
space
stretching
out
in widening
rings
in uncovered flow,
we could
grow,
laugh on clumsiness,
vulnerable
but open,
being rope
and wings
carried by
the river
which is us
and all,
and the
monsters
will turn
into flowers
in the
orchards,
where apple
blossoms
fall in
delicate time,
fragrant
and slow, so slow
and it will
be as a first
time to
come to us,
the wonder
of alchemy,
the secret
life of stars.
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