Meanings

 

It's hard to focus on reading these days, and even harder to watch a movie. I wondered why...is my brain, in some way, going? (Some would say it's long since gone, but, well...uh, maybe.)

A possible answer is this, that I have at last stopped trying to find meaning and purpose in the things I do. I just do them, as carefully and well as I can, and let them go. It leaves an emptiness that is at the same time full and vibrant.

It's not a zin and yang thing. It's not even a thing. It is, and in being, is not.

No, I did not eat a Zen monk for breakfast. Now, stop that!

I'm not sure why I'm trying to describe this, give form to the most insubstantial ephemera. Perhaps it's to say that if you know someone who is hopelessly sick, and that person seems to be drifting away, it's not necessarily a cause for concern, a sign of indifference or an acceptance of defeat.

It may simply be an unburdening.

When meaning has no meaning,

and the future has no face,

it's funny, sometimes, seeming

that I am lost in space,

drifting down the halls of time

with nothing left to do 

except post the occasional rhyme,

and soon that will be through.

But there is nothing sad in this,

no sense of some great tragedy,

and in the messages I miss

there is a boon for me,

that my soul, now made so light,

will transcend the fall of night.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is HISTORY.

To some it might be mystery,

that somehow I had lost the toss

and have no use for history,

but really, that is not a loss,

for the past is anchor fouled

in the coral, a tropic gaol

that by nature is be-troweled

by cement that halts the fullest sail.

Best to run before the wind,

skating past the rocks and shoals,

eyes ahead, though we have sinned,

perhaps, in all our chosen goals,

but on we run free anyway 

to meet the sea, and the new day.

Four minutes thirty. Had a few words that didn't mesh.

Sylvia would eat a Zen monk, if he were made of ice cream.