I suppose you would say
I was lost until I was found –
Found myself sitting
Sitting in this same old chair of belonging.
Hell, I've been here all along, and yet
I haven't fully been here until —
Now I would suppose you would say
This life is a process of unfolding
Like origami, creating new shapes of fashion
And the wild fancies of moments –
Well, I've been here all along,
Lost until I found myself understanding —
Standing in these same old sturdy feet –
How tame is your imagination /
Where has awareness been walking?
Can comprehension lift off without one,
Like some remote kite careening towards the sun?
Until recently, I kept glancing to the ground
To chart my passageways. I didn't know till now
The color of the map (it was blue)
Or that it was beyond yonder –
I suppose you could question
Whether earth and heaven are the same,
And if we're in the middle seeking a common ground
To uncover one uncommon person, tell me,
Is it you? Does your understanding ask why you're
Just out of reach, or if we're huddled in the same old chair, this earth,
Rocking with ten thousand feets of clay – you know /
Achilles, I suppose you would say
The difference between your heart and ankles
Has always been your humanity –
Or the lack of talaria lifting you to an ever-flowering sky.
I suppose you would say
That this is a walking of the same old paths,
But you do know, one day you'll gaze upward in awakening
To chart the trajectory where darkness falls from your belongings
Cast 'gainst the brilliance of immortal suns,
Shining upon your life in a split millisecond,
Typecast against hype —
This kite has only this string, this fragile chord
To your body of clay, returns you now to this red earth,
Adam, Eve, whatever name you go by,
There's still the same old chair,
And when you sit in it
I suppose you will say that it feels familiar.
Would you say that you are sitting wise?
We're all grasping at straws, but that kite
Is flown and tossed and torn by winds
Neither of your mind, nor of mine, but collective thoughts.
This understanding which you've always known
Has just now begun to sink in. Humanity is talking
And our backs are squeezed to an hour glass,
And we're flying a kite of one stubborn camel
Seeking to cross the desert in a desperate mind sky —
There is mystery here, and no one can understand it.
Mystery in lives which never can be contained,
Mystery in all your rocked and rocking days
Which may never, ever, be fully explained.
It's the poet's task to show the knit
Where night blends into day, where your easy chair
Sits rocking on infinity's edge, waiting for nightfall
As shooting stars streak across an endless purple canopy.
You speak as if it's just hors d'oeuvres,
Another party snack, yet before you know it
Your life is engulfed in a gaping maw of infinity,
And you're the tasty snack in the grinding chasm of time.
Hear that grinding? It's the wheels of eternity
And your actions have flowered for some baked infinity bread,
And the wheels of eternity grind exceedingly fine.
I hear you'll make a fine sour dough.
We'll fry your big juicy wallet in a huge vat of indecision,
Then serve it to shiny blonde angels wearing high heels
Of your every procrastination.
Hear that nibbling sound?
They delicately munch
The marrow of your brittle bones in your honor
For each and every time
You callously spurned to offer assistance
To someone pleading for your help.
You are so tasty. You are so fine! And so delicious.
For that, I suppose you would say
That you're only as lost as a finding out,
Only as searching as an answer,
Only as unknown as grass
Which grows beneath your feet. I remove my sandals and discover
A kingdom of understanding hidden like jeweled embryos
Curled just out of reach beyond blades of time.
The whirling and spinning must stop,
The bacchanalia to gods of the most elusive escapes.
Sir or Madam, your easy chair is waiting, comfy,
And I suppose you would say
That as long as you're here, you can never avoid
The inevitable realization of your stunning impact
To every other earthworm that crawls within your garden.
Stop and watch the flowers bud and blossom
And wither to seeds of death and immortality
And plant your feet from this chair into infinity
Never to step as heavily and as blindly as you did
Until now. Another cocktail? Perhaps – a cracker?
Could I offer you a seat to my table?
I suppose you will say you have supped here before
But I assure you, the chef tonight is extraordinary
And his words will dissolve like nectar into
Even the most critical of your retractive eyes.
Savor this moment,
For in a minute you will be off.
But I will be waiting. Patiently.
You will never need a reservation here.
And you may return
Without even a moment's notice
To rest your feet and calm your quarreling mind.
Tonight's special is a creme of every thought
You've ever savored, in a delicious lobster sauce
Of lullabies.
(Copyright 2000 by Shaun Darius Gottlieb - No reproduction without express permission from the author)