Sunday, March 15, 2009

All That, Was Left. -15/03/2009

This is where I was that last morning.

I awoke from dreams of someone else’ Karma-yoga,
Where I had dreamed wave length measurable-times,
In a loving world populated full of fears,
Mostly my own.

Staring up at that same ceiling,
Seen too many times,
But that time now,
Not seeming long enough.

This is where I was,
The community of conscientious objections,
To the objective bounds,
Of my world-view,
Now, it’s a scene of creaking ladders,
Now it’s a row of empty beds,
Now it’s nets and rope-holds.

It’s a stray end,
Poking out of a thatched leaf roof,
Now it feels like a school at sunset,
You’re only here if you’re trespassing or in trouble,
It’s bathing in glows of days gone-bye,
It’s a big fucking space,
Conspicuously full of emptiness,

This is where I was,
Back at our celebration,
That last day I whistled Palchabels Kanon,
Some irony of mine,
That I’l never let you let go of,
A private joke amongst my publicity,
Because privacy,
Became for us the new currency here,
It was traded, and I got my certificate,
I got my friends,
I had my doubts,
I made my mistakes.
And that cake,
Has been had and all been eaten now.

You know dem… down by the campfire,
A Portuguese beaconing Bob Marley over a beat,
Out into nights out in the forest.
That would transition into too-early mornings,
Where we dug, planted, watered,
Bunded, mulched,
Then breaked.

This is where I got pine-apple for breakfast,
On the even-numbered mornings,
I got Senegal fast food,
Stuck in my head.

This is where I heard him say,
You fucked it up!
Playing the Dude to my Walter,
I tell him, no problem,
And I can get him a toe by 4 o’clock if he wants,
With or without nail polish.
He walked around in his underwear,
Frowning at tomato plants from beneath that wooly beard,
While plotting his Zionist conspiracies,
No doubt.

This is where I took the classes,
That I tried not to sleep through,
Each one,
In the heat of a tropical afternoon,
Biological resources talking edges,

This is where there was a mud hole,
From which I crawled,
Playing crocodile for a while,
When I forgot anyone else was around.
Now that pool of water is all but gone,
Dried up in waiting,
For a rain months away.
From now.

This is where I pulled faces by the dozen,
Dragged them up onto an open-staged-space.
This is where,
I had read, that God, God help you, is dead.

This is where I defended and upheld,
Appalled and let go,
A battlefield tested opinion,
Watertight seaworthy, but sinking,
When my teeth sank into it.
Sharp, but somehow blunt,
Big, but always diminishing with the proof offered.

And that,
Is where I was when I got caught,
Got depressed and regressed,
Got detached, got rejected, dejected,
Where I deflected,
A tangible death,
For at least one more day, yet.

Where my bruises healed real-slow,
Where the infections spread,
Limping their way across the compound,
From one person to another.
This is where I was,
When we fell off and kept riding.

And here,
This is where I was,
Where I was when I told,
How not to miss,
The absolute perfection,
Of each moment,
In time.
Where I was,
When I finally came to see it,
And to believe in it,

Is where I said so many farewells,
Too many, really,
For my words.
Sinatra sung, as I leave you there,
They call those songs,
Beg me, or you, to stay,
One more day, one more hour.
…and I forget, the rest of his words.

You became another face, for me to face,
It got a little harder,
Each time,
The heart grew fuller,
As this place grew emptier,
Each time.

So this last morning awake,
This is the last time I will find-myself,
Standing here ...without looking over my shoulders,
Wondering what they can-and-cannot carry.
More than others,
But less than most,
As I tried to co-operate,
Not compete.

This is where I was.

This is what I’m leaving.
A forest to grow people, as they say.
Sadhana Forest,
Where I found a passion for this world, again,
This is where I was.
Where I helped it out just a little,
And this act helped me out,

A lot.




No comments: