26
Poets and Artists
There are no
shortcuts to salvation,
because there is
nothing to be saved from;
we are born to
become what we’re meant
to be, and we will
all get there eventually.
It will take more
than one lifetime, to be
sure; but what does
it matter in the end
if time is never-ending?
But we don’t know
that, do we? And we
look for shortcuts to
salvation because we
can’t wait to get
there. We practice
the Five Tibetan Rites
for eternal youth,
and meditate for cosmic
awareness, garden
until our hearts overflow,
and run marathons
until we’re a hundred;
but in the end we’re
the same soul as when
we started, only a
little wiser, and we wonder
what all the fuss
was about. Everything
matters, and nothing
matters; it all depends
upon where we stand.
But all the same we
have to live, and
making choices is our
nature; that’s the
game we have to play,
because we don’t know
any better. Some
play it fair, and
some don’t; but fair or not
it’s still a game,
and every winner becomes
a loser and every
loser a winner, but we all
become a little
wiser. And we play and play
and play, and when
we’re wise enough
we come back as
poets and artists.
27
A Weird Dream
I had a weird dream
last night.
I was happy and resolved,
the man
I spent years of
conscious labor giving
birth to, exercising
my privilege to
become what Mother
Nature could
not finish, but the
woman I was with
could not fathom the
mystery of my
nature and got pregnant
by another
man, a handsome and
talented hockey
player still in the
throes of Mother
Nature (he was an abusive
alcoholic);
and then my dream changed,
and I
saw three suspicious
men planning to
assassinate the President
of Mexico
and I had to forewarn
him of the plot,
and then I woke up wondering
what
C. G. Jung, who analyzed
more than
80,000 dreams in his
long career and
called dreams “the
guiding words of
the soul,” would have
made of it.
28
Mothering Instinct
She could not have
children
of her own, but her
mothering
instinct came out
today when she
brought two baby
birds fallen from
their nest home to
look after, but
one baby bird was
badly wounded
and didn’t respond
to her loving
care, and the other pined
for its
own mother. We put
the baby birds
back into the box
she had brought
them in and drove
back to where
she had found them under
the tree
where they had fallen
for their
own mother to care
of them.
29
The Old Fox
He was right after
all, the Old Fox,
pushing all their
buttons to bring out
their chief feature,
the darkest secret
of their nature, and
they only stayed
with him who rose to
the occasion
and put their need
for greater meaning
above ephemeral self-interest.
No-one
knew where he came
from, he kept
that secret to make
his teaching more
alluring, and they
hung upon his every
word until they
could take no more,
and they left more broken
than when
they came, writing books
and maligning
his intention; but the
Old Fox knew
what he was doing, feeding
the hungry
and starving the poor,
and those that
stayed to hear the
worst went away
wiser in the sacred knowledge
of their
chief feature that blinded
them to
their true nature.
30
The Soul of a Liar
It’s not true, what
they say about you,
it’s a lie like all
the other lies that they say
about everybody they
talk about, because
nothing they say can
be trusted, —
Why is that?
They mean well, but
they continue to lie
despite their good
intentions, and they
never stop lying
even when they
know they are lying,
—
Why is that?
They lie best when
they tell the truth,
which is the mystery
of the liar’s nature,
and not until they
can no longer suffer
who they are will
they stop lying, —
Why is that?
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