Sunday, April 3, 2011


Before zero existed, did this space exist or did we, by our giving nothing a name bring it into existence?

What about bits of memory that shoot through my mind only to vanish en route? What happens to the parts of the story I can't quite recall?

And wishes made in childhood, almost grasped, then forgotten? Can they come to me in a surprise one day, fresh-slapped and screaming?

Who suggested this thing called forgetting and called collisions of circumstance a coincidence? Are these just tricks of the mind shields from what we doubt we can hold?

Emptiness sketches the shape of what existed before this silence. In its outline, our former symmetry gives light to this darkness.

The Retreat (a confession)

I am sitting up in the night’s smallest hour, a near right angle on this camping cot. Ears stretched open. Did I hear someone coming? Please?

Quiet! Too quiet. Quieter outside of me than in please someone make some noise!

I know (and will admit) that I am home in the noisiest places. My internal zero centers when everything bounces and people scream. Fighting neighbors, drunks making love. In the center of this turbine I float like a little sage totter on sandals, offer pocket wisdom, have medicines up my sleeves!

For free! Have it all for free!

But here! Here! In this bunk house. This monastery. Away from it all. A gate clacks against its post now and then. A dog howls on the other side of an empty valley. I am awake waiting for the return of two brothers who passed some moments before exchanging muffled whispers.

Oh what were they talking about? Is there something wrong?

I am a shout trapped in skin. An explosion looking for a place to express myself. Please stand back. I am doing the best I can to self-actualize in a beneficial way.