A Meditation
What was my reason?
How did my voice become?
When did my heart awaken?
Why was my voice so quiet?
What has my underground flow
to do with anything?
A day came and I knew,
without words, but knowing came
in a terrible melancholy of memory.
When is the truth?
How is the truth?
Who speaks the truth?
What was I thinking?
And so I hit the road.
I followed a road to How.
Where it was I didn’t know,
but I found it, though it ran through
places where so many had already been
and had never asked Why.
What I found wasn’t lost.
It was there all the time.
And my old failures?
Some became red wines.
Others, the stuff of dreams.
From: Dreams, Memories, and Leaps Into The Wilderness
Unpublished MS p. 2
No comments:
Post a Comment