Feeling To Infinity

The fish in the tank are hopeful —
it’s nearly time for their next meal.

The book I’ve been reading lies splayed open
on my chest, all the lovely words forming
a blanket of paper peace upon me.

The little dog in my lap is breathing softly.
I can feel her dreams coursing through her
tiny body, but they are big dreams.

She is running up a grassy hill. How do I know?
I am running with her, oh we are happy —
let’s get the ball, let’s get the ball!

We all appear in many places simultaneously,
only the sad ideas we feed on weigh us down
and anchor us to to the story of solidity.

The little dog in my lap has no sad ideas . . .
well, maybe one: she sees us in a vision, we are
wearing blindfolds, walking on a tightrope.

In her vision, we are carrying bulging bags laden
with quotes from dead people, and we are teetering.
From her expression, she appears to be a bit worried.

Don’t worry, my little Friend, even if we should fall,
there is still no place in this dream to land.

Here’s a secret: the soul loves problems!

Most of us came here to revel in problems,
they’re essential props for this living theater.

We expand in self-awareness by confronting
challenges of every kind; facing them is the way
we learn about who and what we really are,
and what kind of stuff we’re made of.

Running away from school doesn’t work —
life will keep returning us until we recognize
what efficient tools our problems are,
and how to properly use them.

We’re a little disappointed if that threatening storm
peters out before it makes landfall, if evacuation orders
were for naught, if the eager warriors choose diplomacy
at the last minute, instead of launching the missiles.

We love the blockbuster movies where everything gets
blown up — the bigger the blast, the higher the body count,
the greater the devastation, the more bloodthirsty
the villain, the more we enjoy our popcorn.

If we leave the theater and see a dog getting mistreated,
we will raise bloody hell, but yawn and flip the channel
when another black man is gunned down by the police.

We want our earthquakes to register 10 on the scale,
our floods to sweep away whole villages, our asteroids
for once to not be near misses — our cameras are ready!

That being so, perhaps one might be tempted to inquire:

what kind of schizophrenic species prepares for its own
extinction by spending all of its resources accumulating
enough nuclear weapons to wipe out life on the planet,
but then amuses itself by posting cute animal videos
and giggling babies on its social media channels?

Maybe Earth is the place where advanced civilizations
send their repeat offenders as a form of tough love,
to scare them enough so that they will finally
repent and promise to properly behave?

The experts claim that we tend to deny our “shadow”,
but it seems just the opposite to me — we love to celebrate
the dark side, while the light becomes more difficult to see.

When Death came for him, he was not afraid,
but asked if he could have just one more day.

Death had been partying recently on wars, famines,
diseases, and various disasters and calamities, so
generously agreed to grant the hermit his request.

The hermit used this opportunity to sit on his rock
by the stream, just as he had done every day before.

When Death returned and found the hermit still sitting
on the same rock, he asked him why he bothered to ask
for more time, since he hadn’t used his last day on earth
to do anything special other than sitting by the stream.

The hermit smiled and offered Death a seat on his rock,
and together they sat for a day and a night, and then
another day, and then another night, and even more.

After some time had passed — maybe another day,
maybe fifty years — Death roused himself at last,
turned to the hermit, cleared his throat, and said:

“This is pleasant indeed, but I must get back to work!”
The hermit smiled, nodded, and said: “Go right ahead!”

Death wandered off, relaxed and a bit absent-minded,
until he found that, while he had been sitting on a rock,
his list of customers had grown, grown, and grown again.

He was so busy that it took him fifty years to catch up,
until he finally came back for the hermit once more.

“That was a pretty sly trick you pulled!” said Death.
The hermit just smiled and nodded, because to him,
by now, one day was fifty years, and fifty years one day.

We are attracted to the concept of eternity
because it alleviates the suspicion we harbor
that we might be somehow wasting time.

Perhaps our story has stalled at base camp.
We’re not quite ready to climb that mountain,
but we’d surely lose face if we turned back now.

For the rest of our life, people would whisper
to each other dismissively when we walked by:
“He went to the mountain but lost his nerve.”

When I was young I thought I had plenty of time,
perhaps all young people think likewise.

I went to the mountain and camped by a river,
waded out into eternity, splashed about like
a carefree child, or lazily floated downstream.

At night, perched on a rock out under the stars,
I could feel the whole planet gently turning.

Since those glorious times I’ve worn many costumes,
yet underneath them I have always been naked.

Regardless of whatever may seem to come or go,
this planet itself keeps on turning.

I’ve been wasting my time conscientiously, just like
my old master once said I should do, and for that most
helpful piece of advice, how could I not be grateful?

I raise a glass of Pinot Noir to my lips, since
alcohol and venomous snakes don’t mix.

The lama crawls into his disciple’s bed, and planes
drop retardant over a raging wildfire in Oregon.

A turn of the key sparks the ignition in my automobile,
and another politician repeats a lie on Prime Time.

The mystics and their parrots claim everything’s connected,
but maybe it’s not even that — at what point does the sun
and its light connect, the songbird and its song,
the stream and water, the experiencer
and the experience?

Perhaps everything is so wrapped up in everything
that not even Einstein can tell energy from mass
plus the speed of light squared.

Consciousness and light — are they two separate
things that happen to intersect and connect
here and there, now and then?

The preachers tell us to go to the light,
but we are that light, so where should we go?

That which perceives cannot be found
within the world, since it is the world itself.

Just so, I sit here by the river, watching it flow,
yet the only thing flowing is me, I am it.

Whatever is happening, there I am too —
the secret of love: you are me,
I am you.