Feeling To Infinity

When the rains finally arrive, the leaves as one
press themselves passionately into the earth,
delerious in urgent leafy acts of love.

We are water beings, every dripping leaf of us.
Water is the Great Mother, we bathe in her blessings,
we swim in and out of her womb in perpetual cycles
of aquatic bliss, appearing as these thirsty forms,
then drowning in Her mysterious liquidity.

One faded fallen leaf, soaking in miraculous mud,
is equal to all of the sutras, bible texts, lofty sermons.
As we kneel at the altar of any anonymous leaf,
we worship the Source of all, the Great One.

I bow down in the rain, my beating heart blended
with the welcoming earth, the nourishing sky
of love beyond all reckoning, both given
and taken, all right, all yes, Amen!

Just so, those who have received a terminal prognosis
may begin to grow kinder, more willing to disregard
the former annoyances of life, to gaze at small things
longer, and with a renewed sense of appreciation.

Perhaps they never bothered to look up much,
but now find themselves noticing subtle changes
of light, the intriguing way clouds form and disperse,
the sensuous feel of the breeze streaming around
their face, their whole body — how seductive!

Issues in which a great deal of significance had formerly
been invested may now seem no longer so important.
Indeed, they may not matter any more at all.

Then it happens that the eye muscles lose their tension,
the pupils lose their ability to contract, they open wide,
begin to dilate, and the stare at last becomes fixed.

What was it after all, that human life now fading fast —
an eyeblink, a quick inhale/exhale, a restless dream?

Maybe some would like to try it once again, return
for another round, but this time, pay attention.

It’s so easy to get swept away by things that don’t
really matter. The art is in discovering what does.

If we could somehow peer into the empty mirror
and see them busy at their work, we would
have no enemies in this world anymore.

We would behold each other in reverent awe,
as if in a magic mirror, and then maybe
we’d decide to play a game.

In this game, which we love to play, I would
be me, and you would be you, and then
we’d turn and change places.

The music would never stop.

Everyone who adhered to some religion before,
or maintained some staunch political belief,
or who cried alone to the god at night
while everyone else was asleep —
their eyelids making little fluttering movements
like lost moths in search of the light —
would feel an instant thrill of delight, would forget
themselves, would spontaneously begin to sing!

Still, this is all just an idea that came to me
while waiting for the sun to rise, the little dog
snug and warm between our temporary bodies,
the whole room growing larger, infinitely
larger, behind our sleepy eyes.

the baby laughs at the mirror, waving
little arms in the air, euphorically;

the man raises his gun, fires at the mirror,
blows holes in himself, again and again;

the god keeps moving the mirror around,
but can’t stop looking at itself.

But let’s suppose there was no mirror.
Since we can imagine anything, imagine that.

Everyone would have to fend for themselves,
just as before, just like now.

We would all come into some world or other
from who knows where, wander around, dazed,
for a little while — who could say for how long?

Then we would leave for somewhere else,
because nothing ever stays the same.

Nothing would be remembered, certainly
we can understand how that would happen.

No image would persist, shimmering in the air
like a desert mirage. Everything would be more
like a piece of fading old newspaper stuffed
beneath the kindling in the fireplace.

And maybe it was a cold November day, grey
and drizzling. In any case, not remembered now.

Finally, what can be said about it at all?
If I could share a secret here, perhaps
it would go something like this:

a fire is burning steadily in an infinite room,
a mirrorless space inhabited by no one —
not a bird or baby, neither man nor god.

Where the road ended, we gradually entered an ancient
Redwood forest, dense with prehistoric evergreen ferns.
Besides our footsteps, there was very little sound at all.

It was still dark, but the first weak light of dawn began
to seep through the grove of enormous trees, just as
it had done for century after century before.

It doesn’t matter to them how many human beings
have come and gone on this good earth. Time is
not their idea, they focus mainly on the light.

They have their own serene way of speaking among
themselves, just as there is a certain frequency or
language exchanged between planets and stars.

It’s been noted that, after forest fires, the animals
like to return and feed in the burnt-out places.
Nature has its own vital, mysterious way.

You paused just ahead of me, turned around, smiled.
I burned every bridge I had to my past. I have no regrets.
Now I am shivering slightly in the early morning chill.

I open my mouth, but it is finally better not to speak.
What passes here between us is too big for any words.
With these giants now as witnesses, I am smiling back.

When I opened the door, she didn’t hesitate as usual,
but bolted right out. I followed her into the dark and
windy Autumn night, dressed only in my underwear.

Much to our mutual bewilderment, it seems that
we’d wandered into another time, another place.
Spreading out in all directions around us now
was a lush though utterly unfamiliar jungle.

The ambient air was oppressively hot and humid,
while the sounds and squeals emanating intermittently
from the dense and drippy foliage spooked both of us.

Only thin shafts of moonlight filtered through the canopy.
When we turned around, we noticed that, where our house
had been, a small makeshift grass and mud hut now stood.

We were intrigued but wary, and yet, because it strangely
seemed to beckon us, we set aside our hesitations.

What from the outside appeared to be a modest one-room
dwelling, now was more like a spacious formal parlor
to a sprawling royal mansion, filled with odd and yet
compelling signs and glowing symbols which decorated
the immaculate white walls of the endless winding halls.

I lifted the little dog into my arms and made my way
to one of the large round windows, shaped in the form
of an immense ocean liner port hole. It was just in time
to view the wide rings of Saturn as we went speeding by.