The Silent Voice

author’s note:

“I learn by going where I have to go.”
             -- Theodore Roethke


THE SILENT VOICE

Sometimes, when I quiet down
to ponder a decision...

I detect a voice

deep within...alien, it seems:

a voice without language
or even sound.
Nonetheless, it talks:

sometimes it tells me yes
sometimes it tells me no--
often giving me an answer
different from the one
I’d wished for.

But I've learned not to argue--
from experience I know
the walls, the falls, the knots
that result when I go against it.

However, to obey--to follow--
often doesn’t bring clear benefits--
often
I can’t see the purpose
for going here instead of there
and doing this instead of that
even years after the act.

To deal with my perplexity
I’ve decided to trust
that that little voice knows
the way to "home"--
knows what needs to unfold
through work and time--knows
where I need to go in order to
eventually get to
where I need
to eventually be.

A bold notion--I’m fearful
as I struggle to believe
and yet, I’m also encouraged:
I find hope in that belief.

dream steps blog
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

One Glorious Song

author’s note:

The photo above shows a blue jay chick in distress.

Though I don’t like jays, I can’t look at that chick without feeling pity.


ONE GLORIOUS SONG

I believe
we have a higher choir
hidden within the rush mash of our noise

but though I strain my ears
I’m not yet clear enough
to clearly hear that harmony.

However
in moments of stillness
I’ve detected the faint melody
of a soprano aria
buried within our burl.

Sometimes those notes
weep like a bird...
but sometimes
they laugh like a bird

and on those rare occasions
when I’m able to deepen
to a place of true peace
the lament and the laugh
join in one sublime song.

© 2021, Michael R. Patton

Great Silent Mystery

author's note:

“Exploring the silence gives poetic thought birth.”
         -- Pao Hsien (trans. Paul Hansen)


GREAT SILENT MYSTERY

As the story goes...

when our ancestors felt the mystery
of a tree or river
or mountain
or creature
they wanted to talk to it
and learn what it was

and so began to drum.

Whatever sound echoed back
then became the name
of that bounder, beast, or shrub.

But after all the many things
had been named

the people sensed the presence
of one final mystery--

a mystery unseen--

a mystery everywhere all the time.

However
this mystery would not
answer our ancestors
no matter how hard
they banged their drums

so finally they stopped
to listen
to determine the nature
of an essence so strange.

The people then heard
the silent mystery resounding
throughout the stillness
--dominating earth and sky--
all the named things suddenly
lost their names
because everything became part
of that great mystery.

Those folks even began to feel
the unnamed mystery within themselves
and then, anxious to preserve their identity
they returned to drumming
and felt comforted by the noisy distraction.

But whenever
they felt dull in their days
they’d stop

to listen to the silent mystery

until they became overwhelmed
once more.

At this point in my walk
I feel the need to stop
because I sense something missing--
I’m tired of all these things around me--
tired of all the words, the names.

So I’m trying to regress--
I’m trying to shut up long enough
to feel the power
of the great silent mystery

not to escape life, but to know
the life within everything

and know the life--feel the life--
within me, once more.

cutting artichoke stalks – slow TV
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

Unlidness

author’s note:

I’m slowly learning to listen.  But I still have a hard time believing what I hear.


UNLIDNESS

What if you had
another head
inside your head--
   a better head
   but hidden.

A head that would call to you

though hard to hear
with your big head talking
all the time, unaware
of that muted voice
trying to get you
to listen.

Unless--as can sometimes happen--
you tilt too far one day
and tumble and land
upside down

then the lid on your big head
flops open
and what comes out
in that shocking moment
is an opera

sung by ravens and lions.

But
by startled reflex
you shove that lid back down
with a firm hand:

ravens and lions are scary, but
even scarier when they sing

Opera.

Thereafter
you’ll keep the lid securely in place

unless
as can sometimes happen...

one day, while I’m distracted
by the mountain clouds,
waiting for the sun to touch
the highest peak...

that lid on my big head
--quietly, secretly--
floats up

floats away.

And this time
as the ravens and lions
raise their choir,
I accept the music

because the singing seems
just the right accompaniment
for the abundance I perceive.

During such moments
of unlidness, I experience
a bigger world and a better me.

you tube channel
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

After I Fell in the Forest

author’s note:

I hope I’ve remembered this quote accurately:

When told that a certain woman was very humble, Dorothy Parker replied, “She has a lot to be humble about.”


AFTER I FELL IN THE FOREST

I never felt the trees

until I fell in the forest

and as I lay face down, trying
to find the strength to stand again
I began to feel
the watchful quiet all around:
aliens communicating without sound.

I’ve listened intently
many times since
and though I still can’t
decipher their silent speech
I sense the trees pity my weakness.

Perhaps I return because
I want their empathy
after being beaten in battle.

Humility is a virtue--is honesty.
But I will only prostrate myself
before beings wise enough
to feel compassion for a fallen fool.

you tube channel
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

Wisdom Creek

author’s note:

I’d feel embarrassed by this confession if I thought I was the only one playing a violin.


WISDOM CREEK

All day long I’m a violin
dreaming a melodramatic melody.

But when I write poetry
I stop playing
and instead
whisper about how
I sat down in solitude
at the wisdom creek.

Truth is:
I often forget to visit
those healing waters
caught up, as I am
in my bars of music.

But strings in the head
eventually trip the feet

then I land down hard
on my back--back
at the wisdom creek.

But as I sit on its bank
in stunned silence
I may hear a deeper me

while watching my inflated violin
float away on the gentle waters.

But I’m cured only for the moment--
that overwrought music returns too soon:

apparently
the hungry boy in me
desires a grander life--
wants to feel heroic.

Maybe someday I’ll convince him
we can accomplish more
by feeling and following
our quiet strength.

you tube channel
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

Stone Alive

author’s note:

When you don’t have a boulder (see last post), a rock will do.


STONE ALIVE

One day, feeling frustrated
with all the dust of our noise
I sat down on the ground
and lifted a rock
and to amuse myself, said:

“Can you help me, dear stone?
  Old as you are
  you must know something
  about life on this planet.
  Has age made you a sage?

“But no, I suppose
  only mountains and cliffs
  can give us wisdom.”
That plain gray stone
seemed so insignificant, so dumb.

But then as I relaxed
in afternoon idleness
I no longer asked, but merely gazed

and as that stone warmed my palm
I slowly became enchanted:
I no longer perceived the thing as dead
but as an entity
tightly contained within its own self.

I actually sensed an essence--
an intensity radiating
from a power within: a force
so subtle as to seem unreal
and yet as incessant and insistent
as the drone of a Stonehenge megalith.

But my tolerance for amazement
has its limits:
I soon lay the stone back down
then bowed with respect
and ambled on.

Since then, I’ve occasionally paused
long enough to meditate upon a stone
and though I appreciate them as solid friends
that can calm me on uncertain days
I’ve never again felt the same intensity.

However, I don’t doubt their power.  No--
the problem lies with my erratic concentration.
I know:

if such a plain gray stone
holds the energy of life
so do all the other rocks
cascading across this planet.

My goal is:
to eventually arrive at
the splendid open moment
when in a blaze of illumination I realize
the incredible force behind the disguise
of all these earthly things.

you tube channel
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

Master Boulder

author’s note:

Many years ago, I heard we should “commune with nature”.

But some time passed before I learned the wisdom of that advice.


MASTER BOULDER

Though I'm intimidated
by its monolithic presence
I often return to that boulder
at the bottom of the hollow

and then
despite my resistance
obey
its command to listen
to what can not be spoken
only felt:

the profundity of its heavy silence.

In that way, I’m humbled
even as I begin to feel
that same power
echoing up from my dark depths.

I’ve finally discovered
the value of ritual.
I now know how to pray.

you tube channel
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

Our New God

author’s note:

The plywood pictured above wanted to be an artist…

But lacking canvas and brushes, what could it do?  It did what all wise boards do: it used the weather of years to transform itself into a work of art.


OUR NEW GOD

Though we maintain many gods
that serve us in all sorts of ways
I think we need one more

to occasionally help us regain our wits.

The new god we’ll create
won’t guide us on questions
of morality
or the purpose of life.
No

this god will simply say:
you can feel me and know me
by becoming quiet
and listening down within.

Then maybe, feeling curious
we’ll stop and listen
and perhaps for the first time
experience
the mystery of silence.

And when we return
to the world outside
in our new clarity, we’ll begin to sense
the secret silence--
the invisible shadow
within everything
--even the air--

and realize:
the spirit of this god
lives everywhere.

I’m sure some will challenge
the reality of our invented god.
To them, I say:
any mystery so deeply felt
must be real

and to feel what’s really real
is a good way to keep one’s wits
in these witless times.
Time to be with this god.

you tube channel
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

The Flame in My Silence

author’s note:

Up from the bottom
    of an old pond,
    that duckling
has seen something strange.
      -- Joso (Beilenson/Behn trans.)


THE FLAME IN MY SILENCE

I found silence

while casually exploring
a deep water cave
dating back to the stone age.

In that silence, I felt at peace
despite the depth
and in the clarity of my calm
I saw a single flame
faraway in the dark--

not extinguished by the water, but fed.

I did not understand
why I wanted that flame
but I did understand
I could draw that steady fire to me
by remaining silent

but impatient desire
soon ended my silence
and the flame vanished.

At that point, I realized
the fire might be unattainable.
So, of course, I vowed to make it mine.

In that way
I began a quest of years
and though I still can’t stay
in silent calm for long
I seem to bring the fire flame
just a little bit closer
with every descent.

If “seem” seems to be
a soft ambiguous word
consider this sentence:

Whenever I go to that depth
I seem to travel back
to the age of stone
when humans first dove
into the deep waters
and there, in silence
discovered their fire.

floating leaf video
© 2021, Michael R. Patton